Will headed directly for the reception counter on the lobby’s east side. A staffer there—female, mid-twenties—chatted with an older man while another hotel staffer—male, mid-thirties—checked in a nicely dressed woman.
Will picked the female clerk and pretended to be fooling with his cell phone until her counter opened up.
“May I help you, sir?”
He approached her counter and tried to seem friendly. “I’m with the Austin police,” he said, and watched her brow furrow. “I need to find out if a particular person was registered here a few weeks ago.”
“Is there something wrong?”
Will smiled. “Yes, but I doubt it has to do with your hotel. I just need to check on a name. For the night of July twenty-fifth.”
She continued to look worried. “I should probably get my manager.”
Will glanced at his watch. “I’m in kind of a hurry. You think you could just look it up for me?”
She bit her lip. “Who did you say you are?”
He fixed a reassuring smile on his face and pulled out his ID. “William Hodges. APD.”
“And who is it you’re looking for?”
He wasn’t really looking for a dead guy, but he leaned closer. “John David Alvin. Or David Alvin. Either one.”
Her pink-painted fingernails clacked over the keys as she pulled something up on her computer. “That was a Saturday. I was working that night, but I don’t remember Mr. Alvin.”
Sounded like she knew the guy. Maybe the Randolph was one of his frequent rendezvous spots. Maybe he’d spent the night here with Courtney. The thought put a sour taste in Will’s mouth.
“I show he was here,” she said.
The computer sat in the corner of the reception counter, arranged at a diagonal. Will couldn’t read the screen because of the glare.
“It looks like he checked out early, though. That same night.”
Alvin had checked in. And then left.
Or someone had checked in under his name.
“You say you were working that night?” Will shifted his position so he could better glimpse the screen.
She looked up. “That’s right. I always work Saturdays.”
“Can you tell me which room he was booked in?”
She chewed her lip. She darted her gaze to his ID, which was still on the counter. “Four-twenty-six.”
Will nodded. “And can you tell whether he self-parked or used the valet?”
“He always uses the valet,” she said without looking.
Alvin was a regular. The valet would probably know him, especially if he over-or undertipped.
“And do you remember anything unusual happening that night?”
“Unusual?”
“Maybe a noise complaint? A person who skipped the bill, something like that?”
Her fingers flew over the keys. “I don’t remember anything like that. I’ve got nothing in the log.”
Will glanced around the lobby. He noticed the dimly lit bar just off the elevator bank: the lariat lounge. An easel stood beside the entrance there. Will couldn’t read the sign, but he guessed it advertised a singer or maybe a pianist.
“We did have another early checkout on that floor.”
His attention snapped back to the clerk. “What was that?”
“Another early checkout. You said anything ‘unusual,’ and that’s sort of unusual for us. The guest checked out about ten-thirty. Just after Mr. Alvin.”
“What room was the guest booked in?”
“That would be four-forty-one.”
“And what name was on the reservation?”
Will held his breath, praying for cooperation. He could get a warrant for this, but it would be a lot simpler if she volunteered the information.
“Beatrice Morris.”
Beatrice Morris. Will’s pulse spiked. “Are you sure it’s Morris and not Moore?” It was all he could do not to hurdle the counter and see for himself.
“It says Morris.”
Still, Beatrice was an odd name. And what were the chances of coming across a Beatrice Moore and a Beatrice Morris in the same investigation? Pretty damn low.
The clerk cast a nervous glance over her shoulder. “If you need anything further, I really am going to have to go get my manager.”
“Please do that,” Will said. “I’m definitely going to need something further.”
The sun was setting on another triple-digit weekend when Courtney stepped off the 10/20 and strode down the sidewalk like a woman born in high heels. Will watched her from his booth inside the doughnut shop. He liked her shoes today. He liked all her shoes, but these were particularly hot. They had skinny heels and black ties around the ankles, and Will took a second to appreciate her legs before he pitched his coffee cup into the trash and left the store.
He followed her for half a block, expecting her to hang a left on Oak Trail, but she kept going. She jaywalked across a street and passed a shadowed alleyway before ducking in the exit door of a small-chain grocery store.
Will followed.
He’d intended to approach her right off the bat, but now he adjusted his strategy. You could learn a lot about someone from her shopping habits. Did she buy for herself or for company? How much did she drink? Did she purchase prescriptions or OTC drugs? Did she use cash or credit?
She snagged a red basket from the floor beside a fruit bin and grabbed a bunch of bananas. Then she zigzagged through the produce section, oblivious to the young stock boy checking out her ass. After snatching up a few items in dairy, she turned down the bread aisle.
Will tailed her through the store, becoming more an noyed with every step. He wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t even making an effort to hang back, yet she seemed to have no idea she was being followed. She paused in the skin-care aisle and spent an excruciatingly long time picking out face soap before heading for the register. She smiled at the cashier and grabbed a king-size Snickers off the candy shelf before swiping her credit card. Then she scooped up her three plastic bags and strode out.
Will followed closely, not making the slightest effort to conceal himself or the sound of his footsteps. Movement flickered in his peripheral vision as a lanky man with a frizzy gray beard loped across the street, moving straight for Courtney. Will’s hand was on his holster until she stopped and smiled at the guy. They exchanged a few words as she dug through one of her bags and handed him the Snickers. He took it and shuffled off.
She resumed her course, and Will closed the gap between them in a few long strides.
“Hey!”
She whirled around. Her face went from frightened to irate in an instant. “Damn it, you scared me!”
“You always walk around alone at night?”
“You nearly gave me a heart attack! What the hell are you doing?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“How long have you been following me?”
“Long enough.” He stepped closer and peered down at her with his “be-afraid” look. He’d used it on gangbangers and CIs and even a few terrorists. But instead of looking intimidated, she looked pissed.
“So you’re spying on me now? What is this, Big Brother?”
“You told me you’d be careful.”
“I am careful.”
“You’re oblivious. I’ve had a tail on you for half an hour. You broke two traffic laws. You walked past a dark alley twice. You let some guy pick you up in the snack aisle. You stopped beside a Dumpster to talk to a homeless man—”
“I didn’t let someone pick me up!”
“That beefcake by the chips. Don’t tell me he wasn’t hitting on you.”
“He wasn’t hitting on me!”
“Oh, yeah? What’d he say?”
Her mouth dropped open.
He took her groceries and started walking down the sidewalk toward her house.
“Hey!” she shouted after him.
He kept going, and finally he heard her heels on the sidewalk as she hurried to catch up.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking you home.”
She walked beside him, almost matching his stride with those long legs. “For your information, I’m not oblivious to my safety. I’ve taken self-defense classes.”
“Good.”
“Not that it’s any of your business.”
They turned down her street, and he scanned the area. It was quiet. Dark except for the streetlamps. He liked that her across-the-street neighbor had a Doberman.
“You hear anything from Amy’s boyfriend?”
“No.” Her voice was calmer now.
He glanced at her. She wore a sleeveless black dress that clung to everything. The only color on her today was her wine red hair and matching lips.
“What about Amy?” he asked.
“She’s avoiding me. I haven’t talked to her since the other day. I think she’s embarrassed.”
They came to her sidewalk, and he motioned for her to go first. She dug a key out of her roomy black purse and went up the steps. He followed her.
“That guy was hitting on you.”
She shook her head and unlocked the door. Then she turned and gazed up at him. “You want to tell me why you’re really here?”
“I’ve got a warrant for you.”
CHAPTER 7
Her chest tightened. “An arrest warrant?”
He walked into her kitchen and set all her bags on the table.
“Will?”
“A search warrant. You want these drinks in the fridge?” He started unloading groceries. She closed and locked the front door, giving herself a second to regroup before answering. He’d come for her computer. And maybe to search her house. She should probably call Ackerman.
She went into the kitchen and took the six pack of Diet Cokes out of his hand. “I’ll do it.”
She made quick work of unloading the bags while he leaned against her counter, watching her.
“I went to the Randolph,” he said.
The Randolph. For some reason, hearing the name made her uncomfortable. She and David had spent the night there at least half a dozen times. It was their romantic hideaway, and Will the supersleuth had probably figured that out.
Courtney put away everything except the bread, the cheese, and the butter. She needed comfort food in a major way.
“What’d you find out?” she asked casually.
“A lot of interesting things.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
She bent down and retrieved a nonstick skillet from the cabinet beneath the stove. She switched on the gas burner.
“Apparently you weren’t the only person who knew John as ‘David’ Alvin. That’s the name he used whenever he stayed at that hotel. He even had a credit card issued under that name.”
Courtney unwrapped a stick of butter. She felt vindicated, at least somewhat. She’d never liked the fact that she’d bought into his lies.
Not that she’d completely bought in. The nagging sense that something wasn’t right had prompted her to poke through his pockets and his BlackBerry and, finally, to go searching on the Internet until she came across a John David Alvin at the Austin law firm of Wilkers & Riley.
“He spent the night at that hotel sixteen times during the past year. When was the last time you were there?”
She watched a thick pat of butter go liquid in the pan. The edges started to bubble and brown. She opened the package of cheese and peeled off several slices. “January.”
“You sure about that?”
She opened a fresh loaf of honey wheat bread. “Our entire relationship lasted less than a month. If he’s been at the Randolph since January, it wasn’t with me.” She tilted the skillet, spreading the butter around, and then laid down two slices of bread. “You hungry?” She glanced at Will, whose attention was fixed on the pan.
“No. Thanks.”
“I haven’t eaten all day.” She layered two slices of cheese on each piece of bread, and then topped them off with more honey wheat.
Not only had she skipped lunch, she hadn’t taken so much as a coffee break. She’d been on her feet since 10:00, and the salon had been unusually hectic for a Sunday. Thank God tomorrow was her day off. Courtney bent over to untie the straps of her sandals. She stepped out of them and sighed with relief as her soles rested flat against the cool linoleum floor. Much better.
She glanced up, and Will was watching her, frowning.
“Those things hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do you wear them?”
She smirked and tossed the shoes into a carpeted corner of the living room. “They look good, and I’m in the beauty business. Why do you wear a holster all the time?”
“It holds my gun.”
“And it looks intimidating. Projects the tough-guy image.”
He nodded at the pan. “I think that’s done.”
She took out a spatula and flipped the sandwiches. “What else did you find out at the Randolph?”
“A number of things.”
She stepped toward him, and he drew back. She reached around him and opened the cabinet where she kept her plates.
She made him tense. It was the kiss, most likely. He still thought she was going to jump him. There was probably something in the Good Cop Handbook about getting busy with your prime suspect.
She took down two dinner plates and set them on the counter beside the stove. She transferred the sandwiches to the plates, sliced them in half diagonally, and then took some potato chips out of the pantry. She heaped a moun tain of Ruffles beside Will’s grilled cheese and handed him the plate.
“I said I wasn’t hungry,” he said, looking down at it hungrily.
“You lied.”
She took two bottles of water from her fridge, plopped them on the table, and sank into a chair. She picked up a warm half sandwich. The cheese was all soft and melty, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the first bite.
Will scraped back a chair and sat down across from her. He picked up a chip.
“I would have figured you for Baked Lays. Or sunflower seeds or something.”
She wrinkled her nose.
“This is good,” he said after a few bites.
“I know. The key is using salted butter.”
He watched her as he opened his water and took a sip. It felt nice having him at her table. It almost felt like they were friends, like he wasn’t sitting there with a warrant in his pocket.
“You ever heard the name Beatrice Moore?”
Courtney returned her attention to her sandwich. “No.”
“What about Beatrice Morris?”
“I don’t know anyone named Beatrice. Why?”
He watched her silently.
“Who is she?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “She seems to have left town.”
Courtney wasn’t following. She nibbled a few chips, waiting for him to explain, but he just kept watching her.
“You said Alvin was working on a big case while you guys were seeing each other. Was that made up, or do you think he was for real?”
“It was real.” She took a swig of water. “It was some trial that had been dragging on for weeks. He was always getting phone calls and e-mails about it on his BlackBerry.”
“How do you know?”
She lifted a brow.
“You snooped through his BlackBerry?”
“I was suspicious. He acted strange sometimes. Secretive. I thought it might be another woman.”
“What did you find out?”
She pushed her plate away. “That lawyers use way too much jargon. Okay, I’m ready now.”
He swallowed the bite he was chewing. He’d polished off the whole sandwich in less than five minutes. “Ready for what?”
“For you to slap on the cuffs.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why would I need to handcuff you?”
“Don’t you want to search my house? I figured you’d probably cuff me to the chair here. So I don’t flee the sce
ne or plant evidence or something.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Why would you plant evidence against yourself?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m new at all this criminal stuff. You’re going to have to tutor me.”
He stood up and took his plate to the sink. She followed him and put hers on the counter beside his. Then she turned and gazed up at him.
She was getting under his skin. The look in his eyes was part annoyance, part attraction. He was probably annoyed with himself for being attracted to her, probably regretting that he’d let her make him dinner. She smiled.
“You think this is a joke?” he asked.
“Not at all.”
His face was stern now. “You’re being looked at for murder. You might want to remember that.”
She crossed her arms. “Not the kind of thing I’d forget.”
“You’re not out of the woods yet.”
“I’m aware of that, thanks.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here’s your warrant. And I’ll take that computer now.”
Courtney lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Will. You’re being looked at for murder. It was impossible to put the words out of her mind, and even more impossible to forget the way he’d said them.
He’d looked tense. And angry. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in more trouble than she’d thought.
Ackerman had told her not to worry. He’d said that if they really had the goods on her, they would have charged her soon after they’d recovered her gun. He’d seemed so confident about it, and Courtney had felt reassured. She’d felt even better after Will had come into the salon, and she’d confided in him. It had been a weight off her chest, and she’d felt as though he wanted to help her. She’d felt as though he would help her.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
He was attracted to her—that much she knew. But the fact that he wouldn’t act on his attraction worried her. You’re not out of the woods yet. Maybe she never would be. Maybe Will knew it, too, and didn’t want to get involved with a woman he’d later have to arrest. Probably not a wise career move for a rookie detective.
Whisper of Warning Page 9
