“Hey.”
She lost her balance and toppled over. Scrambling to her feet, she scowled. “You should knock before entering someone else’s room. I might not have been dressed.”
“I checked first.” He flashed an unrepentant grin.
“So you just stuck your head in here unannounced. And that makes it better, how?”
He ambled into the room. “I wanted to see if you were up yet. I checked on you before I got into the shower. You were dead to the world.”
He’d been in her room. He’d watched her sleep. She should be outraged. The knowledge should give her the same sense of violation as the presence of the bug, but instead her instant reaction was embarrassment. She could only imagine what she must have looked like. When she’d faced her image in the bathroom mirror, her hair had been matted in wild tangles from the restless night.
“You looked beautiful.” His voice was soft and warm.
So now he’s a mind-reader? “Has anyone ever told you you’re full of crap?”
“What? Wasn’t that the right answer? In my experience, women like reassurance about that sort of thing.”
“And I bet you have plenty of experience.”
“Enough. My sister was always super sensitive about her appearance in the morning. When we were little, she wouldn’t even let my dad take pictures on Christmas morning until she’d combed her hair.”
She raised her brows. “And that’s how you know so much about women?”
He simply smiled.
She crossed her arms and drilled him with an unwavering look. “Well, as you can see, I’m awake. You can leave now.”
“Okay, but what are we going to do until lunchtime?”
Raising her eyes heavenward in a silent plea for strength, she took three steps, and placed her hands on his warm, smooth back before pushing him through the door to his own room. “I was hired to protect you, not entertain you. Find something to do. Work. How did you ever write a book if you can’t sit still long enough to string ten words together?”
“I can work when I need to,” he protested. “But it’s too distracting to have you in the next room.”
“Aaaargh!” She pulled her door shut and flipped the lock.
He jiggled the knob. “What if I need you? What if something happens?”
“Nothing is going to happen,” she called through the locked door. “Now behave yourself and stay there until I come for you at twelve-thirty.”
She took her time with her shower and makeup. After drying her hair smooth and straight, she twisted it into its customary knot and dressed in her work uniform of black pants and jacket and a crisp white blouse. She glanced at her watch then made a call to the office to check in with Risa and get an update on the activities of the rest of the staff.
By the time she finished the call, it was time to collect Carter for lunch. She left the connecting door locked, picked up her purse, and stepped into the hall. He opened the door after two knocks, looking casually elegant in gray slacks, a navy and white striped shirt, and navy blazer. No tie. Perfect, as usual. Life was so unfair.
“You’re ready on time,” she observed.
He joined her in the hall and closed the door. “I’m never late. I hate it when people are late.”
It was funny he could be so casual about some things, yet so precise about others. She filed the observation away to be pondered later. “Me, too. Let’s go.”
Herman was waiting for them in the dining room, scribbling busily in his little notebook—another party who hated to be late, or maybe he was just anxious about the first public event of the tour. He wore a dark suit and carried a leather briefcase but couldn’t quite pull off the commanding look of the Washington power brokers who chose the hotel dining room for lunch. Perhaps it was the oversized mustache.
After they’d placed their orders, she turned to Herman. “What can you tell me about this bookstore?”
“It’s a small store in Georgetown called Undercovers that specializes in political thrillers and spy novels—very popular with the local politicos. There isn’t much room inside, and I’m hoping we’ll have such a big turnout that people will line up out the door and down the sidewalk. I’ve called the local television stations and asked for camera crews.”
Carter pressed his lips together. “That’s ridiculous. My book isn’t news, especially not in a city where events of national importance happen every day.”
Herman waved off his objections. “You’d be amazed at what’s considered newsworthy. What’s the matter, don’t you want to be rich and famous?”
“Rich, maybe. Famous, I’m not so sure.”
Herman sniffed. “Well, it’s my job to put this book at the top of the bestseller list, whether you like it or not.”
Carter grumbled, but the waiter arrived with their food, so he let the matter drop and dove into his broiled trout. Madelyn had more appetite for her chicken Caesar salad than she’d expected, but Herman mostly pushed his meatloaf around with his fork. He kept checking his watch and called for the check before the waiter had a chance to bring the dessert menu.
He tapped his unused silver spoon on the white damask tablecloth. “We need to get over there. I don’t know how long it will take at this time of day.”
“You said we should be at the store by two o’clock, is that right?” she asked. Herman nodded. “Then we have plenty of time. I’m no cabbie, but I know Washington pretty well.” She pushed her chair back and picked up her purse. “I’ll get the car and bring it to the front door. You two wait for me in the lobby.”
Carter started to rise, but she caught his eye. “Wait inside. Please.”
He hesitated then nodded and sat back down.
She found the uniformed valet in the lobby and asked for directions to the car.
“I’ll bring it to you, ma’am.” He reached for the claim ticket.
After the incident in Chicago, she wanted to maintain as much control over the car as possible. She handed the man ten dollars. “No, thank you. I need to get it myself.”
The valet shrugged, pocketed the bill, and directed her to the lowest level of the parking garage. After locating the car, she pulled a small flashlight and her telescoping mirror from her bag and examined the car, inside and out. It was clean—one less worry. She drove up, out, and around to the front of the hotel, half expecting to see Carter waiting at the curb. But he and Herman were inside, watching for her through the glass, as instructed. She didn’t know why he was being so cooperative, but she wasn’t going to complain. It probably wouldn’t last.
The men climbed into the car with Herman in the rear and Carter in front. Madelyn considered ordering him to the back again but decided it wasn’t worth the aggravation for the short trip to Georgetown.
Unfortunately the drive didn’t turn out to be as short as she anticipated. Even though it was only one-thirty in the afternoon, the traffic was choking, creeping painfully from stoplight to stoplight. In spite of her assurances to Herman, she blew a sigh of relief when they turned onto the narrow brick street at two minutes before two.
The bookstore occupied a narrow, nineteenth century row house. Its original brick had been painted a warm cream with taupe accents, and elaborate corbelled cornices topped the slender front door and tall bay window. Five steep steps with black iron railings led up to the entrance. It was a charming shop in a street of charming shops and restaurants in her favorite neighborhood in the city.
Inside, the proprietor, a harried middle-aged man in a sweater vest and bow tie, showed them to a table set up at the back of the store. His wife had made a tray of cookies and was plugging in a large coffee urn. Several short stacks of books sat in front of the only chair, and there was a box with additional copies on the floor.
Madelyn picked up one of the books. The Man Behind the Curtain screamed from the black cover in blood-red print. Even though she rarely read thrillers, she had to admit it was eye-catching. Then she noticed the byline—Carter Devlin.
Before Carter could speak, Herman answered. “Yes. We wanted readers to differentiate this new book from the Westerns, but I’ve made it clear in all the advertising that it was written by the same author as the Lucky Carter books. We wouldn’t want to waste any name recognition.”
He gestured to the area behind the long, narrow table. “I thought if you and I stood behind Carter, one on each side, and looked as intimidating as possible, it would help set the right tone for the theme of the book.”
“Now wait just a minute. I already—”
Madelyn interrupted Carter’s protest. “Herman, I’ve told you before I don’t work like that. To the casual observer, I should appear to be Carter’s assistant, not his bodyguard.”
“But this is a spy book store. The customers would really respond to it. Besides, at least one TV crew is coming, and I want to get some stills for the papers. It’ll look great.”
Carter glared at him. “It would look ridiculous.”
This was one point she refused to cede, especially since they’d discovered the bugs in their rooms. “I’m sorry, but I can’t compromise on this issue. We don’t know what might happen as the tour progresses. My cover might be even more important later.”
Herman glowered like a thwarted three-year-old. “Well, I can’t make you, but I’m still going to do it.” He delved into his pocket, pulled out the earpiece to his phone, and settled it over his ear like a big black locust. Then he reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, withdrew a pair of very dark wraparound sunglasses with silver plastic frames, and shoved them onto his nose. He crossed his arms, spread his feet, and scowled.
Madelyn pressed her hand to her lips to hide a smile, but Carter laughed out loud. “Suit yourself, but don’t be disappointed if nobody’s frightened.”
Herman maintained his pose through the whole signing, which turned out to be more interesting than she had anticipated. Whatever else she might think of him, the man knew his job. His advance publicity produced a steady stream of people that snaked through the store, out the front door, and down the sidewalk.
She stood next to Carter, handing him books from the carton and bringing fresh coffee while he conversed with his fans. From all appearances, he was enjoying himself. Since he’d been out of the country when the Lucky Carter books were released, he’d never had the opportunity to interact with readers.
The newspaper photographer showed up around four o’clock and made a point of including Herman in the pictures standing behind Carter, but Madelyn disappeared into the stacks where she could keep an eye on the proceedings without being photographed. By five, the carton of books was empty, and only a couple of stragglers remained, talking to Carter. Once they drifted off, clutching their signed copies, he stood and flexed his right hand.
“I think I’m crippled. Are signings always like this?”
Herman removed his bodyguard accessories and tucked them away. “I wish they were. Sometimes you only get five or six people.” His eyes glittered with excitement, and his mustache bounced with every word. “This was even better than I hoped. I’m only disappointed the TV crews didn’t show up.”
“Maybe something actually important happened,” Carter drawled.
Herman clapped him on the back. “Quit thinking so small. Your book is big news, and it’s going to get bigger if I have anything to do with it.”
They said their goodbyes to the bookstore owner, who was also thrilled with the results of the event, and filed down the front steps. Golden late-afternoon sunlight bathed the sidewalk and cast dappled shadows through the leaves of the small ginko trees planted along the street. Up ahead, a man and woman were extracting equipment from the back of a white van parked at the curb with antennas on top and Five News written on the side in red.
“Oh good, it’s the reporter I told you about.” Herman scurried toward them, leaving Carter and Madelyn trailing behind.
“You want to make a break for it?” Carter asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Not my problem. They’re not interested in me. You’re the star.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Come on.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward Herman and the TV crew. “This is part of the deal.”
As they strolled down the sidewalk, the sound of a car coming fast revved behind them, unusual in the city, where traffic volume and narrow streets usually kept speeds to a crawl. She turned her head as a nondescript tan sedan wove between the slower-moving cars. Before she had time to react, it jumped the curb and raced straight toward them.
Chapter Six
A split second before the speeding car roared past, a pair of small, strong hands shoved Carter aside, knocking him off balance. When he hit the pavement, the air rushed from his lungs in a sudden whoosh.
What the…?
Turning his head, he saw Madelyn beside him, rising to her hands and knees. He rolled and looked past her in time to spot the tan car clip the back of the news van and plow into Herman. The publicist’s body flew into the air like a rag doll and flopped down on the concrete sidewalk. The car backed up and tore off down the street. He wasn’t surprised to see it had no license plate.
He jumped up and reached to give Madelyn a hand, but she was on her feet ahead of him. They raced to Herman, who lay on his side, moaning and cradling his left wrist. Thank God there was no visible bleeding, but the wrist didn’t look good and he could easily have internal injuries.
Carter squatted next to Madelyn, who already had her phone out. “Are you going to call this in?”
She nodded and punched in 911. While she described the situation to the operator in brisk, factual terms, he sensed movement and glanced up. The female reporter from Channel Five had wasted no time. Even before the police and ambulance arrived, she had brushed herself off, smoothed her perfect blond bob, and hurried her cameraman into position.
“This is Cindy Jensen, Channel Five News.” She held a microphone and stared earnestly into the camera. “In what might have been a scene torn from the pages of his new thriller, author Carter Devlin narrowly missed being hit by a speeding car...”
He tuned out the drone of the woman’s voice and concentrated on Herman. Madelyn had folded back his cuff to examine his wrist.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Oooh,” Herman moaned. “Everywhere. It hurts everywhere.”
“Try not to move.” Carter touched his shoulder. “The ambulance should be here any minute.”
“Carter.”
He followed Madelyn’s glance to Herman’s left wrist, which was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken. He nodded. “Stay with him.”
“Of course.” Her fingers were gentle as she rested Herman’s wrist on his chest, but he cried out again.
Carter straightened and strode to the curb. He had to move. He couldn’t seem to get enough air, and his pulse pounded in his ears. What the hell was going on? First a fake bomb, then the amateurish bugs at the hotel, and now this. Coincidence? An accident? Not freaking likely. He paced, alert to every sound and movement. Where were the police? Stepping out between two parked cars, he scanned the street for emergency vehicles.
“Mr. Devlin.” The reporter’s voice intruded.
He turned, and she thrust a microphone in his face.
“Can you describe what happened here?”
“I think that’s pretty obvious.”
“Please, Mr. Devlin. Our viewers are interested in the details. Do you think you were the target? Could there be any connection to your book?”
He might have suspicions, but he wasn’t about to share them with the media. “Of course not. It was an accident, nothing more.”
Before the reporter could respond, two D.C. squad cars pulled up, followed by an ambulance.
“You’ll have to excuse me.” Carter strode away without sparing her another glance.
The paramedics tended to Herman while t
he police interviewed Carter and Madelyn. They had completed their statements and given the police their contact information by the time the paramedics strapped Herman to a backboard and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. They must have added morphine to the IV drip, because his moans had tapered to occasional whimpers.
Each sound twisted the knife of guilt. Herman might not be a friend, but there was something endearing about his enthusiasm for his work, and Carter felt responsible for his injuries. Herman worked hard, and if he hadn’t been in this place at this time working on Carter’s behalf, he wouldn’t have been hurt.
Madelyn’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll follow in the car.” They hurried to the rental car parked at the curb a half block from the bookstore. After a quick check with her mirror, they pulled out behind the ambulance.
“Do you think there’s any chance it was an accident?” Her question echoed his thoughts.
“I don’t see how. I’m sure the driver gunned the engine just before the car jumped the curb. If he’d had a heart attack or seizure or something, he wouldn’t have been able to drive away so quickly after hitting Herman.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought too. I don’t know if he was aiming at us or at Herman, but it felt deliberate.” She paused for a moment. “I’d really like to see a few of those letters your publisher received. I’ll call when we get back to the hotel and ask them to fax copies over.”
“Good idea.”
They followed the ambulance to the hospital entrance, parked in the lot, and went in to find Herman in the Emergency Room. After the doctors had finished setting his wrist and checking for other injuries, Carter and Madelyn were allowed into the corridor of curtained cubicles to see him. Herman lay propped up in bed, wearing a faded blue and white hospital gown and a dazed expression, his usual effervescence subdued.
Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Page 7