David cocked his head sideways, still studying the brown. “My sister found us someone in the building department. I’m waiting for a call back from the guy.” He waved at the brown sample. “This is fine, I guess.”
“If you don’t like it, we can try something else. But I think when you see the entire room with it, you’ll love it. Plus, your mom suggested it.”
“Oh, then by all means, let’s go with it.”
Because it would be so much easier than dealing with his mother questioning why he didn’t like the color she’d picked.
Lexi laughed. “She’ll be thrilled. I’m heading over there now. She’s redoing your father’s study.”
“I heard. The old man isn’t too happy about it. He likes his study. But he, too, has learned which battles to fight.”
“I love smart men,” she said.
On her way out, Lexi stuck her head in and said goodbye to Amanda, who looked amazingly good in David’s extra bedroom. He wouldn’t get too comfortable with that, though. As soon as the mess with her building was situated, she’d be back in her own space.
After Lexi cleared out, he leaned against the doorframe and watched Amanda press some sort of narrow rubber markers into the strips of clay she’d placed on the skull cast. At some point, she’d mounted the skull on a stand and had added eyes—brown—to the sockets and lined them with clay to hold them in place. Already, the skull had begun to take on life, and something pinged in David’s chest. All this time they’d been talking about the skull as an object, a project, but now, seeing it in this form, even before Amanda had reconstructed the face, it had become an actual person.
A victim.
Curious about what she was doing, he took one step into the room. “What are those?”
“Tissue-depth markers. They tell me how thick the skin in each area of the face should be. It’s based on tables developed by a forensic anthropologist. Once I have all the markers placed, I’ll start adding clay until I reach the right thickness. I’m basically rebuilding her face.”
“Now, that’s cool. Why brown eyes?”
“I guessed. The hair they found was dark. That doesn’t always mean dark eyes, but I went with my instincts.”
Seemed reasonable. He moved farther into the room, circled behind her and studied her work. “It’s fascinating. Watching it take shape.”
“It is, isn’t it? It’s like seeing a five-thousand-piece puzzle come together.” She attached another marker. “I spoke to Detective McCall earlier. They released my sketch to the local media and a couple of national news outlets. He’s hoping for leads.”
“What do you think?”
“I suppose he needs to try, but the 3-D reconstruction will have much more detail when it’s complete. We’re more likely to get hits on that versus the sketch.”
He scooted closer, dipped his head and kissed her on the shoulder. “Are you ready for a break?”
“No.”
Come on. Really? Times like this, being a stubborn Hennings came in handy. “We could make out.”
Before he could dot kisses along her shoulder, she sidestepped, leaving him standing there, bent over, lips puckered.
“Are we sixteen? Go away. I have work to do. Work you’re paying me for, I might add.”
Excellent point. “Have we discussed your fee? Wait. Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter. I’ll pay overtime.”
She clucked her tongue. “You are a devil. Now go. Take a ride on that motorcycle of yours or something. Just get out.”
Tough nut, this one. “You’re throwing me out?”
“I am.” Her cell phone rang and she leaned over to check the screen. “Oh, my landlord.” She set the rubber markers on the table and scooped up the phone. “Hi, Mr. Landry.”
David wandered back to the doorway and leaned against the frame while he inspected the crown molding in the hallway.
“Are you kidding?” Amanda said, her voice squeaking.
He swung back to her. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.
“That’s ridiculous.” She shook her head and then rubbed her free hand up her forehead. “Okay... Thank you.”
She disconnected and set the phone down.
“Bad news?”
“He spoke with the building inspector. They’re saying the building has a mold infestation.”
“You don’t believe it?”
“Not for a second. Have I mentioned I’m highly allergic to mold? I mean, dangerously allergic. I carry medication with me everywhere I go.”
Whoa. David was no doctor, but being a civil lawyer, he’d done his share of medical research. “If there was an infestation, you’d have been hospitalized by now.”
“After all the time I’ve spent in that building, by now I’d be dead.”
* * *
AMANDA SET BOTH of her hands on top of her head and squeezed. So maddening. And exhausting. Between the stress of being thrown out of her home and studio and having to sleep in a hotel—never an easy task anyway—she hadn’t managed much sleep the night before.
This news only stretched her already thin patience and left her more exhausted. “I can’t even believe this. There is no mold in that building. All this is doing is keeping me from my work.”
Holding up one finger, David waggled it. “You know what? Let’s go see your friend McCall. You’re working on a case he’s invested in. If we tell him you’re hindered by this problem with the city, maybe he can shake something loose. Get you back home.” He clapped his hands together. “Saddle up, sweet cheeks. We’re moving out.”
Amanda glanced down at her paint-stained T-shirt and ripped jeans. Her working clothes. “Okay. I need to stop at the hotel first, though.”
That got her a frustrated grunt. “Why?”
Had the man suddenly gone blind? She couldn’t walk into a police station dressed like this. “David, look at me. I need to change. It’ll take two minutes.”
“Right. Sorry. We’ll swing by there on the way. While you’re changing, I’ll track down McCall. We have to take your car unless you want a ride on my bike.”
“Not now. Later, though. It’ll be fun after all this mess.”
At the hotel, Amanda left David in the lobby to phone Detective McCall and let him know they were coming for a chat. At her room, she slid her key in the door and waited for the little green light to give her access, but...red.
She checked the key, made sure the arrow was pointing the right way and tried again. Red light. Deep breath. They’d given her two keys. Maybe she’d used the other one to get into the room last night. She dug into her purse, found the second key, lined it up and slid it home. Red lights blinked back at her.
“This is totally insane.” For kicks, she flipped the key over and tried the other way. Nothing. “Ugh!”
Three doors down, a housekeeper, a young girl, maybe early twenties, who could have been a college student, stepped into the hall to retrieve something from her cart and spotted her. “Something wrong, ma’am?”
“My keys won’t work. I’m trying to get into my room. Would you be able to open the door?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We’re not allowed. For security reasons. I could call someone, but if there’s a problem with the key, you’ll have to go down and get another one anyway.”
Frustration pooled dead smack at the base of Amanda’s skull and she tipped her head to stretch the muscles. At this rate, with all that pressure building, her head might pop right off her shoulders. Boom. Gone. But yelling at the housekeeper wouldn’t help. First, it wasn’t her style and second, it wasn’t this woman’s fault the keys didn’t work. “No. It’s fine. I’ll go downstairs. Thank you.”
She charged into the lobby, where David leaned against one of the giant marble columns and talked on his phone. He spotted her sti
ll in her work clothes and swung his free arm out in a what the hell? gesture. At any other time, if her head wasn’t about to explode, she’d have laughed. She held up the key as she marched by him. “Key isn’t working.”
“I gotta go,” he said into the phone. He poked at the screen and shoved the phone in his jacket pocket. “It worked last night.”
“Yes, it did.”
The cheery desk clerk spotted Amanda and smiled. “Good morning. How can I help you?”
The woman’s eyes tracked right, over Amanda’s shoulder, and zoomed in on something. Amanda turned and—yep—David strode up behind her, clearly the focus of the desk clerk’s attention. He had that way about him. The broad-shouldered build, the dark hair, the close-trimmed, sexy beard. The biker jacket. He screamed bad boy.
In a blue-blood way.
Amanda turned back to the desk clerk, Bethenny—according to her name tag—grateful the girl wasn’t fanning herself. She set the keys on the desk. “My keys aren’t working.”
“I’m so sorry. What room?”
“Five forty-six.”
Bethenny tapped on her keyboard. “Can I see your ID, please?”
“Of course.”
Security check complete, Bethenny went back to the computer monitor. “Oh,” she said. “There was a problem with your credit card.”
Ha! Perfect. “What problem?”
“It doesn’t say. We were notified this morning of the issue.”
“Are my clothes still in the room?”
“Yes, ma’am. We just need to get another credit card from you and I can reissue keys. Do you have another card you would like to use?”
David leaned one elbow on the desk. “What happened?”
Amanda slid her debit card out of her wallet, which was still sitting on the counter from when she’d pulled out her ID. “My credit card was declined, which is crazy because I pay it in full every month.”
Every month. Without fail because she guarded her credit rating like the Secret Service on the president. Being so diligent about her credit, she didn’t even have a second card to use. In her opinion, more than one credit card led to multiple accounts stacked with debt.
David reached into his jacket pocket. “I’ve got one.”
No! She’d sooner sleep on the street than use his credit card. “Don’t you dare.” Even to herself, she sounded sharper than she’d like and she breathed in, set her mind on solving the problem. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ll use my debit card.”
She held the card out, but the desk clerk was busy cooing at David, and Amanda rolled her eyes. Could she not get a break today? Whap! She slapped the card on the counter, shocking the clerk to attention.
Amanda tapped the card. “This should do it.”
David offered up one of his sexy grins, apparently enjoying the clerk’s attention. Men. Put a young, pretty woman in front of them and their brains melted. Total lava flow. Bethenny swiped the card and waited. And waited.
Oh, come on!
“Um,” she said, “I’m sorry. It’s been declined.”
Before she even had time to argue—or die of humiliation—David slapped his wallet on the desk. “This is stupid. Just take my card.”
“No.” Amanda set her hand over his. “Thank you. But no. Obviously there’s a problem. I’ll call the credit card company and the bank and get it straightened out.”
And forget about this experience. In fact, she’d pack her things and leave this hotel. With the number of hotels in Chicago, she didn’t need to walk through the lobby again and be reminded of this event.
For two days she’d been dealing with eviction from her studio and her home, her entire life really, and now this? The level of fatigue assaulting her body, the sheer force of it, brought her back to the days following her mother’s death. And that was a state of being she didn’t want to reflect on.
The clerk pretended to be busy with something on the computer and, yes, her not looking at Amanda and making her feel like some down-and-out slug would certainly ease the embarrassment. “I’d like to get my things, please. I’ll need someone to unlock the room so I can move.”
“Amanda,” David said.
She reached across and squeezed his arm to shut him up. What she didn’t need right now was a discussion. Or his opinion. “I’ll find another hotel when I get this straightened out. I really just want to leave here.”
Getting the message—how could he miss it?—he turned to the perky clerk still ogling him. “Let’s get her room unlocked so she can pack.”
“Of course.”
Sure. The Greek god asked and the woman leaped to action. Amanda locked her jaw closed. They had a situation here and the clerk’s only interest was flirting with David. What if he were Amanda’s husband, for crying out loud?
Having bigger issues to resolve, she planned on keeping silent. Truly did. At least until the clerk shot David another look coupled with a smile. That, after the embarrassing situation that had just occurred, was outrageously unprofessional. Rude. And it snapped Amanda’s last surviving nerve.
Now I’m done.
“Excuse me, Bethenny. You have no idea who this man is to me. If I told you he was my husband, would you stop flirting with him?”
“Whoa,” David said.
“Oh, just forget it.” She swiped her wallet off the counter and stuffed it into her purse. “Please send someone up to unlock the room.”
* * *
DAVID WAITED IN the hallway outside Amanda’s hotel room while she packed and took the opportunity to change her clothes. He figured that was the safest place because he’d rather amputate his own leg than risk waiting in the lobby with the desk clerk and having Amanda wonder if he was being a slimeball.
Nope. As hot as that chick was, he had no interest. Zippo. Nada. And Amanda needed to know that.
The door came open and she stepped into the hallway wheeling her luggage, minus black slacks and a fitted white sweater that even under her jacket did amazing things to him. He reached for the bag, his hand closing over hers on the handle. “I’ve got it.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice that normal Amanda calm.
Unlike a few minutes ago when her temper had gotten to her and revealed a spicy side. Twisted moron that he was, he liked seeing her riled. Letting loose. Unfortunately, it had come from him upsetting her, and that he didn’t want.
The door shut behind them and they headed to the elevator. “I’m sorry about before.”
She kept walking, maybe even picking up speed, but she said, “Ugh. Seriously humiliating. I popped off. I was frustrated and couldn’t seem to get her attention.”
They stopped at the elevator and David smacked the button while she pressed the heels of her hands into her forehead. He should say something. Definitely. Something that wouldn’t make it worse. With his track record, that might be a challenge.
He touched her arm. “You know I had no interest in that woman, right?”
“It’s me. It’s not your fault you look the way you do. You were standing there. She was the one ignoring a guest. I don’t know what women think sometimes. I mean, she couldn’t have known if you were a relative or a boyfriend. It was just a bad ending to a bad situation. Let’s move on so I can get to the bank. After that, I’ll call my credit card company.” She jerked her hands out, fingers stiff and spread wide. “I have no access to my money right now. Nothing.”
He’d love to tell her the credit card and bank situation were weird coincidences. Would love to. Except, being naive had never been an issue for him. Couple the credit-card fiasco with the mysterious mold infestation, and it seemed to him someone had taken an interest in messing with her. In a bad way.
“David, I’m the only one leasing space in that building. And now my finances
are a mess. What are the chances someone is trying to get me out?”
Considering it, he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know. Who would want you out of your home and studio? All of this happened in the last two days. Nothing before that? Harassing calls, weird encounters, anything?”
“No. Well, aside from you showing up at my door.”
The words came at him slowly, like tiny pebbles being tossed his way, lightly stinging his skin. You showing up at my door. The corners of Amanda’s lips tilted down and her eyes narrowed.
Bingo.
They both started babbling, talking over each other about coincidences and the skull and the chances.
Amanda held up her hand.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s all right. We’re both thinking the same thing. Could this be about the skull?”
“I sure hope not, but if that’s the anomaly, it’s a pretty decent guess. Who knows you’re working on the reconstruction?”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to an empty car. Perfect. They could keep talking.
“Your mother knows,” she said. “You, your family and their contacts, the detectives, the lab guy, Lexi and whoever they’ve told.”
“I think we need to get with McCall. Everyone else is someone we trust. But McCall. He could have told any number of people.”
If the building situation and her assets being frozen happened because of her working on the sculpture, a project he’d pushed her hard on, they had serious issues beyond her current state of affairs. They’d inadvertently poked a sleeping bear.
He watched the numbers on the elevator flash off as they descended and he tapped the handle of her suitcase. If this was his fault, he’d go insane. Seriously, unreasonably, certifiably nuts. The guilt alone would kill him.
“We’ll go to the bank first,” he said. “Get that straightened out.”
“Then I’ll call my credit card company. By then we’ll have quite the story for Detective McCall. I’ll find another hotel tonight.”
“Uh, no.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t like all this nonsense around you. Hotels are miserable to sleep in anyway.”
The Rebel Page 8
