“I almost didn’t make it in time. We had engine trouble in Okinawa.”
Deep inside, her heart told her she could fix that grin. With love.
“Mac,” she breathed, running to him and throwing her arms around his shoulders. If she held on long enough, tight enough, he’d never go away again. She finally let go and her palms cupped his cheeks, staring, searching, and daring anyone to tell her it was a dream. “Oh, Mac.”
“I love you, Sarah. You kept me alive. I had to get back to you.”
He stared down at her, and Sarah knew everything would be all right. He’d heal and they’d mend together.
“How is this possible?” she asked, her mind still in a daze. “I don’t understand.”
He smiled, love pouring from his gaze. “Of course you do. I promised.”
3
Same time, next year
Jeff DePew
1971
In a darkened hotel room, a woman sighed contentedly and snuggled closer to her man, resting her head on his chest. Her hand caressed his muscular stomach, his powerful chest. There were still beads of perspiration from their lovemaking on his skin.
She sighed happily. “I can hear your heart.”
He kissed the top of her head, ran his fingers through her thick dark hair. “Yeah? What’s it saying?”
She tilted her head to look up at him. She smiled. “It’s saying you’re in love.”
“They say the heart doesn’t lie.”
“They say?” she teased, “What about you?”
“They’re right.” He pulled her closer and kissed her deeply on the lips. “You are so beautiful. And I do love you.”
They lay like that, bodies entwined, content in both each other and their love. After a few minutes, he wriggled free and reached for his watch on the nightstand. He glanced at the glowing hands.
“Do you have to go?” She rolled over and lay half on top of him, her chin on his chest. She gazed into his eyes. His beautiful green eyes. She could just make them out in the ambient light coming through the curtains. The neon flash of the Las Vegas Strip, just outside, but in this room, at this moment, so far away.
“No. We have some time.” He returned the watch, grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, shook two out, put them in his mouth, lit both with a silver lighter and handed her one.
“How was Kat’s recital?”
She brightened at the thought of her daughter. “She was so cute. She was the loudest one there. She was practically shouting the song.”
He chuckled. “Sorry I missed it. She’s such a great kid.” He stared into the darkness and exhaled. “I wish I could have been there.”
“So do I, sweetheart.”
He strolled over, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “So. Have you talked to Leo?”
No answer.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
“It—it’s not that easy. You don’t know Leo. He hates that we’re even separated.”
“He hates it? He’d rather stay in a rotten marriage?”
Her voice was a whisper. “He says he won’t ever let me go.”
“So don’t ask him. Just leave. Call a lawyer, file for divorce, and stay with me.”
“I can’t do that. If I leave him, he’ll go for full custody of Kat. He’s threatened me with that already…”
The man exhaled, reached over and stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. He sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands. She came up behind him and held him, arms laced around his chest.
“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” She kissed his ear, his neck. “I just need a little more time. I’m just waiting for the right time.”
“I know, baby. It’s just… I’m tired of waiting. I want you all to myself.”
He got up and went to the window. Pushed the curtain open, revealing more light. She looked at him silhouetted in the window. His broad shoulders and powerful back and legs. He was such a… a man, she thought. Not like Leo.
He turned and faced her, his emerald eyes glinting in the darkness. “You and Kat should live with me. There's no reason you should stay here. I have plenty of room at my place. You could—”
There was a knocking at the door.
He reached down, found his pants and pulled them on. “Did you order room service?”
The woman slid across the bed, the away from the door. “No. Maybe—”
The knocking intensified. became pounding.
“Son of a bitch!” Angry already, now with someone to take it out on. He headed toward the door, guided by the crack of light beneath. More banging—no, now it was kicking. The door nearly burst off its hinges.
“This better be important!” The man yelled, reaching for the knob. “I don’t know who you are, but—”
As he turned the knob, the door splintered open, slamming into the wall. The man stumbled backward, off balance.
A figure, black against the light from the corridor, stood in the doorway. He was holding something in one of his hands. She couldn't tell what it was, but it was shiny. He took a step into the room and raised his arm. An explosion filled her ears. Bright light. Another. She saw her man fall and called out his name. The figure pointed his gun at her. Sound. Light. Pain. And then… darkness.
*
2001
Lanie Hobbes stared across the lobby with a satisfied smile. This was it. Her first shift at the front desk of the Excelsior, one of Las Vegas’ most storied and upscale hotels. The high ceilings, the beautiful, ornate chandeliers, the plush, red velvet furniture. Night was falling outside and the lobby was filling up with well-dressed guests and gamblers. A piano tinkled faintly from a nearby cocktail lounge.
Lanie was a little nervous, but she had studied the handbooks, watched carefully during her job shadowing, and asked a ton of questions. Six months of working in banquets dealing with stressed out brides and party planners? This should be a walk in the park. She’d be fine. She looked down at herself, smooth down her red shirt, straightening her name tag.
Lanie was organizing room brochures when she sensed a customer. She brushed a loose strand of dark hair out of her face and smiled prettily at the guest.
“Good afternoon, ma’am, welcome to the Excelsior. How may I help you?”
The woman was older, maybe mid-sixties, but very polished and put-together. Dark hair in a stylish bun, sharp cheekbones, bright blue eyes. A streak of white ran through her hair just above her right ear. It was kind of striking, really. It suited her. Charcoal gray Chanel suit. She smiled back at Lanie.
“My name is Jessica King. I have a reservation.”
“Of course. One second.” Lanie punched in her passcode and looked up Ms. King’s information. While the computer was processing, she tried some small talk. It was important to make the guests feel welcome.
“So is this your first time at the Excelsior, Ms. King?”
Jessica King gave a faint smile. A sad smile, Lanie would later think. “No. I—I have been here many times.”
“Wonderful! Glad to have you back!”Lanie beamed. “Well, here’s your—” She stopped, looking at her computer monitor. This couldn’t be right. “Um…”
Lanie couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. King, Jessica, Room 732 Blocked. See MOD. What? Room 732? But that room was off limits. They had told her that during her training. Was this a mistake? Lanie looked to her right, but Ed, the other employee, was with a customer. She looked to her left. No one. She was on her own.
“Is something wrong?” Ms. King’s voice was soft and controlled.
“No, um, but I think there’s an issue with your room. Can I offer you another room?”
“What?” Ms. King seemed stunned. She put a hand on the counter to steady herself. “No. I don’t want another room! I always stay there.”
Lanie’s mind was whirling. On the one hand, there was an unwritten policy not to allow guests to reserve room 732. She didn’t know why, and it wasn’t
in any of the employee manuals. There wasn’t a even a key code in the system for room 732. But this woman had clearly reserved room 732 and expected to stay there. Aggh! What to do?
“Ms. King! So good to see you again!” A dark shape swooped in beside Lanie, gently, but forcefully nudging her to the side. Mark Younger. The shift manager. Tall, square-jawed, his brown hair cut close. He was very good-looking, very professional… and very gay, Lanie had been told.
“This young lady is saying there’s a problem with my room.” Ms. King’s voice faltered a bit, but she managed to maintain her composure.
Mark glanced at the computer screen, raised his head in a dazzling smile. “No, ma’am. Everything looks fine. Room 732. One night.”
Ms. King looked relieved. She straightened up.
Mark turned to Lanie. “Lanie, uhhh… could you please scan and sort the key cards from today’s shift? Thanks so much.” He turned back to Ms. King. “I do apologize, Ms. King. Lanie has just started here and hasn’t been briefed on all our policies.”
Sort the key cards? Lanie thought. What the hell does that mean? She could swipe them, for sure, to clear the code for the next guest room, but sort them? She walked toward the box containing the cards, puzzled. She turned to ask Mark what he meant, when she saw him reach into his pocket, pull out an actual KEY with a plastic tab on it, which was printed, no doubt, the room number 732, and hand it to Ms. King. Ms. King smiled gratefully, clasped Mark’s hands in both of hers.
“Thank you so much,” she beamed.
“Will you be dining at one of our restaurants tonight?” Mark smiled. “I’d be happy to make your reservations.”
Ms. King seemed to think about it. “No, I think I’ll be ordering room service. I’m a bit tired.”
Mark nodded. “Of course. Would you like help with your bags?”
She looked down at her small roller suitcase and smiled at him. “No, I think I'll be okay. These little wheelie suitcases are so easy.”
Mark watched as, limping slightly, she made her way to the bank of elevators. He smiled patiently, then motioned Lanie back over to him. The smile never left his face as he whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Sorry about that. I was stuck in a meeting and couldn’t get down here in time to meet her.”
Lanie looked at him, then over at Ms. King, who was standing across the lobby waiting for an elevator. “What was that all about? Count the key cards? Really?”
He held out his hands in a placating gesture. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. But, it’s a very sensitive issue. Ms. King is a very loyal client. Been coming here for years.”
“And she always stays in the same room?”
Mark nodded, looked around, then pulled Lanie into an alcove. “No one else ever uses that room. That’s why it’s blocked. Only Ms. King stays in room 732.”
Lanie looked up at him, clearly confused. “But why? What’s the big deal? And was that an actual key you gave her?”
Mark smiled patiently. “I can tell you what I know. If you’re working at the front desk, they should have told you anyway. But since they haven't, keep it on the down low.”
Lanie nodded. “Sure. of course”
Mark looked around again, leaned close to Lanie. “Didn’t you ever hear anything about the murder-suicide back in the seventies?”
Lanie shook her head.
“Well, Ms. King was married at the time, and was having an affair with one of the casino managers. Her husband was Leonard King. Heard of him?”
Again, Lanie shook her head. Mark leaned against the wall and folded his arms.
“Girl, where are you from? You never heard about the Leonard King murder? Anyway, Leo King was a big real estate developer. Some say he was connected. He owned a piece of the hotel too. Anyway, he found them in bed and shot and killed her boyfriend. He shot her. And then he shot himself.”
“Here? In the Excelsior?”
“I’ll give you one guess which room.” Mark smiled sinisterly.
Lanie stared at him, open-mouthed. “No! And she stays there? That is so creepy!”
“I can’t argue with that. But it’s true. After the murder there was a big lawsuit. I don’t know all the details, but she was basically given that room. No one else is allowed to use it as long as she’s alive.”
“But why would she do that? You’d think she’d want to forget about it.”
Mark shrugged and glanced at his watch. “The female mind continues to be a mystery to me, darling. Anyway, we have to get back to work. You can buy me a few cocktails after work and I’ll fill you in on all the sordid details.” Mark gave her a little wave and headed through a door into the inner workings of the hotel.
Lanie headed back to the front desk, thinking about Ms. King. Why would she keep coming back after all this time? And what did she do up there?
She woke up in an empty hospital room. She was alone and frightened. Her head hurt and she couldn’t feel her right leg. It was dark and silent, except for the humming of some machine next to her bed and the occasional voice outside her room. She cried out for help, for someone to help her, and an older nurse had come in and calmed her down. The nurse had sat with her for some time, explaining what had happened. She had been shot twice. One bullet had shattered her right kneecap, and the other had grazed the side of her head. The doctor believed she had suffered a concussion but couldn’t be sure without talking to her. She had been unconscious for about twelve hours.
“My daughter? Who has my daughter?”
She was with the housekeeper. She was fine.
“And the man? The man who was—in the room with me? Where is he?”
The nurse had stood and said she didn’t know. But her eyes betrayed her. She knew. The nurse had excused herself and had left the room.
Jessica King waited patiently for her elevator. When it arrived, she got in, closely followed by three twenty-somethings in skimpy outfits and dangerously high heels. The trio spent the entire elevator ride riveted to their cell phones, laughing and occasionally nudging one another to share something on their screens. Whatever it was only elicited more laughter. Jessica smiled at them and shook her head. Had she ever been like that? That young and carefree? Well, she had, she supposed, until—the bell dinged, the three girls looked up, and still laughing, spilled out into the fifth floor corridor.
At the seventh floor, Jessica got out, tugged her suitcase over the threshold and turned left. She actually could have used a bellhop to carry her suitcase, but it was always so awkward once they go the room. She tried to tip them at the elevator, but they usually wouldn’t hear of it. They always wanted to escort her to her room and show her around. Her? She knew the room better than they ever would. And then when they saw how it was decorated… that always led to questions.
Exactly a year after the shooting, she returned to the room. She wanted to see it one last time. The trial had lasted most of the year. Her lawyers had insisted she sue the hotel. At first she had refused, just wanting the whole terrible incident to go away. Just take care of her hospital bills and rehab and forget about it. But they had told her it was the hotel’s responsibility to ensure the safety of all guests, and by allowing one of their owners to shoot two guests, they were not protecting their guests. And she had her daughter to think about. This type of settlement could guarantee her daughter’s future. So she had acquiesced.
Kat was with her grandmother for the day. She had not told either one where she was going. They wouldn’t understand. And she couldn’t blame them. How could she explain wanting to come back here one last time? Except for her time with Kat, this was the only place she had really been happy for the past five years. She wanted to see it one last time. To say goodbye.
She leaned her cane against the wall and fished out the passkey she had been given and opened the door. Because it was a crime scene, and considered evidence, it had not been used since the shooting. The carpet and the door had been replaced, but the furniture was the same. Eventually, they would come
in and sanitize it, repaint it and replace the furniture and it would be just like every other room, indistinguishable from the rest. But it wasn’t any other room. It was their room.
As soon as she entered the room, she had felt something… familiar and comforting. A feeling of peace spread through her. She was almost at the window, when she realized she wasn’t limping. A movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned. She gasped.
She stopped outside room 732 and let go of the suitcase. This was always the hardest part. Would it happen this time? Was it even right that she do this? Should she turn around, taxi to the airport, and head home? And then what? She had her beautiful house overlooking the ocean, she had her friends, and, of course, she had her darling Katherine and the grandkids. Her life was good, she knew, but something was missing. Something she could only find in the Excelsior. So she was here. Again.
She belonged here. This was where she wanted to be.
She took the key from her coat pocket and looked at it. She turned it over in her hands. How many times had she held this key?
She reached forward and unlocked the door.
The room was dark, and although she knew where the light switch was, she didn't hit it. The room had to be dark. Otherwise it wouldn’t work.
She pulled her suitcase into the room, shut the door and locked it. Checked the lock.
Jessica walked further into the darkened room. She knew this room intimately. But even without the room lights, she could just make out the shape of the bed from the light coming through the bottom of the door. The nightstand right there, and the dresser near the window.
She shivered and hugged herself. It was cold. But she knew she wouldn’t be cold for long. As she continued into the room, her right knee relaxed and her limp disappeared. Her posture improved, and even though she couldn’t see it, the white streak in her hair faded away.
Romantic Times Page 5
