IN ROOM 33

by EC Sheedy

  The overlarge, coffin-shaped planters, so lushly treed, were his pride. He'd designed and commissioned them himself. On the day they'd arrived from Italy those many years ago, they'd caused quite a stir in the Philip. No one had ever seen anything like them—their immense size, the cobalt brilliance of their glaze.

  Over the years, he'd watched the plantings in them grow from saplings to trees over six and twelve feet high. Of course, during the incident a few years ago, a couple of the trees were replaced, but they were foliage-rich now. The varying shades of green shooting out from the bright blue of the planters to rustle in the rooftop breeze always delighted him. Although under Michael's clumsy paws the trees were not clipped and pruned as neatly as Christian would have liked.

  There was a time when David tended them. He'd come to Christian as a young boy, not more than twelve. So pretty. And as eager and smart a boy as was ever born. His mother sent him up a day or two after they'd moved in to ask for some paying chores. Christian set him to caring for his terrace and his beloved trees. He'd had a knack for it, he remembered, and under his hand, the trees and plants flourished.

  David had a knack for many things.

  Christian sighed, regretful—angry—at the change in their relationship. He'd cared for the boy as if he were his own son, put him through law school, and his reward was neglect and ingratitude. David needed to be chastised, brought to heel, because all his plans hinged on David.

  Christian's legs were weakening—and his mind was wandering—so he walked back to his chair and settled himself.

  He knew what he had to do. But first he had to get rid of the useless creature in front of him. David had made a mistake in choosing him, a decision that had put Christian and his home at risk. It was up to David to rectify the situation, and Christian intended he would do so. But he did have a question and one more use for the repellent beast.

  "Last night. Emerson and the Cole girl, did you watch them? Did they fornicate?"

  It must have been the only nine-letter word the brute knew, because for the first time this season, he relaxed, comfortable in the lascivious territory he so obviously preferred. "Oh, yeah. Went at it like a pair of horny, oversexed—"

  "Enough." Christian raised a hand. He wasn't interested in the details or any more conversation with this man than was necessary. "How long were they together?"

  "All night. She was with him when he found Sin. Came out of his room."

  Christian felt his face flatten, his mouth tighten. He'd been afraid of this. Oh, he knew their having sex might mean nothing. After all, everybody partook of carnal pleasure at their whim in these modern times. But this particular carnal union was between Joe's grandson and the woman who held the tide to his hotel.

  The risk was immense. Unbearable.

  "How far along are the evictions, Michael?" he asked.

  "Just a couple left."

  Christian would have preferred a more precise answer, but there was little point in asking, and watching the imbecile count on his fingers was more than he could bear. "I want you to accelerate the process. I want this hotel empty. Everyone except the boy and his mother, Emerson and the girl. And I do not want you seen. Do you understand?" He needed the boy for Melly—for now.

  "Got it." His head bobbed like an apple in a barrel.

  "When you leave me now, leave this property. Use the back way. Don't go back to your room. You have two nights to complete the eviction process—but you must not be seen in this hotel again. Do you understand that?"

  Another bob of the head.

  "Assuming you are successful, come here Thursday, promptly at eleven p.m., and I'll have a bonus ready for you. One generous enough to allow you to move on. I suggest you then take yourself as far from this hotel as possible, as I will no longer require your services."

  Mike grinned and got to his feet."You're a good guy, Mr. Rupert."

  Christian didn't have to force his ironic smile. He was many things, but a "good guy" wasn't one of them.

  At the door, Mike stopped. "What about Sinnie?" he asked. "You want me to go to the hospital? Finish her off?"

  Christian made note of the contraction in his chest, the ice coating his lungs, but it was advisable that he consider the brute's question. Sinnie was against him, and that was insupportable—as was her life.

  But for now she was out of the picture, and that would have to do. If and when she did come to, she'd name her assailant as "Big Mike from four." Of course, there was a chance she would associate them, but by then Michael would be... unavailable, and it would be impossible for her to implicate him. "No," he finally answered. "Leave these premises as quickly as possible. I'll take care of Sinnie."

  And he would—at his convenience.

  * * *

  It was early afternoon before Wade made it back to the Philip. He parked his Explorer in the parking lot behind the hotel. When he turned the motor off, he put his head back, took a minute to enjoy the silence. The ER at Harborview Med had been a zoo.

  Amidst the madness, he'd waited until they'd moved Sinnie, still unconscious, to the private room he'd arranged for her. Then he'd filled out a police report. Wade figured the report was more likely to find its way into the lower bowel of a computer data bank than onto a cop's hot sheet.

  There was a rap on his car window. It was Joy, with a worried look in her eyes. He opened the door, got out.

  "How's Sinnie?" she asked, scanning his face.

  "Hanging on." He paused to loosen the tightness in his chest. "Barely."

  She wrapped her arms around him, held him close.

  He cradled her head against his shoulder. She felt so damn good, it scared him. Joy Cole, in his bed, in his arms, was more than he'd bargained for.

  "She's almost eighty years old. Who would have done such a terrible thing?" She moved back to look at him, but kept her arms around his waist.

  "Good question. But like everything else going on at the Phil, there's no damned answer."

  "I can't help thinking it has something to do with me. Me inheriting the hotel. Me moving into Room 33. Everything was fine before I came along."

  If she'd wanted a denial, he couldn't give it. She was right and it made his gut ache. What was going on at the Phil was one tightly tied knot with Joy in the center. "I think you're right. Which is why you should pack up and leave the Phil."

  "Don't think I haven't thought about it, but really"—she took her arms from around his waist—"what good would that do? Besides it's—"

  "Don't give me the my hotel speech, okay? The fact is, it's not safe here. The smart thing to do is clear out."

  "That's not going to happen. You're not the only one who cares about the Philip."

  He considered arguing with her, but decided on another tack. "Then you'll stay with me, because I don't want you sleeping alone in that room. And I don't want you wandering around the hotel alone."

  "Yes to commandment number one. But I won't be shackled to your bed."

  "I hadn't thought of that."

  "Don't. I'll stay with you because I want to, and because I have no attachment to that creepy room. But other than that, I do what I want and I go where I want."

  We'll see about that. Frustrated, Wade tried another angle. "You saw Sinnie this morning. Whoever's behind this mess isn't afraid to spill blood, Joy. I don't want it to be yours."

  "Neither do I." Her look was unflinching. "But I don't intend to be 'run out of Dodge,' either. If I'm the cause of this problem, I want to be in on the solution."

  Wade wasn't happy, but he sucked up his loss. "Okay, but I intend to keep you in my sights." And he intended that watch to be 24/7.

  She smiled slightly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

  He wanted to shake her, but settled for shaking his head. "And before we start working on that 'solution'—which starts with locating Mike the peephole pervert—I badly need a shower, a shave, and a change of clothes."

  "A man with a plan. I like that. But stop at Cherry's f
irst, okay? Lars and Rebecca are there, and they're all anxious to hear about Sinnie." She looped her arm in his and they started down the alley toward the rear-door entrance of the Phil. When he cast a sideways glance at her, he could see she was preoccupied.

  He stopped at the door, turned her to face him. "Last night. We haven't talked about it, and I want to say—"

  She put a finger on his lips. "Don't. I know."

  "Know what?"

  "That we shouldn't make it any more than it was."

  "What it was—what it is—is important. At least to me. What about you?"

  "Wade..." She looked as if she were locked in finger screws.

  "Wade what?"

  Silence.

  He lifted her chin to get a look at her eyes. "Now this is interesting. You're all hot to trot to face some maniac who's loose in the Phil, but you can't face what's happening between us. You're terrified."

  "Okay, I'll admit it. You're right, I am terrified. A few weeks ago I was heading for the South Pacific, my life, such as it was—on a familiar course. A good contract, a laptop, an airline ticket—"

  "—and now?"

  "Now, with you, I don't know where I'm heading, but I know there are no maps and no guidebooks."

  "I'm falling in love with you, you know." The words tumbled from his mouth without his thinking, but once said, he rested easy with them and had no desire to call them back. The truth was like that, he guessed. "Actually, the fall is pretty much complete."

  She looked anxious, like a bird eyeing an open cage door. "It's too soon. You don't know me."

  "I know enough—unless you've got a secret prison record." He kissed her lightly, wanted more, but there was no time. "Say it."

  "I'm probably going to regret this"—she took a deep breath—"but I'm pretty sure I've fallen right along with you."

  He could have sworn his smile started at his ankle bones. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

  She shook her head. "Not for me, but for you? I'm not so sure." She looked around the alley; dingy brick walls, boarded-up lower windows, and garbage cans. "And I would have preferred a more romantic setting. Dinner, fine wine, candlelight..."

  "To hell with the setting." He kissed her long and deep. When he lifted his head, they were both breathless. "After we talk to everybody, and before I take that shower, we'll clear out your room. Bring your stuff over to mine."

  "You're determined to protect me from the big, bad wolf, aren't you?" But at least now there was amusement in her eyes.

  "Nope. It's about the big, bad wolf having you within arm's reach—so he can ravish you any time he wants." Not anywhere close to a lie, but not exactly the truth, either. He did want to protect her. And he didn't want her out of his sight.

  Her lips ticked up. "Okay, but before I do that, I want your promise to keep me clued in on what's going on. Believe it or not, this"—she rapped her head—"works pretty good."

  "Deal." Wade opened the door for her, and they stepped into what was once the kitchen of the Phil. It was dim and cluttered with trays, cooking utensils, steel serving carts, and boxes of god-knew-what. He kissed her again, tilted his head, and smiled into her eyes. "I take it you're okay with the 'ravishing' clause."

  "Definitely."

  * * *

  Two days later, on an overly warm Thursday evening, Lana sipped a glass of wine and waited in her living room for David. When he finally rang the bell, she glanced at her gold-and-diamond watch. Twenty minutes late. A first.

  David had never been late before, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it—or what it meant, other than that she didn't like it.

  She opened the door wide and smiled at him. And her heart faltered, lost a beat or two. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, either. Or any of the other bewildering emotions centered on David.

  "Hi," he said, leaning down to kiss her softly.

  "Hi, back." She wrapped her arms around him, deepened the kiss until his breathing roughened.

  He pulled away. "Maybe it would be a good idea if I came in. Either that or we can make out on the doorstep?"

  "I wouldn't mind." She stepped aside, and he walked in. He looked breathtaking. Immaculately dressed for their dinner date, he carried flowers. A dozen or more lush white roses.

  In the living room, Lana set about pouring him a drink. Giving a brief nod at the flowers he still held in his hand, she asked, "Are those for me, darling? Or a late date?"

  A cloud passed over his face. "For you. Although I've no doubt my late date would appreciate them equally as much." His tone was dry.

  Lana handed him his red wine—a very fine one she'd sought out and hoped he'd like. "You actually have a late date? Tonight?" She kept the disappointment from her voice, analyzed facts instead. David was late. David was going somewhere after having dinner with her. None of this was good, but she would not let it upset her. No man was worth it. She sipped her wine. Perhaps it was time to move on from this relationship, make new plans. It surprised her to discover she had no enthusiasm for the idea. Her enthusiasm—such as it was—remained settled on David. And, of course, the money to come from the sale of the Philip.

  "More of an appointment than a date." He looked at her, his expression tense, angry. "And it's not one I'm looking forward to. It's about the damn Philip. My investors are edgy as hell. This delay of Joy's is becoming a real problem."

  "She doesn't trust me"—she ran a finger across his chest—"and she doesn't trust you." Lana always figured the truth, whenever possible, served better than fiction. And she didn't want to talk about Joy. She wanted David's full attention.

  "She trusts Emerson well enough, and he's an ex-con, for God's sake."

  "Yes, she does. But she won't do anything until she talks to us. We have her promise. That should calm those investors of yours." She sipped her wine, smiled at him over her glass.

  He lifted her face to his, held her chin too tight. "Damn the investors anyway. I'd rather come back here after dinner and spend the night making love to you."

  "An idea I'd be happy to go along with." She set her wineglass down and wrapped her arms around his waist."But if you must go, I'll understand." And I won't claw at you with questions—especially when I might not like the answers about these so-called investors.

  "You're one of a kind, Lana. I wish to hell I'd met you years ago." He kissed her hair. "We could stay here, not bother with dinner."

  There was nothing Lana wanted more, but she smiled up at him and said, "And miss dinner at Cristobel's? I don't think so." A small revenge, but a necessary one.

  "You turning down sex for food? I don't believe it." But at least he was smiling.

  "Maybe it's a whole new me." She fondled him through the rich fabric of his Armani. "And I am very hungry."

  He closed his hand over hers. "And you want to make me suffer for that late meeting I have."

  She squeezed him and let him go. "That, too, darling. That, too." She picked up her coat. "Shall we go? The reservation is for eight-thirty, and it's at least a half-hour drive."

  David laughed. "My meeting's not until midnight, Lana. We can manage a—"

  "—quick fuck before you have to run off?" She said it sweetly. "I don't think so. Besides I feel a headache coming on." She caressed his chin and smiled into his eyes.

  David laughed, then dragged her—coat, bag, and all—into his arms and crushed her there. "You're wonderful. Have I told you that'"

  "Not nearly often enough." She kissed him, happily aware of the hard ridge of him upright behind his zipper. "But if it is quick fucks you want, you'd be wise to make it a practice."

  She pulled back and he let her go. Her reward was that she knew he didn't want to. He was a man, after all.

  Not exactly complicated machinery.

  Chapter 14

  "Come in, boy, and be quick about it."

  Gordy let Melly go ahead, then wedged his big body through the narrow opening Christian provided.

  Christian shut the door, took his ca
lming breaths, and bent stiffly to pet Melly. She enjoyed her walks with Gordy. Quite liked the boy, he was sure. But Gordy, like everyone else in the hotel, had to go. And when Christian filled it again—with people of his own choosing—he'd make sure one of them was right for Melly.

  He walked unsteadily back to his chair. The man-child followed him. "Gordy, my boy," he said, once he was settled in his chair, "would you like to earn a little more money?"

  His eyes brightened. "You want extra walking for Melly?"

  "That, yes." He shifted in his chair, leaned forward. "But there's something else I'd like you to do, and it might take a bit of muscle." He smiled to engage the boy's attention. "More than I have, in any event."

  "I got muscles." Gordy flexed an arm, weight lifter style, and grinned.

  "Yes, you have, which is why I'm asking for your help." Christian pointed a bony finger at his terrace where, through a narrow opening between drapes, the sun was beginning its descent. "Out there, behind the planter with the biggest trees, there's a large storage box." He opened the drawer in the lamp table beside his chair and dug out the key. "Take this—you do know how to use a key, don't you?"

  Gordy looked insulted. "Yes, sir. You think I'm stupid?"

  It was the first time the boy had been anything but agreeable. So droll, his getting angry when his intelligence was threatened, considering he had none. Ah, human nature. "No, no, my boy," he said, softening his tone. "I apologize if it sounded like that. You're bright as a shiny nickel, and Melly and I couldn't do without you." He offered him the key. "Now, please, go out to the storage box, open it, and inside you'll find a large tarpaulin. I'd like you to bring it here."

  Gordy took the key, turned it over in his hand, and headed for the terrace.

  "Close the door after you, boy! Don't forget."

  Gordy came back a minute or two later with a bundle of blue plastic and, thank God, he'd been obedient about closing the doors. How odd that a few days ago, Christian could tolerate the terrace doors being open, and now he feared the very air they unleashed, even though the night was far too warm. He wondered idly if he were sinking further into decline, or simply ridding himself of another threat to his life and health.