With a lump in my gut, I walked toward the officers.
Clover was mid-speech. “Of course, I spoke to the judge on a few occasions.” She batted her big eyelashes. “And he was nothing but courteous and kind. As far as I knew, he had a good catch-up with his old college friends, and that was it.”
Both officers looked similar, but once I’d gotten up close, I realized there was about a fifteen year age gap between them. The younger one was silent and jotted down notes without pause. The older of the two was asking the questions, and occasionally he’d stop to write something down.
I knew the drill. The rookie writes down everything, and the old dog only writes when he’s thinking of the next question to ask, or if something suspicious has occurred to him. “And what about the woman who reported his death?” The older cop asked. “Miss Del Moya?”
Clover shrugged, and pouted with her beautiful full lips. “More of the same. She is a nice lady. I chatted with her a few times. She openly admitted to having a bit of an overactive sex drive.” Clover blushed demurely, her gaze brushing the floor. I had to stifled a snort. “And I know that the man she came here with is but one of her many lovers. I suspect she just struck up a conversation with the judge and they tumbled into bed on impulse, but his poor heart couldn’t handle it.”
The officer shrugged. “That’s what we got from her, too. I think this is pretty cut-and-dried, but his wife is insisting…” He glanced around and spotted me standing behind him. “Miss... “ he consulted his notes. “Horne? Evangeline Horne?”
I nodded.
“I’ll just ask you the same questions as we asked Clover here and we can go on our way. Thanks, Clover, you can go back to whatever you were doing before we interrupted you.”
Clover threw him a wink. “Thanks, officers. Let me know the second you need anything else. At all,” she cooed, aiming her words directly at the younger officer.
He swallowed a couple of times, but his eyes remained glued to his notebook.
He was good. He’d get a pat on the back from the old cop after this.
“Miss Horne, did you speak to the deceased at all during his stay?”
“I was here when he checked in,” I said in a small voice. “But that’s it. I knew who he was, but I never spoke to him.” This was not a lie.
One of my legs was trembling. Speaking to the police brought back very bad memories for me, and I was having trouble focusing. But, I told myself, if I stuck to the truth and answered their questions honestly, I’d be fine.
“And Miss Del Moya?”
“No, I never spoke to her at all. The day shift checked her in, and she had no problem settling in here. Clover helped her a few times, but I didn’t get the opportunity.” Clover, naturally, had spotted a kindred spirit and had volunteered to look after Miss Del Moya if she called the front desk.
“And you never noticed anything out of the usual about either of them?”
“No, not at all.” I shook my head. While I was speaking, my work-brain registered that someone had entered reception from the outside doors behind me and was headed toward the desk. I got a flare of adrenaline, but I forced myself to be calm. Dale and Clover were both there. They could handle the guest. I forced myself not to turn around.
“Okay,” the officer said, and he cast a glance at his younger partner, who had snapped his notebook shut and was placing it back in his pocket.
Relief flooded through me. I let out a tiny breath.
But the officer looked back at me. “Did you happen to see either of them together on the night in question?”
I did. I had. Don’t lie, Eve, my brain hissed. Goddamn police instincts.
I swallowed. “No, I don’t think I did.” The younger officer was scrambling for his notebook again.
“They would have met in the pool area around six yesterday morning,” he went on, relentless. “Were you around then?”
Why are you lying for him, you idiot? “Yes, I came to see Martin here at Reception as he was doing the handover. But I didn’t go by the pool, so I didn’t see anything.”
The officer scribbled on his own notepad for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “Okay, thank you, Eve.” I let out a proper breath this time.
I should have known. It was a popular interrogation tactic—pretend the interview is over, then throw in a couple of quick questions to see if the accused slips up at all. This cop was good, but just going through the motions. “I just have one more guest to interview, then we’ll be out of your hair.” He looked over my shoulder and nodded to whoever was behind me. “Mr. Sorensen, thanks for coming.”
My eyes flared wide as I swung around to face him.
Alex Sorensen had been standing a foot away from me, listening to me lie for him. He stood deathly still, his head cocked slightly to the side, his piercing ice-blue eyes narrowed slightly as he watched me. He wasn’t smiling. I could feel the blood drain from my face.
He knew I had been there in the bushes, watching. He had looked straight at me before I turned and ran like a coward.
He knew that I had just lied for him.
I dropped my head low as I moved around him, but I could still feel his eyes on my face. I felt a flare of heat from him as I brushed past; it sent my heart pounding harder than I’d felt in a long time. His assessment of me was so thorough it felt like a shakedown.
Where had this guy come from? What was he doing to me?
“Mr. Sorensen, I just have a couple of questions, and then you can go to back to bed.”
“No problem at all, officers.” His voice was soft but sent a rough thrill through me. “I was awake anyway. I’m a bit of a night owl.”
“Can you tell us….”
I moved away, out of earshot, despite desperately wanting to know why he was being questioned. Did they suspect him of murdering the judge? Did he murder the judge?
I got back to the reception desk and brought back up the spreadsheet I’d been looking at before I got called out to Marie’s, and tried to focus.
“Are you okay?” Clover’s voice came at me from my left. “Eve, you’re a bit pale.”
“I’m okay,” I looked up and smiled.
It might have looked a little wobbly. Clover’s brow furrowed, and she suddenly looked sympathetic. “Oh, I guess you probably aren’t that fond of talking to the police, are you?”
Finally, I could answer honestly. I shrugged. “It doesn’t bring up the best memories,” I admitted. “But I’ll be okay, Clo.”
I silently scolded myself. You’re tougher than this. You’re not a ditzy idiot. Pull yourself together.
“I’m sorry about that, Eve,” Clover went on. “Martin was trying to get them to just watch the security tapes and make their own conclusions without having to question anyone, but they insisted.”
“It’s okay.”
“You did good, though.” She rubbed my arm. “And luckily for us, they brought the Big Hot Viking in for questioning too.” Clover licked her lips and glanced over to the corner, where the officers were huddled together, dwarfed by Alex Sorensen. “As soon as that man meets a portion of my eyeball, I’m going to be batting my lashes in a way you’ve never seen before,” she cooed. Suddenly, she frowned. “But he hasn’t as much as looked sideways at me.”
“Why is he being questioned?” My voice dropped to a whisper.
“He was first on the scene. As soon as Miss Del Moya realized the judge was having a heart attack, she shot out from underneath him to call for help. Mr. Sorensen was passing by, and he attempted CPR.”
My hand froze over the mouse. “But it didn’t work?”
“No. It was too quick, apparently. His heart just stopped, and he died straightaway.”
I glanced up; the officers had already put their notebooks away. Mr. Sorensen was obviously a better witness than I was—more convincing, probably. While I watched, the older officer spoke to him, and he listened carefully, tilting his big, handsome head in acknowledgement of the officer’s words. His hai
r—loose down his back tonight, released from its topknot—fell forward as he nodded. They seemed to be giving him some extra information, none of which they’d bothered to share with me. Alex Sorensen murmured a low reply to the older officer and ducked his head slightly, and to my surprise, the officer clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder. Like he was consoling him.
It wasn’t fair. Alex Sorensen probably got life handed to him on a plate. So gorgeous, so smooth, commanding, suave, and now so obviously upset that he hadn’t managed to save the judge’s life. He was getting the five-star treatment from the investigating officers. And it wasn’t fair how my heart started thumping, and it wasn't fair that I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
We’d had handsome men in here before. Models, famous actors. All-too-available rock stars. I found it easy to ignore them. The part of me that should have been there, that part that flickered when a hot boy walked by, the tickle in my tummy... I thought it had been turned off for good.
Clover reveled in it; it was lust, she said, the spice of love, the thing that made the world go around. She fell headfirst into the glory of lust.
So now that I was feeling it for the first time, it felt like an assault.
I didn’t want it.
Too late, I realized the officers had left, and I was still staring at Alex Sorensen. He was standing all alone in the corner of the lobby, and he was staring back at me in that strange, appraising way of his.
Butterflies be damned.
The phone rang loudly beside me, and I jumped.
Clover raised her eyebrows at me and patted my head affectionately. “Oh, man. You seriously need the weekend, babe.” Swinging the phone off the cradle, she swept it up to her ear. “Reception, this is Clover, how can I help? Oh, absolutely, Mr. Weindell, I’ll have someone bring it right up. No… yes. Okay. I’ll go now and check to see if the kitchen still has them, to be sure.” She hung up and grinned at me. “Mr. Weindell needs chocolate self-saucing pudding, so I’ll go.”
“Okay,” I whispered, still trying to shake off the feeling that Mr. Sorensen was still looking at me.
Dale danced around me on the way to the printer. “Grab a pudding from the kitchen for me, would you?”
I flicked my eyes up from my computer, risking a peek. Yes, he was still there, in the dark corner of the lobby, but now I could see that he had his phone to his ear. The darkness from the outside blended perfectly into that corner; he was so still and imposing you might think he was a statue, a perfect carving of a godlike creature. The muscles around his arm bunched up as he held the phone. I probably couldn’t get both of my hands to circle one of his biceps.
I stepped on my own toe, just so I could feel the pain.
Clover put her hand on my arm as she walked past me on the way to the kitchen. “Do you want anything while I’m there?”
“I’m fine,” I managed.
“Hmmm.” Clover sounded doubtful. “I’ll get you a donut. That will fix you.” She slipped around the reception desk and crossed the lobby floor. I watched her go, noticing that her hips took on an obvious swing as she walked past the dark corner where Mr. Sorensen stood, still talking on his phone. It gave me a hot, unpleasant feeling that I couldn’t identify. I made the mistake of looking at him again; he was talking with a frown on his face.
And he was still looking right at me.
I ducked my head, desperate to bury myself in some work so I could ignore him. Luckily, I had to run a few reports to give Martin for the end-of-week briefings.
Before I could get started, I caught the scent of ozone—the sharp, fresh aroma of a thunderstorm. I looked up; the reception door had been left wide open. The officers hadn’t shut it when they left, which bothered me. With the mosquitos and heat, we did everything we could to keep the bugs out and the temperature comfortable.
I looked back down at my reports, leaving the door to the doorman. But a second later, I felt the atmospheric pressure drop, and goose bumps rose on my flesh.
We weren’t expecting a storm, not just yet anyway. One was due to pass us by tomorrow night. But as soon as I disregarded my senses, a low, rolling growl of thunder echoed through the air.
I shivered and ran out from behind the desk to close the reception door. I ducked my head out and saw the sky darkening to pitch-black, the stars nowhere to be seen. Where was the doorman? He never left his post. I craned my neck farther out the door, curiously reluctant to head outside, and spotted him over by the police car, speaking with the officers. They had obviously roped him into an extra interview.
Still feeling uneasy, I closed the door. Another rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and I scurried back behind the reception desk, feeling safer once there was three feet of mahogany between me and the rest of the world.
I mentally shook myself and got on with my work. It wasn’t like me to feel anxious for no good reason, especially about a storm.
I brought up the reports and plugged in the data, noting the list of guests for the week. We had been, and still were, fully booked for the next three months, so there was a lot to get through. With a clearer head, I flicked through the data, deleting columns that were unnecessary, and formatting where I needed to.
In the background, Dale tapped away on the computer. “Goddamnit.”
“What now?”
“The printer. We have to get a new one.” Dale shoved his body off his stool and dropped to my feet, crawling over to where the printer sat, and knocked it gently.
The glass doors of the entrance swung open again, bringing a fresh waft of the zingy oxygen scent. I looked up. A very tall man draped in a black wrap stalked in, his head held high.
I wasn’t expecting any late check-ins, but I knew there were several due for the morning, which was only a few hours away. This guy must be early. Dale was busy at my feet, unplugging the printer and plugging it in again, so I stood up to greet the new guest, trying to match his face with the list of names and photos I had memorized for the morning.
He stalked toward me, not unwrapping himself from his thick, black woolen robe. His outfit reminded me of the desert sheikhs’, but his head was bare. He had olive skin, a huge crooked nose, and deep-set, dark eyes under a heavy brow. He strode toward the reception desk, pinning me down with his gaze.
I didn’t recognize him. A quiver of fear ran through me, but I tried to squash it, blaming it on the electricity from the storm running up and down the raised hairs on my arms. He might be from someone’s entourage, announcing his master’s arrival. He stopped a few feet from the reception desk and eyed me with an intense, blazing stare.
With effort, I plastered a smile on my face. “Good morning. Welcome to Revelations. Are you checking in?”
He didn’t answer me. His eyes roamed around my face, my body, and finally settled on my name badge. A flare went off in his eyes.
The prickly sensation bloomed in my chest, squeezing me, making it hard to breathe. But I struggled a breath in and tried again. “My name is Eve.” Of course, you idiot, he can see your name badge. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
The man furrowed his heavy brow, and his thin lip curled up on one side. He muttered something low, in a harsh tone; it sounded like a question in a language that I didn’t recognize.
I shook my head as a soft chime went off in my ears. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand…”
He smiled widely—his mouth was filled with corroded and browning teeth. I unconsciously leaned away from him, even though three feet of reception desk separated us. When he spoke again, it was very quiet and in a harsh, guttural accent.
“It is you. The vessel.” The blazing light in his eyes flared brighter.
The air pushed in around me. “I’m sorry, the what?” I was having trouble hearing him over the ringing in my ears.
“You are the vessel.” he whispered; the curve of his smile sent shivers down me.
But I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, trying to
quell my fear. This was all a weird misunderstanding. A language barrier.
The man smiled again, wider, triumphantly. In a rapid, powerful motion, he swept his arm out from under his black robe to reveal a wicked-looking dagger in his hand, silver and jeweled. It glinted in the soft light as he lifted it high above his head.
Time slowed.
The dark stranger leaped onto the desk in a lightning-fast bound. I backed away in a panic, crashing into the filing cabinets behind me; I bounced off and ricocheted back to the desk. The man, standing braced on the desk, reached out easily, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and pulled me to him. I let out a scream that was cut short by his rough fingers snapping over my mouth. He smelled like dead places—of the underside of bridges and dust and death.
“Eve!” Dale shouted, not realizing what had happened but hearing my cry. “Are you okay?” He struggled to twist around, to see what was happening. He was going to be too late.
The stranger wrenched an arm around my neck in a headlock and brought his mouth close to my ear. In a chilling voice, he whispered to me, “God has blessed me; I will rid the world of the Black Chalice. We will finally tread the path to Him.”
He pulled my head back, exposing my neck, drew the dagger around, and placed it at my throat.
Chapter Seven
Lightning doesn’t strike twice. I would never let it. I bit down on his crusty, calloused fingers with every ounce of strength I had.
The stranger barely flinched, but he did hesitate. He was obviously used to pain. He took a breath, steadying himself so he could draw the blade across my throat.
As if from very far away, I heard Dale shout. He’d just noticed what was happening, and he was struggling to get up. He was only by my feet, but it was still too far away… and I was caught in a vise-like grip with a blade to my throat.
Suddenly, I was loose.
It happened so quickly that I didn’t even feel his hands leaving my body, but the stranger was shaken off completely and the dagger wrenched away. I crumbled to the floor right in front of Dale, who swept me into his arms. We backed away as far as we possibly could and stared in horror at the assassin above us.
Revelations: The Black Chalice (Revelations Series Book 1) Page 5