Secret Eyes (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Marie Jermy

  “Oh, just some cans of dog food. Archie can be particular about what he eats.”

  A light drizzle began to fall. Scott flicked the switch for the retractable roof and then glanced in the rearview mirror at Archie sitting upright on the back seat, his tongue lolling out, obviously enjoying the ride. “At five thousand dollars a night, I expect Beluga caviar and Bollinger champagne. Oh, and blackmail photographs of the highest imagery of my extramarital activities. Right, Archie?”

  One woof.

  Yes.

  Leia laughed. “Ross is going to skin you alive for sure. I’m just wondering where Sam came from. I mean, did you pluck that name out of thin air, or does it have a special meaning to you? No, wait a minute.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “Sam, as in Sam Carrick?”

  “Yeah. And I did it to piss Ross off. Sam is Jessica’s—” Scott stopped himself just in time. What in hell was he thinking? Obviously Jessica hadn’t told her friend about Carrick, and, frankly, it wasn’t his place to, either. It was none of his business.

  “Sam is Jessica’s, what?” Leia pressed.

  “Look…” He changed gear and lanes at the sign for the Manhattan Heights. “You’ll have to ask Jessica. It’s none of my business.”

  “But the reason for the animosity between you and Ross is because you reunited Jessica and Sam.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Scott blew out a deep breath at Leia’s incredible and exact deduction. “Yes,” he admitted. “Now drop it. We’re here.” As he pulled in beneath the portico running the length of the hotel’s entrance, two men wearing impeccably fitting blue uniforms with gold buttons and braiding sprang forward. They also wore eager smiles. The first looked just out of diapers, the other old enough to be the lad’s father.

  Fortunately, it was the older man who asked, “May I park your car, sir?”

  Scott handed his keys over and retrieved his and Leia’s cases from the trunk, which the young lad placed on a trolley. He knew better than to ask Leia if she needed assistance and was rewarded with one of her soft, sexy smiles. “Ready?” he murmured.

  “Ready, willing, and able.”

  The moment he stepped into the ornate and plush lobby, with its white marble floors and pillars, crystal chandeliers, cozy seating arrangements of crimson velour and teak with polished brass accents, that niggling foreboding in his gut intensified to such an extent that Scott stopped dead in his tracks. Something was wrong, but damn if he could work out what it was.

  Nobody noticed, however, well, apart from Leia, whose delicate brows rose questioningly. He squeezed her free hand, plastered a carefree smile on his face and approached the teak check-in desk that was manned by a young, blonde-haired woman, whose blue uniform and eager smile matched that of the bellhop and valet, and a distinguished-looking, dark-haired man wearing a black pinstripe suit. Scott instantly recognized the man from his picture on the hotel’s website as Alan McNulty, the manager and owner of the hotel.

  “Good afternoon, sir, madam,” McNulty greeted in a soft Irish lilt. “Welcome to Manhattan Heights.”

  “I have a reservation for the Liberty Penthouse Suite. Name’s Scott Walker.” The moment he said his fake name, the welcoming smile on McNulty’s face faded. Scott couldn’t be sure, but it looked like McNulty had just been shot in the crotch. Now why would that be? Unless… “Do you have a problem with guide dogs?” he asked, noticing McNulty staring at Archie.

  McNulty jerked his attention back to Scott. “No, of course not! At the Manhattan Heights, we pride ourselves on providing all our guests, whether they suffer with a disability or not, a first-class service. If you have a request or a problem, you only have to ask, and we will do our utmost to accommodate or resolve it. “Ma’am,” he said, now turning his attention to Leia, “does your dog have a special diet? Any food he’s particularly fond of?”

  While McNulty spoke with Leia, Scott did his utmost not to laugh. Carrick, upon meeting this man, would no doubt label him as a “pompous prick,” full of piss and wind, just as he had with Senator Charles Williamson.

  Actually, thinking about it, that wasn’t so funny. Again, his gut clenched, but Scott suppressed it and, thinking that now might be the ideal opportunity to put his plan into action, he made a play of taking his cell phone from his inside leather jacket pocket to answer a non-existent call.

  “Hello, Jessica,” he said rather loudly, hoping Leia would realize what he was doing. “Yep, the flight was okay, and I’m just booking into the hotel now… Mmm-hmm… Uh-huh…” he continued as if answering his fictitious wife’s questions. He then screwed his face up in annoyance. “How the hell do I know! Look, I’d better go. I promise I’ll call you later, okay?”

  Scott grunted in reply to nothing and then snapped the cell shut, wondering how he was going to hint to McNulty that Jessica was his wife, but that the woman beside him was his secretary and whom he was spending a dirty weekend with. Leia, however, was already one step ahead of him.

  “The wife asking about the whereabouts and carnal activities of one’s secretary again, was she?”

  Honestly, he could have kissed Leia, but Scott’s attention was more on McNulty, who, quite frankly, now looked like a rocket had been launched up his ass. What in hell?

  Mr. McNulty’s worried. And it has nothing to do with Archie’s liking for caviar and champagne.

  Tell me about it, he telepathically responded to Leia’s accurate deduction.

  Do you think he knows he’s being set up?

  Not a chance. “Sorry about that. Yeah, the name’s Walker. I’ve booked the Liberty Penthouse Suite for the weekend.”

  “Of course, Mr. Walker. If you’d like to fill in and sign the registration form, I’ll get your key card. Adrian here will take your cases up for you now.”

  “Thanks.” With a smile, Scott generously tipped “Adrian,” the young bellhop. While he filled in the form McNulty placed in front of him, which wanted to know everything from his address to his credit card details, he quickly studied the area behind the desk, noting the closed door marked “Staff Only.” He then glanced around the lobby for cameras. There were five that he could see, one pointed at that door.

  “Here’s your key card, Mr. Walker. I hope you and your lady companion enjoy your stay here with us.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we will.” With another smile, but a cool one, Scott plucked the card from McNulty’s sweaty hand and followed Leia and Archie to the elevator. The doors immediately opened, and he found himself face-to-face with another uniformed employee of the hotel. Scott took an instant disliking to the elevator attendant who eyed Leia with beady eyes which were as dark as the close-cropped hair and the few days’ stubble.

  “Good afternoon, sir, madam. What floor do you require?”

  “Liberty Penthouse Suite, please,” he replied, imitating the obvious forced politeness. During the ride, Scott surreptitiously studied the attendant. He filled the blue uniform with its shiny buttons and fancy gold braiding to bursting point. Somehow, he didn’t think the man got his bulky biceps through pushing buttons day in, day out. He noted the name on the equally shiny badge. Well, D. Lavengro, don’t you look the schmuck.

  One woof.

  Yes.

  Her shoulders shaking, obviously through trying not to laugh, Leia turned her face into his neck. Swallowing his own laughter, Scott shifted and nuzzled one of her delicate earlobes. Inhaling her sweet scent, he closed his eyes. You smell and look so good.

  You smell and feel so good, too, Scott, she telepathically replied, turning her face upward so he could brush a kiss across her lips. I want you.

  Now?

  Now.

  Has anybody told you that patience is a virtue? The sharp kick to his ankle told him exactly what she thought of his remark. Scott chuckled softly and reopened his eyes to immediately notice that Lavengro and his beady eyes were watching them.

  He smoothed a hand down Leia’s back to rest on her ass. The beady eyes followed. He moved his
hand in lazy circles. Again, beady eyes followed. His hand then went to Leia’s nape, but the beady eyes stayed put on her ass. The shudder he felt rippling through Leia had nothing to do with his cold fingers, but rather, she’d sensed Lavengro staring. Was Lavengro involved in McNulty’s blackmailing operation? Possibly. One thing for sure, with a lewd smirk emerging, he certainly was a pervert.

  A low growl from Archie—obviously he didn’t like anybody eyeing his mistress as though she was some sex object any more than Scott did—sounded at the same time as the elevator ping, indicating they had arrived at their designated floor.

  Lavengro’s beady eyes finally lifted from Leia’s ass, but the smirk stayed. “Sir, madam, the Liberty Penthouse Suite is down the corridor to your right.”

  Scott suppressed the urge to ram his fist into the attendant’s smirking mouth and walked by Leia’s side down the corridor to their suite. He also managed to suppress the urge to slam the door, but only because he was stunned by the suite’s opulent interior. Photographs posted on the hotel’s website didn’t even come close to the reality of the place.

  The main living area was divided into two, with the lounge nearest to them and the dining room area farther on, next to a set of double balcony doors. All walls were covered with faux silk cream wallpaper. The three large sofas were upholstered in the finest damask material, their pale ocher color in perfect harmony with the pieces of highest-quality mahogany wood furniture, including a well-stocked drinks cabinet and bar.

  An entertainment center consisting of a large plasma TV, DVD and CD players, fax machine, laptop and printer, and various CDs and DVDs was built into one of the lounge walls. Lighting was provided by crystal chandeliers and Tiffany table lamps, and displayed in both areas was an array of expensive art objects and paintings.

  “Wow,” Scott murmured before remembering the sumptuous surroundings hid a dirty secret. No longer impressed, he described the suite to Leia.

  “Wow,” she murmured sweetly when he’d finished. “Where’s the bedroom?”

  He’d suppressed the smile at her sarcasm, but now he couldn’t stop the rumble of laughter. “Woman, you are impatient!” He avoided the elbow and led her into the bedroom, while Archie, seemingly taking a shine to one of the sofas, jumped onto it and sprawled his furry body across the plush cushions.

  As his boots sank into thick carpet pile, Scott gaped in disbelief at the large circular bed positioned in the middle of the room. Had the hotel changed the bed? He felt sure it hadn’t been round in Rogers’ blackmail photographs. Spotlights were positioned in the ceiling above, casting a soft golden glow over the pristine white bed linen and the teak furniture set against the walls of the room.

  He guided Leia to the bed and sat down beside her, lightly scrunching the cool Egyptian cotton sheets in his hand. “The bed is round and huge. Bigger than mine definitely.”

  “A round bed? How raunchy is that?”

  “Well, at least I’m not gonna get cornered,” he wisecracked, then laughed out loud when Leia located one of the pillows and lumped him with it. Snatching the pillow away, he pulled her into his embrace and then rolled them both over until she was on her back and he was above, his legs resting between hers. He brushed the fingers of one hand against her cheek. “I’m going to kiss you now, Leia. Just don’t suck on my tongue.”

  “I thought you liked it,” she said, her expression showing a speck of hurt.

  “Leia, I do. It makes me so damned hard. That’s the problem. And even though I’m so tempted to chase you around this bed right now, I’m going to save my energy for tonight.”

  Her sigh spelled disappointment, but then her bee-stung lips tugged into a feline smile. “Kiss me, Scott.”

  Lowering his mouth to hers, Scott gave her the briefest of kisses before he rolled off and stood up. “Uh-uh, my kisses make you wet, and that’s also a problem.” He laughed at her sulky expression, then pulled her to her feet and steered her out of the bedroom toward the door of the suite. “Archie, get your ass off that sofa. What did he say?” he asked Leia at the dog’s series of woofs.

  “In a nutshell? ‘Screw you.’” She patted her thighs. “Come here, boy.” Archie immediately did as he was told and trotted over to stand by her side.

  “I think I’ll have to review your contract, Archie. Not doing what the boss orders is, quite honestly, a sacking offense,” Scott remarked with a large sniff.

  “Actually, I’m his boss.” Leia laughed and poked him with her elbow. “Where are we going?”

  “Not we. You. Not that you need it, but why don’t you go and pamper yourself in the hotel’s beauty salon? Charge any treatments to this room.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  “Booking us dinner in the à la carte restaurant and then maybe making use of the pool. Did you bring a bikini with you?” he asked with a wolfish grin.

  She shook her head. “I can’t swim. It’s one of the things I never learned to do.”

  “Then I’ll make you a deal. And this is for when we return home. I’ll teach you how to swim if you teach me how to read Braille.”

  “Deal.” Leia’s smile turned sly and teasing. Does Mr. McNulty allow skinny-dipping? Or is that against the hotel’s blackmailing policy?

  * * * *

  Scott only told Leia half of what he intended to do while she was being pampered. What he didn’t tell her was that he was going to check out the area behind the check-in desk marked “Staff Only.”

  After leaving Leia and Archie in the beauty salon on the first floor —they’d all decided to use the stairs instead of giving Lavengro further entertainment—Scott made his way to the à la carte restaurant in the hotel’s lobby. He approached the reservations counter and was greeted by a rather stiff, stuffed-shirt of a man. So he was casually dressed, and his jeans were frayed at the hems, but there was no need to look down his nose at him.

  “Good afternoon, sir.” Was that a yawn? “How may I be of assistance?”

  “I’d like to book a table for two at seven tonight. The name’s Walker.”

  “I don’t think we have anything for tonight,” replied Stuffed Shirt without even looking in the reservations book.

  “I’m staying in the Liberty Penthouse Suite.” He’d obviously said the magic words because Stuffed Shirt suddenly became very accommodating.

  “Of course, Mr. Walker. Would you like to be seated by the window?”

  Scott liked window seats. For the former detective-turned-P.I. in him, the views of both indoors and out meant he was aware of everything going on around him. “Is it the best seat in the house?” Stuffed Shirt gave an aristocratic nod. “Then yes. And charge the bill to the suite. Oh, and can you make it all romantic? You know, roses, candlelight, that sort of thing?” Leia couldn’t see, but she could sense and smell, so he knew she’d appreciate it.

  “I will see to it personally, Mr. Walker.”

  And where would you like the tip? Up the ass? Scott thought as he returned Stuffed Shirt’s smarmy smile with a sneer. He made his way to the reception area, wondering how he was going to get behind the check-in desk without being seen by staff or recorded on camera.

  As he stood by the men’s room, something small and red on the wall opposite caught his eye. He entered the restroom, made sure it was empty, then returned to the corridor where he jabbed his elbow into the fire alarm, smashing the glass and setting off an ear-piercing alarm. Hearing the announcement for staff and guests to immediately evacuate the building, he went back into the restroom and waited.

  There was a vending machine on the far wall. Going over, Scott inserted the correct change and caught the box of three condoms as it shot out of the dispensing slot. He began walking away, then turned back and bought another box. One could never have enough condoms. And yeah, Leia said they were safe because she’d had the contraceptive jab, but a condom, he knew, would delay his orgasm. Besides, it was his responsibility to protect her. That is to protect her body with his while the cameras
rolled.

  Scott waited a few more minutes and then popped his head out. Noticing the area was clear, he hurried behind the check-in desk and opened the “Staff Only” door. Pacing down the corridor, he noted the first couple of doors were to empty offices. He stuck his head around a door marked “Conference Room,” but seeing nothing important, carried on until he came to the one marked “Mr. McNulty, Manager.”

  Entering, he stepped over to the large oak desk. As a computer nerd, he was himself good at hacking, but with the computer being left on, it made his task of looking through the various programs and documents a lot easier, and it saved time, too.

  Yes, Manhattan Heights-headed paper was loaded in the printer, but he found nothing incriminating and certainly no evidence to suggest that McNulty was blackmailing his guests. Although, of course, deleted letters could still be retrieved.

  However, Scott had neither the time nor the proper authority to do that. But he knew a man who did. Yes, Anderson was a pain in the ass, but he was a good cop. Not that he would admit that to his face. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t planned on going to him anyway. Anderson knew how to keep his mouth shut, and whether the victim was a shape-shifter or not, blackmail wouldn’t sit well with him either.

  He pushed the keyboard away, his gaze settling on the row of metal filing cabinets. Rising from the chair, he went over and opened the first cabinet. Staff records. He pulled the file labeled “D. Lavengro.” The D stood for Dale, and he’d been employed for two weeks. But that was it. No other information. No address. No previous employment. No references. No nothing. Which signaled one of two things. Either Lavengro was an illegal immigrant or an ex-convict.

  Scott dismissed the illegal immigrant because Lavengro had a noticeable New York accent. So that left ex-convict. He was all for giving convicts a second chance in life, especially if they were remorseful for their crimes, but if Lavengro felt remorse, then Scott’s name was Darth Vader.

  Unlike the other employees he’d encountered, even Stuffed Shirt, Lavengro didn’t fit the profile of a caring member of hotel staff, as the polite, friendly, and helpful demeanor were all clearly forced. Why had McNulty employed him?