Protect Me

by Margaret Watson

"This is room 1216," Mia said. "We have flowers in here that weren't delivered by the hotel. Who has access to the passkeys that open all the rooms?"

  The pause was too long. "The maids have keys for the floors they're working," he finally said, his voice tight. "Hotel managers have keys. And the security supervisors on duty all have keys."

  "Is that it?"

  "Yes, ma'am. And everyone who has a key is logged in and given a key when they punch in, and hands in their key when they punch out."

  "Thank you," Mia said. Dread crept up her spine as she disconnected the call. She put her hands over Finn's on her abdomen and twined their fingers. Held him there for a long moment. Then let him go and turned in his arms.

  "Someone got into our room today. No one delivered them."

  "Okay." He ran soothing hands up and down her back. "Who would have had access?"

  Mia blew out a breath. "Only the maid," she said. "Unless it was one of the hotel managers or a security supervisor." She thought for a long moment. "Most likely the maid."

  She pressed her forehead against his chest, running through likely scenarios. "Your stalker has a bellboy uniform. She could come up with the flowers, wait for the maid to open your room, then stick her head in the door." She lifted her head, held Finn's gaze. "Ask if it was okay if she left the flowers. Put them on the table, then walk away."

  "We need to talk to the maid."

  "Not us. We're both staying in here with the doors locked." She was trying to stay calm, but she was seriously freaked out. Someone had walked into their room. Left nothing but flowers, but what about next time? "I'll call my brothers again. Have them talk to the hotel, find the maid, question her."

  She pressed a frantic, desperate kiss to his mouth. "I'm not leaving you alone."

  "Good," he said against her lips. "Because there's no way I want you wandering around the hotel by yourself."

  She didn't bother to point out that she had a gun. That she knew how to use it. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and called Brendan first.

  Three hours later, as they waited to hear from Brendan about his talk with the maid, she and Finn sat plastered together on the couch, watching some mindless sports talk show. Neither of them was paying attention to it. Mia struggled to ignore all the questions swirling through her brain and concentrate only on Finn. On building memories that would have to last forever.

  The scent of the ocean that seemed to cling to him. The way he slouched into the cushions, his long body lithe and muscular, even when relaxed. The way his fingers tapped endlessly on the arm of the couch.

  The way his other hand played with her fingers.

  She wanted to remember everything about him. Her memories were all she'd have to keep her warm after he left.

  A quick rap at the door had her leaping off the couch. Peering through the glass, she let her shoulders relax and unlocked it. "Bren." She grabbed his hand and drew him inside, carefully locking the door behind him. "What did you find out?"

  "I talked to the woman who cleaned your room this morning. She confirmed that a bellboy came in, asked her if it was okay to leave the flowers. She said yes, he put them on the table, and left."

  "Will she work with a sketch artist?" Mia asked.

  "She's downtown now, but I'm not sure how accurate a sketch would be. She said the guy didn't look her in the eye. His uniform was pretty baggy, too, so she couldn't really say how big he was. I'm guessing the baggy uniform and the fact that she expected a male influenced what she saw." He shrugged. "We'll see how she does. But she did tell me one thing."

  Brendan turned on his phone and scrolled to the picture of the flowers Mia had sent him. He tapped the image of the vase. "This vase is from the flower shop in the building. It's made specifically for them, and it's the one they use for flowers that go to rooms in the Drake."

  "So it had to come from the shop in the building."

  "Right."

  Mia exhaled and glanced at Finn, who'd stepped up beside her and slid his arm around her waist. She leaned into him and asked, "Can you call Doug and tell him we need a picture of this bellboy from the surveillance cameras, as soon as possible?"

  "Sure." He stepped away and began to dial his phone. She wanted to move with him – she missed the weight and warmth of his arm. Instead, she turned back to Brendan.

  "The sketch artist will send me the picture when he or she is done, right?"

  "Absolutely. She has your phone number and your email. She'll text it over and also email it." He hesitated. "I did one more thing, and I hope you're not pissed about it. I sent a picture of the flowers to Cilla."

  "Why would I be pissed about that?" Mia asked.

  "Because I know you want to keep this as quiet as possible."

  "Bren." She grabbed his arms. "Cilla is family. I trust her. Don't worry about it." She squeezed his arms and let him go. "Why did you send it to her?"

  "Her mom is into flowers," he said. "She's got this unbelievable garden. I thought she might be able to tell us something about the flowers." He held up his hand. "And before you kick my ass, Cilla won't tell her what it's about. Only that it was for a case."

  Finn was next to her, and he reached for Brendan and drew him into a hug. "I'm going to owe your whole family after this case is over."

  "Don't worry about the rest of us, man," Brendan said, slapping him on the back as he stepped away from Finn. "Take care of Mia, and we're good."

  Mia was sure Brendan didn't see the shadow that crossed Finn's face. His smile was strained, as well. "I've got Mia covered," Finn told her brother.

  He did. For another six days, anyway. "Thanks, Bren," Mia said, ignoring the clock ticking in her head. "You're the best. We'll keep you posted."

  "I'll have Cilla send you anything she gets from her mom."

  "Thanks. Love to Cilla, too." Mia hugged her brother, then watched him walk away.

  She followed him to the door and locked it behind him. Then she turned to Finn. "We've done all we can do for now. Let's go to bed."

  His eyes darkened and he reached for her hand. "Best idea I've heard all day."

  Two hours later, after making love twice with an intensity and tenderness that almost destroyed her, Mia lay awake as Finn slept beside her. Tears seeping into the pillow, she told herself she was a complete idiot.

  But even knowing how this would end, she wouldn't change a thing with Finn. He'd go back to his career and life on the west coast.

  She'd finish studying for the detective's exam. She'd take the test. Pass it, she hoped. Become a detective.

  And miss Finn for the rest of her life.

  Chapter 25

  Finn paced the room the next morning, his phone gripped in his hand so he wouldn't miss the vibration of a text from Mia. Twenty different scenarios ran through his head, none of them good.

  She'd left him in the room with strict orders to put on the safety lock, latch the door and not open it to anyone but her. She was going to the flower shop, to talk to the manager and show her the security camera photo and the sketch from the police artist.

  He stopped at the window, pressed his palm against the pane of glass. It was a beautiful day – not a cloud in the vividly blue sky, waves cresting gently on the beach, a handful of people playing volleyball on the sand.

  They were shooting that night, so the call time was four p.m. He wanted to be on that beach with Mia. Watching the wind whip her hair across her face. Looking at her in the tiny red bikini he'd spotted a few days ago when she'd opened her underwear drawer. Smoothing his hand over the impossibly smooth skin of her belly.

  Lying on a blanket on that beach, seeing nothing but Mia and her laughing blue eyes.

  Instead, she was chasing a stalker who wanted to kill him.

  Who wanted to kill Mia, too.

  And he was stuck in this room, with only fear to keep him company.

  When he heard a soft tap on the door, he hurried over to the peep hole. Mia stood on the other side.

  Wrenchi
ng the door open, he pulled her into the room and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her head into his chest, and her sweet orange scent enveloped him. Settled him.

  "Hey," she murmured into his neck. "You okay?"

  "I was worried about you," he murmured into her hair.

  Mia drew away. "I was only in the flower shop."

  "What if she was there? What if she came after you with a…a box cutter." Saying it out loud made him feel silly. Ridiculous. Mia was a cop. A good one. She could take care of herself.

  "I wish she had," Mia sighed, smoothing his shirt. "We would have had her then." She cupped his face in her hands. "This would be over. I could focus only on you for the next few days."

  A few days. All he had left with her. "Did you find anything?"

  She blew out a breath and her shoulders slumped. "Yeah. I did. The manager of the flower shop recognized the sketch and the picture from the security camera. She works in the flower shop. The name she gave them is Barb Riddle, but the social security number is fake and so's the name. Some uniforms are checking her address, but that's probably fake, too."

  "Did Doug send more copies of the picture?"

  "Yeah, he did. We'll get them to the undercover cops he added to your detail and to the security people at the location shoot. It's just a matter of time, Finn. We'll find her."

  "Are you sure this is the woman?" he asked, tightening his arms around her.

  "Positive. She added the flowers from both the bouquets to the wholesale order list. Paid the manager for them." She clenched her teeth. "The manager was impressed by her honesty. Went out of her way to tell me Barb was a great employee."

  "And the foxglove?" he asked.

  "She ordered that and paid for it, too." Mia blew out a breath. "So glad we have an honest would-be murderer."

  She drew away from him. "Cilla sent me an email today, too."

  She gripped his hands and led him to the couch. "Did you know that flowers have meanings? From the Victorian period. People would pick specific blossoms to send specific messages.

  "The original flowers?" she said shifting to face him. "That gorgeous bouquet that was here at first? All the flowers were about true love, devotion, faithfulness, passion and desire, joy and happiness. The flowers she left here yesterday?" Mia held his hands more tightly, as if afraid he might slip away from her.

  "The yellow carnations mean disappointment. The orange lilies? Hatred. The heliotrope? Gone to the grave. The yellow roses? Extreme betrayal. You get the idea."

  She swallowed. "And the black roses? I've never seen those before. They mean death."

  "No one's dead, Mia. No one's going to be, either. Because of you." He didn't think he'd ever seen Mia so unnerved. Trying to comfort her, he drew her into his arms. "You've done a great job, babe, and you'll find her. Catch her, too. Happily ever after."

  Not for him. Or for her, either, he suspected. But Mia would be safe. He would be, too. Able to go back to his home in California, to finish this movie. Make others.

  Sean had told him the dailies were amazing. Finn's performance was blowing everyone away. When the studio saw them, Sean assured him, there would be talk of awards. They'd get behind him, promote him for an Oscar nomination.

  When he'd gotten this part, he'd thought of nothing but resurrecting his career. Of playing against type. The complicated, nuanced part of the villain Johnny Santorini had been exactly what he was looking for. He could show off his acting chops. Wallow in all the hatred directed against him and pour it into this role.

  Now? He only wanted to get through the rest of the filming. Retreat to his place on the beach and lick his wounds.

  Try to figure out how to move on without Mia.

  "Those roses creeped me out," she muttered into his neck.

  "I know," he said, stroking her back. "Me, too. Why would anyone want to grow something as stupid as a black rose, anyway?"

  She eased away from him, struggling to smile. To keep it light. "Someone with a sick sense of humor?"

  "I promise I'll never, ever send you black roses."

  Her smile wobbled as she stood up abruptly. "I'll hold you to that," she said, her voice thick. "I'm going to take a shower before we have to leave."

  She disappeared into their room, and moments later he heard the water running in the shower. Planning on joining her, he headed for the bathroom, shedding clothes as he went.

  He grabbed the door jamb to stop his forward momentum at the sound he heard above the pounding of the water. Mia was sobbing.

  The despairing sounds made his heart ache. He wanted to go in there. Comfort her. Kiss her tears away.

  He couldn't.

  Instead, he backed away from the door. He'd give her some privacy to regain her composure. His tough, usually-composed Mia wouldn't want Finn to see her crying.

  Cowardly bastard, he told himself as he reached the living room. He ached to go into the shower and wrap his arms around her. Because he knew why she was crying.

  She was crying because he was leaving. And since he couldn't stay, there was no comfort he could give her. If he tried, he'd just be a hypocritical asshole.

  * * *

  Mia sat in a chair close to the wall on Lower Wacker Drive that evening, watching Finn talk to the director about the next take on this scene. It was a chase that sent his car flying across the barriers of Lower Wacker and into the Chicago River. Because Dark Vengeance was an indie film with a smaller budget, nothing would actually go into the water. They'd green-screen everything later, Finn had told her. Back in Hollywood.

  Even without the car careening into the river, though, the chase scene made her uneasy. The screeching of tires as the cars rounded the curves, the eerie green lights that illuminated Lower Wacker and bounced off the windshields of the cars, the dank, fishy smell of the river that rose into the night air, all combined to creep her out.

  Which was the intended effect of the setting. It was perfect for the film. She hated these location shoots, though, and this one was the worst by far. At the studio, access to the building was controlled by security. No one got in without authorization.

  Outside, there were always fans hanging around behind the barriers, waving at the actors, looking for autographs or a handshake. It made her nervous, but it could be managed.

  Lower Wacker was far worse. Too many places to hide. Too much darkness. Too many doorways that led into darker tunnels. Too many shadows that could hide anything. Or anyone.

  Her neck had been itching all evening. Her skin prickled every time a breeze stirred. Her head felt as if it was on a swivel as she scanned the crowds constantly, looking for Barb Riddle.

  They'd found her image on a few of the security tapes from the hotel. She looked completely ordinary – average height, average weight, average face. A person who would blend into the background or a crowd. Not the kind of face someone would remember. The technicians thought she was blond, but it was hard to be sure because in the photos they'd found, she'd worn either the bellboy's hat with her hair shoved inside, or a knit cap. The security people all had her picture. They were looking for her.

  Mia was still jumpy and on edge.

  Finn climbed into the car and they filmed the scene again. Noise, exhaust fumes and blue smoke swirled in the eerie light. He stepped out of the car at the end of the scene, Sean gave him a thumbs-up, and Finn hurried over to her.

  "Hey," he murmured, drawing her close. His shirt was damp with perspiration and the musky smell of sweat surrounded him. Mia didn't care. She held him tightly against her, the moisture from his sweaty shirt leaching into her jacket.

  When he finally pulled away, he was smiling with satisfaction. "We nailed it," he crowed. "Finally."

  "You ready for a break?" She ran her fingers through his sweat-damp hair. "I bet you could use some water."

  "Yeah," he said, slinging his arm over her shoulder. "Let's go to the catering tent and grab a couple bottles."

  Winding their way through the cables and eq
uipment that lined the inner wall of Lower Wacker, they finally rounded a curve and found the catering area set up against the wall. Several tables and sets of chairs were scattered beneath a large canopy, and a table was against the back wall. It held bottles of water and sports drinks, sodas and iced teas, as well as sandwiches and bowls of fruit. A tray of desserts sat at the end of the table. Several employees of the catering company, dressed in white uniforms, refilled the trays of sandwiches and bowls of fruit and replenished the supply of cold drinks.

  As they wound their way through the half-filled tables, Mia spotted a woman carrying a tray of empty bottles and cans toward a bin behind the food-laden table. Mia slowed, watching the woman, as something caught her attention.

  "Finn," she murmured without taking her eyes off the woman. "Back away. Go find one of the off-duty cops working security."

  "Why?" Instead of leaving, like she wanted him to do, he edged closer to her.

  "I think Barb is here. Working for the catering company." She nodded her head in the woman's direction. "I need you to leave and find security. Right now."

  "Mia, I'm not…"

  "Go. Now." She put her hand on his chest and pushed him away. "This is my job. I don't tell you how to film your chase scenes, you don't tell me how to do this. Now get out of here and find a cop!"

  She waited until he moved back, then edged through the chairs and tables to get closer. Barb was pulling water bottles from an ice-filled bucket when she spotted Mia. Her eyes narrowed, and her fist compressed one of the bottles. The plastic popped, and water splashed over her uniform and the table in front of her.

  Mia walked faster, shoving chairs out of her way as she got closer to the woman. "Stop, please, Barb," she called. "I need to talk to you."

  Barb backed away slowly, but she was heading toward a corner. Her head swung from side to side as she looked for an escape route. For the first time tonight, Mia was happy about all the nooks and corners in Lower Wacker. She was backing Barb into a spot where she'd be trapped.

  Moving more and more frantically, Barb kept her eyes on Mia as her hands swept the table. Mia pushed her jacket to the side and put her hand on her gun. "Stop, Barb," she called. "I just have some questions."