by Renee Ryan
This one, no matter how exquisite, was no exception.
She set out, heading straight for the bank of elevators near the restaurant. Exactly as he’d predicted.
Uncommonly disappointed in a woman he’d never met, Marc cut across the lobby in a wide arc, keeping to the left of her so she wouldn’t notice his approach. Two feet away, he reached out and caught her by the arm.
Ignoring her shocked gasp, he spun her around to face him.
For an endless moment his mind emptied of all thought. His heartbeat roared in his ears, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the stunned woman blinking wide-eyed back at him.
Up close, her refined, delicate beauty took his breath away. In contrast with the bold cut of her dress, everything about her was soft and inviting. Her face, her figure, even her light amber eyes spoke of a kind soul and a generous heart.
Completely unexpected. Enough to render him speechless.
She stared back at him, unmoving, waiting, holding silent, as if trying to gauge his mood before making her move.
Wounded, that was the word that came to mind as he gazed into those exotic, heartbreaking eyes. Vulnerable. Desperate.
All a lie. Her kind always lied.
Marc gave his head a hard shake. “Miss,” he said past the drumming in his ears. “I would like a word with you in private.”
He felt her betraying tremble, an instant before she physically repressed the sensation and then smoothed a look of calm across her face. The alarming speed in which she regained her composure proved Marc’s earlier assessment. Only a woman with something to hide would respond with such calculated control.
“If you would be so kind as to come with me,” he added with an edge of warning in his words, “I’m sure we can avoid an unnecessary scene.”
As if coming out of a daze, she tugged on her arm, hard. “Sir, I suggest you release me before I make a scene.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Marc tightened his hold, not enough to hurt her but enough to make his point.
“Who do you think you are?” An impeccable mix of indignation and shock sounded in her voice.
Oh, she was good. She looked and sounded generally taken aback by his behavior.
But Marc had seen that very same expression on another woman’s face. The reminder was enough to harden his heart.
“My name is Marc Dupree,” he said with hard-won authority. “The owner of this hotel.”
“Well, then, Mr. Dupree.” She swept a lock of hair behind her ear with a trembling finger, the only sign of her agitation. One he would have missed had he not been watching her so closely. “I must compliment you on your fine establishment.”
She punctuated her words with a brilliant smile. The same one she’d given Joshua Greene earlier.
Marc had seen enough. He motioned to his security man, Hank, watching from across the room.
Well-versed in the need for propriety, the big man sauntered over in a casual manner.
“Hank, please escort Miss—” Marc leveled a look on the woman. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of learning your name.”
A sound of despair slipped from her lips as she fixed her eyes on the rotating doors at the other end of the lobby.
“Now, now, that wouldn’t be wise, Miss...”
She snapped her gaze back to his. “Oh, honestly, this is absurd.” Indignation masked any signs of her earlier anxiety. “My name is Laney. Laney O’Connor.”
“I trust that’s your real name.”
“Of course it’s my real name. Why would you ask such a question?”
Marc lifted a single eyebrow. “I find women like you often use a variety of names.”
“Women like me?” She frowned, as if trying to discern the meaning of his words. The moment understanding dawned, her eyes widened. “Oh...oh.” She yanked once again on her arm. “You insult me.”
He almost believed he’d offended her. Almost.
“Hank, please escort Miss O’Connor to my office.” Marc lowered his lips to her ear. “This will go much easier for you if you cooperate without a fight.”
“I...I don’t understand. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
They both knew that was a lie.
“Then you won’t mind if I take a look inside your satchel.” Giving her no opportunity to respond, he let go of her arm and commandeered the tiny bag dangling from her wrist.
Shock and fury flared in her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ensuring that nothing unsavory occurs in my hotel.”
Gaze locked on the tiny satchel, she lunged for him.
Marc shifted to his left.
She went stumbling past. One step, two, by the third she caught her balance and swung back around to face him. “Mr. Dupree, please. You...you’ve made a terrible mistake.”
Panic sounded in every word.
Marc remained unmoved. How many times had Pearl given that very same appeal, with that precise look of distress in her eyes?
“A mistake?” He shook his head. “Not likely.”
“Please,” she whispered, her shoulders slumping forward. “You have to believe me when I say I’ve done nothing improper in your hotel.”
Yet.
The unspoken word echoed in the air between them. Marc nearly called her bluff. Except...
Her desperation appeared real.
Something in him, some hidden part he thought long dead, reconsidered confiscating the ill-gotten money and returning it to its rightful owner. Perhaps, as Miss O’Connor had claimed, Marc had misjudged the situation.
He nearly relented and gave her back her reticule without further delay. But then he remembered what he’d witnessed moments earlier. One of Denver’s most prominent citizens—a federal judge, no less—had given this woman a large sum of money. In a very secretive, clandestine manner.
Something unsavory was afoot in his hotel. And Marc needed to collect all the facts before he could act.
Of course, questioning Miss O’Connor would require privacy.
Decision made, he hitched his chin toward Hank. Needing no further instruction, the other man took her arm.
She didn’t fight this time, nor did she try to appeal to Marc’s compassion. She did, however, release a defeated sigh, as though she understood she had no other choice but to cooperate.
“Mr. Dupree.” She wrapped her dignity around her like a protective shield. “Once I have explained my actions here tonight I trust you will return my reticule.”
Marc leaned forward until their noses nearly touched. “That, Miss O’Connor, will depend completely on what you reveal.”
Chapter Two
Laney tried to formulate a new strategy as the large, beefy man named Hank escorted her through the hotel lobby. Unfortunately, Marc Dupree followed closely behind them. So closely, in fact, that she could smell his spicy, masculine scent.
The heady aroma left her slightly light-headed, and her mind filled with the same hopelessness that had been gnawing at her all evening.
No. She couldn’t give up. Not now. Not ever.
Maintaining her outward calm, she kept her steps slow and steady, her expression mild. Despite what the hotel owner might think, the five hundred dollars in Laney’s reticule belonged to her.
Of course, per her deal with Judge Greene, Laney couldn’t disclose the reason he’d given her such a large sum of money. She would have to come up with another explanation, one that would protect the promise she’d made and still satisfy Dupree’s suspicious mind.
As if reading her thoughts, the annoying man moved in closer still, narrowing the distance to mere inches. “Thinking up a good lie, are you?”
Arrogant brute.
He thought he had the situation all figured out.
When he was so very wrong.
“I’m warning you now,” he continued in his low, husky baritone. “I’m not a man easily fooled.”
Her breath caught on a gasp. Oh, she had no doubt
he was a sly one. The sense of danger pulsating out of him nearly overwhelmed her. But she coaxed her fear into compliance and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Hank’s hold on her arm remained remarkably light. Laney considered making a break for the rotating doors behind her. But she sensed if she tried to escape, the hired ruffian would tighten his grip to painful proportions.
Mind working quickly, she considered other options. Even if she managed to get away from Hank, there was the matter of Marc Dupree. Laney could feel his suppressed anger as he walked directly behind her.
Again, he leaned in close. Too close. “I wouldn’t try to run if I were you.” The warning sizzled in the tiny space between them. “You’re no match for Hank. Or me.”
Laney seethed at the man’s self-assurance. Nevertheless, she knew better than to fight at this point. Not without an escape plan.
Praying for a calm she didn’t possess, she allowed Hank to usher her inside a small room in the back corner of the hotel.
Dupree entered a few steps behind them and shut the door with a resounding click.
The moment Hank released her arm Laney pivoted around and took a step forward. Dupree shifted directly in her path, an ironic twist of his lips.
Out of ideas but not out dignity, she opened her mouth to express her outrage over his behavior. Unfortunately, words eluded her.
Eyebrows raised, Dupree stared at her, waiting, taking her measure, silently challenging her to defend herself.
The noisy din from the hotel lobby pervaded the cold mood in the room.
Laney ignored the racing of her pulse, putting it down to sheer desperation, and returned Dupree’s glare with equal intensity.
The handsome, chiseled features and square jaw created a deceptively appealing picture, as did the thick black hair against his smooth, olive skin. In contrast to his severe good looks, the crisp white shirt he wore, red silk vest, and matching neck cloth added a refined dignity not often seen in the West.
For a brief moment, as she continued holding his stare, Laney detected a familiar restlessness in his blue-blue eyes, the kind garnered from a painful past much like her own. A kindred spirit?
Hardly.
This might be her first face-to-face meeting with Marc Dupree, but she’d heard all the rumors. His reputation as a ruthless businessman was legendary around town. Known for demanding unreasonably high standards from his employees—as well as everyone else around him—she doubted he had an ounce of mercy in his heart.
Such a man would never understand what had brought Laney here tonight. She would be wise to consider him no different from the heartless banker who’d called in her loan six months early.
Apparently finished with his silent scrutiny, Dupree turned to Hank and handed over Laney’s reticule. “You know what to do with this.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Pretending to misunderstand, Laney reached out as Hank swept past her. “Oh, how kind of you to walk that over to me.”
Hank paused midstep.
“Ignore her,” Dupree ordered.
Cocking his head, the big man eyed her cautiously. She thought she detected a note of sympathy in his eyes but then he shook his head and continued on his errand.
As if bored with the whole affair, Dupree leaned against the shut door and crossed his arms over his chest. His casual stance was an illusion, of course. Laney easily detected the concentrated focus behind that bland manner of his.
Recognizing the sensation in her stomach as fear, she forced herself to speak as though nothing was amiss. “Come now, Mr. Dupree. Considering the late hour, perhaps you would be so kind as to return my reticule now. I’m sure we can have our little discussion some other time.”
His expression never changed, but his gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “Not a chance, honey.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Laney caught Hank reaching out to a small, metal safe situated on the floor next to a sturdy-looking desk.
Renewed panic reared, abrupt and violent, stealing her ability to think logically.
Knowing Dupree watched her as closely as she eyed Hank, Laney inched slowly into a new position, lowered her lashes and focused covertly on Hank’s fingers working the dial.
The melodic tick, tick, tick, of the spinning lock filled the room, diminishing her chances of an easy escape with each turn. Another few clicks and Hank pulled opened the safe. He shoved her reticule deep inside then closed the door with a hard snap. Another twist of his wrist and the lock went spinning again.
As the tumblers cleared, her composure snapped.
She whipped around to glare at Dupree. “You can’t do this.” Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. “It’s...it’s stealing.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Dupree waved his hand at her in a careless gesture. “I have no plans to keep your reticule indefinitely, nor its valuable contents.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No? What if I told you I plan to return the large sum of money to its rightful owner at once?”
Her throat tightened at the very idea. “You... Mr. Dupree, you can’t do that.”
“Can’t I?”
“But you...” Her mind raced for a solution to this new, awful threat of his. “You promised to give me a chance to explain.”
“Indeed, I did.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do proceed with your explanation, Miss O’Connor.”
Her gaze automatically tracked toward Hank. Standing partly in the shadows the big man appeared deeply enthralled with his thumbnail.
Laney sighed. “Very well. The gentleman gave me that money for—”
She cut off her own the words, remembering Judge Greene’s adamant request. Never reveal who gave you this money, Miss O’Connor. Or why.
She’d given her word. Yet, due to no fault of her own, she’d already violated a portion of her promise. She could not reveal the rest.
“Joshua Greene gave you the money for...” Dupree prompted.
Laney pressed her lips tightly shut. How to respond?
Think, Laney. Think.
In the ensuing silence, Dupree motioned to Hank. The other man dropped his hand and strode out of the room without a single glance in her direction.
With only the two of them left, a thick blanket of tension fell over the room. Laney prayed for divine intervention.
Please, Lord, show me a way out of this quandary.
No quick solution came to mind. She spun in a slow circle, taking in the room from the perspective of a captive—searching for a route of escape. There was no back door, only a small window high above the floor just to the left of the large desk.
Tossing a smile in Dupree’s direction, Laney sidled in the direction of the window as nonchalantly as possible.
The size was right, but she’d never make it through the tiny opening in her borrowed dress. Perhaps there was still hope. Having eyed an armoire before setting out, she moved back to the other side of the room, and then threw open the cabinet doors.
“What’s this? Several sets of trousers and shirts?” She slanted Dupree a look over her shoulder. “Don’t you keep a room for yourself here in the hotel?”
He didn’t answer her question directly. “As I’m sure you’ve already concluded, Miss O’Connor, there are no additional exits in this room.”
“I don’t have any idea what you mean.”
A patronizing grin slid onto his lips. “Naturally.”
How she hated his condescension. The sneering attitude reminded Laney of Thurston P. Prescott III, the banker who’d refused to give her more time on the remaining portion of her loan. All because of a cold, judgmental heart.
Suppressing a scowl, she closed the cabinet doors and twirled in another slow circle. “Oh, my. You have a fireplace. I say, Dupree, your office is exceedingly well furnished.”
“I like nice things.”
“Of course you do.”
She doubted a wealthy man like him knew what it meant to
be penniless and scared, never knowing when the next meal would come. But Laney did. As did the children whose mothers had sent them to her orphanage for safekeeping.
Laney had pledged to those women that she would provide every child living in Charity House a Christian upbringing, the comfort of a warm bed and the promise of three meals a day. She would not fail them simply because a suspicious hotel owner had misread her transaction with a prominent judge in town.
Drawing confidence from the thought of her honorable mission, Laney made her way to the fireplace mantel. She immediately took note of the tin photographs arranged haphazardly across the handcrafted stone.
How odd, she thought. The man leaning against the door, watching her through narrowed eyes, couldn’t possibly have loved ones. And yet, photographs meant family and friends. Drawn to one image in particular, Laney ran her finger along the pretty gold frame.
Concentrating on the photograph beneath her hand, she looked from the stunning woman smiling up at her, to Dupree, then back again. The resemblance was uncanny. Was this his sister? No. He seemed too hard to have a sister.
And Laney was wasting valuable time.
Glancing to the heavens, she prayed for guidance. How do I proceed, Lord? What do I say to protect Charity House and the children?
“Enough stalling, Miss O’Connor.” Dupree pushed away from the door and made his approach. “Your failure to explain your actions here tonight speaks volumes. As such, the money you accepted from Judge Greene will remain secure in my safe, and you will wait in this office while I go in search of the man myself.”
No longer caring about pride, or dignity, Laney met Dupree halfway across the room. “Please, I beg you. Don’t involve Joshua in this.”
“So now it’s Joshua, is it?”
“I meant...Judge Greene.” The correction came too late. She saw the censure in Dupree’s eyes.
“I’m afraid, Miss O’Connor, Joshua involved himself—and consequently me—when he agreed to meet you in my hotel. Since I imagine he’s smart enough not to use his real name on the register, I must ask an indelicate question. Which room is he waiting for you in?”