Truman Page 9

Have a drink, Tess invited.

  Katie moved past the lighted fountain toward the bar. It would serve Truman right if she came back plastered. The audacity of him. Getting the honeymoon suite, telling her how attracted he was to her, and then clarifying that nothing could ever come of it.

  The rat.

  But a handsome, sweet, adorable rat.

  She was mentally bad-mouthing him to make it easier to deal with her feelings. That was where she was getting tripped up.

  Her feelings. Bogging her down. Heating her up. Making her want something she had no business lusting after.

  She was about to enter the bar when she spotted the red-haired woman they’d met on the elevator with Tandy and Smith. She hesitated. This was Katie’s opportunity to spy on her.

  Staying in the shadows, Katie took cover behind a large column between the bar and the lobby. She waited a moment, then peeked around the column.

  The red-haired woman stood in a corner alcove, with her back to Katie, talking on her cell phone. Katie cocked her head and strained to hear the woman’s side of the phone conversation, but her words were muffled.

  Hmm. What would Tess do? Easy answer. Tess, the master snoop, would find a way to eavesdrop.

  Katie glanced around. How could she get closer without drawing attention to herself?

  A three foot high brick barrier wall surrounded the lobby fountain and butted up against the wall intersecting the alcove where the woman stood. If she could get into the water and inch under the overhang beside the alcove, she could scoot close enough to catch the redhead’s conversation, all the while hiding herself among the lush foliage surrounding the fountain.

  Doable.

  Excitement coursing through her body, Katie sneaked a glance over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. No one glanced her way, and the check-in desk was too far away for the hotel staff to spot her. Reassured that everyone’s attention lay elsewhere, Katie swung a leg over the brick wall and went down into the fountain.

  Brr!

  The water was cold. Much colder than she expected. She sucked in a breath and tamped down the urge to squeal.

  Water swamped her shoes. Why hadn’t she kicked off her high heels before getting in? Not smart, Prentiss. Not smart.

  Gathering the hem of her dress in her hand to keep from dragging it in the water, Katie crouched and crept toward the back of the fountain. Batting back palm fronds and artificial lily pads, she ignored the piles of coins shifting beneath her feet.

  Who in the heck came up with the notion of throwing coins into fountains to make a wish?

  Voices. People approaching.

  Katie ducked to cover her face with a palm frond, then froze.

  People passed nearby, but no one spotted her.

  Katie exhaled and paused. Her shoulders ached from trying to keep her head down below the level of the wall. Her nose itched, and she had to pinch her nostrils together to keep from sneezing.

  She inched closer until she reached the end of the wall. Hiding behind the thick ribbon leaves of a corn plant, Katie cocked her head and listened.

  “I don’t like it,” she heard the woman say.

  Who was the woman talking to? Katie reached in her purse for her cell phone to record the conversation and realized too late that she’d left it in the hotel room.

  “It’s too pat,” she went on. “They’re too perfectly cornpone. I smell a rat.”

  Was she talking about Katie and Truman? Katie pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth, her thighs aching from squatting

  “I know we need the money, but is it worth risking prison for their measly twelve grand?”

  Prison? Oh, juicy. Katie craned her neck, cupped a hand around her ear, and leaned as far forward as she could.

  “Do I have to remind you that the cops almost nabbed us in El Paso?” the woman snapped in response to something the other person on the other end of the call said. “You two were dumb enough to swindle a sheriff’s niece.”

  Hmm, it seemed she was talking to Tandy and Smith. But why do it on the phone and not in person? Was she trying to keep her distance from the men, just in case?

  “No, I’m not pulling the plug on our operation just yet, but we must proceed with caution. I’ve got to do a thorough background check on the Duprees. They just don’t add up. Until then, keep them at arm’s length.”

  Chills skirted up Katie’s spine. She had to get back and tell Truman what she’d learned. Katie hugged her arms across her chest and shivered. A leaf from a banana plant tickled her nose, and her toes were so cold they felt like frozen sausages.

  “I’m coming up,” the woman said. “We’ve got to go over everything again and make sure there are no slipups.”

  Katie peeked around the leaves and raised her chin. She could barely see over the top of the wall. She didn’t dare move until the con woman had gone. If the redhead caught Katie loitering in the fountain, the jig was up.

  One minute passed.

  Then two.

  Then three.

  No further conversation. Had the woman slipped into the nearby bathroom? Or had she exited through the bar instead of coming into the lobby? Or what if she was still there? Listening now, instead of issuing orders.

  Katie didn’t know the answer, but she couldn’t risk getting out of the fountain. Not yet. Not until she was certain the woman had gone.

  She waited and waited and waited.

  Someone played “Feelings” on the piano and she made a face. Ugh. Can’t even get decent music to snoop by. She wished she had a good stiff drink. Something warm and invigorating like Irish coffee, Tess’s favorite adult beverage. Not that Katie had ever tried Irish coffee. She wasn’t much of a drinker.

  After a while, Katie’s legs cramped, and her teeth chattered. Surely the woman wasn’t still on the phone. If she was, she hadn’t spoken a word in a very long time. But what if the redhead had gone into the piano bar and was watching the lobby? Or what if she came out of the bathroom at the same time that Katie, dripping water, climbed from the fountain?

  Dilemma.

  She wished Truman were here. But he wasn’t. She’d gotten herself into this mess; she could get herself out.

  Think. What would Tess do?

  Create a diversion, the answer floated into her mind.

  Great. But how?

  Before Katie could plot a plan, she heard someone clear their throat.

  Loudly.

  Wincing, she looked up to see the hotel manager peering down at her, his hands clasped behind his back. “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  “Me?” Katie pointed to herself.

  “Is there someone else in there with you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I venture to say that I’m speaking to you.”

  She faked a smile and prayed the red-haired woman was long gone. “Can I help you?”

  “You could start by telling me what you’re doing in the fountain.”

  “Well,” Katie said, scrambling for an excuse. “I wanted make a wish and so I dug in my purse for a coin but after I threw it in, I realized it was my lucky penny. So I had to come in after it. I mean, who wants seven years of bad luck, am I right?”

  “That’s mirrors,” the manager pointed out. “You break a mirror and it’s seven years of bad luck. There’s no bad luck associated with lucky pennies.”

  “So, it is. But look, I found my penny.” She quickly scooped her hand into the water and pulled up a coin. “See?”

  “That’s a dime,” the humorless manager replied.

  “Oh. Did I say lucky penny? Silly me, I meant lucky dime.”

  “Lady, you do realize taking coins from a fountain is considered stealing?”

  “But it’s my coin,” she protested, lying through her chattering teeth. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

  “Come on.” He motioned with a finger. “Get out.”

  Resigned, Katie tried to get to her feet, but she’d been squatting for so long her blood had poo
led in her legs. Her knees screeched in protest as she unfurled them. Her head swam dizzily. She staggered forward in her high heels.

  “Are you drunk?” the manager accused.

  If only. Her vision blurred. She squinted. The stocky little man looked as if he were standing in the bottom of a kaleidoscope.

  A crowd gathered. People were mumbling and tittering behind their hands. Katie supposed she was putting on a pretty good show.

  “Ma’am,” he said in a commanding timbre. “Get out of the pool. Now.”

  She wanted to tell him she was trying her best to obey, but it simply took too much effort to carry on a conversation with a Leprechaun-sized man who kept fragmenting into different colors. Instead, Katie lurched toward the brick wall.

  “If you don’t get out of there immediately, I’m calling the police.”

  The police!

  That was the last thing she needed. “Keep your pants on, shorty,” she snapped in a voice that was pure Tess Dupree. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  She shook her head, and it seemed to help clear her vision. Her fingers grasped the gritty bricks, and she moved to hoist herself over the wall.

  But her right foot caught on a mound of coins and slipped from beneath her.

  And the bricks rose to greet her forehead.

  She heard the crack.

  Experienced the sting.

  Felt something warm and sticky trickle down her face.

  Slowly, she slid back into the water.

  The manager was screaming at her, but Katie didn’t care. She was floating sweetly, leisurely into the bliss of full-on faint.

  Where was Katie? Truman checked his watch for the thirteenth time. Over an hour had passed since she’d gone off on her own, and it was after midnight.

  He sat up on the couch. It was impossible trying to sleep while she was roaming around by herself. What if something happened to her? What if she’d played detective on her own and gotten herself into a jam? He wouldn’t put it past her.

  Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair and reached for his shoes tucked under the edge of the couch. She was probably just having a drink at the bar. But instead of calming him, that spiked his apprehension.

  A beautiful woman like Katie alone in a bar? Easy pickings for hungry sharks. Her cocky self-confidence barely cloaked a naïve streak a mile wide.

  He pictured some suave, smooth, oily type coming on to her with a cunning pickup line. Katie would smile and flash those baby blues, never realizing what she was getting herself into. He thought of Paul Smith, and his stomach soured.

  That unwanted vision launched Truman off the couch and propelled him across the floor with untied shoelaces. He didn’t have time to tie his shoes, not when sweet innocent Katie was about to fall into the arms of some predatory male.

  Sprinting down the hall, Truman tried to stamp out the urgency pushing against his chest. He had the oddest feeling that Katie was in trouble.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered, jabbing the elevator button repeatedly.

  Hands on hips, he tapped his toe. Still no elevator. He punched the button again, swearing under his breath. Finally, unable to bear the wait, he barreled through the door marked: Stairs.

  He took the steps two at a time, his shoelaces slapping against the cement. Just when he realized he’d better stop to tie the laces, he tripped and went tumbling headlong down a whole flight.

  Oof!

  Truman landed on his backside, and the air left his body hard.

  Great going, West.

  He sat there a moment, his back against the wall, and caught his breath. Then he tied his shoelaces. This wasn’t smart. Not smart at all. What had he been thinking? Where was he going? He didn’t know where Katie was. He’d just been following the adrenaline surging through his gut, driving him forward, urging him to find her at all costs.

  Not smart.

  He didn’t act imprudently.

  At least not on the job.

  He was a good detective. Level-headed, serious, with a firm grasp on his emotions. Usually.

  So, what was different about this assignment?

  Truman knew the answer, and it scared him.

  Katie Prentiss.

  She was the difference. She scrambled his head with that lovely smile and saucy tongue.

  He leaped to his feet and started off again, slower this time. He needed a cover story if he ran across Smith or Tandy or the red-haired woman. Although he still wasn’t certain she was in cahoots with the two men.

  The cover story was easy. He and Katie had a tiff. She was reluctant to spend money on the modeling agency while he believed it was money well spent. An investment in her career.

  Okay. Now for the hard part. Locating Katie. Since she’d left her phone in the hotel room, he couldn’t even text her.

  He’d start with the lobby and then search the bar.

  What if she wasn’t in either of those places? Truman fretted, picking up speed on the stairs once more. He’d forgotten their room was on the twentieth floor. He should have used his head and waited calmly for the elevator.

  Then a horrible thought occurred to him. One that tied his gut in a million knots. What if Katie had picked up a man in the bar and gone back to his room with him?

  Naw. Katie wouldn’t do that.

  How do you know? She’s not the same girl who used to live next door to you, West. Before the botanical garden, he hadn’t seen her for ten years.

  He cringed at the image of Katie in some other man’s room, a stranger’s hands on her slender waist, his lips at her lush mouth.

  Truman reached the end of the stairs at last and burst through the door into the lobby. The front desk was empty except for a solitary clerk on the phone. He looked around and saw a small crowd gathered around the fountain, and his heart sank to his knees.

  Willing himself to be calm, cool, and composed, he casually walked over to see what everyone was gawking at.

  “Call an ambulance,” he heard someone say.

  “Excuse me.” Truman pushed past a knot of people and glanced down to see Katie spread out on the hard tile floor. She was soaking wet. Her eyes were closed, and she was dangerously pale. Not only that, but a small amount of blood trickled from a shallow cut on her forehead.

  “Ka…Tess!” Truman exclaimed, his heart wrenching at the sight of her so still and lifeless.

  A short man in a dark suit was bent over her. “You know her?”

  “She’s my wife.” The words came easily, as if he’d been saying them for years. “What happened to her?”

  “She hit her head.”

  “How?” Shoving the man aside, Truman crouched next to Katie.

  “I spotted her lurking in the fountain.”

  “Lurking in the fountain?” Truman repeated. He raised his head and stared at the man.

  “I’m the night manager. I asked your wife to get out of the fountain. She slipped and hit her head on the bricks.”

  “What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing! Hey, you don’t blame this on me. Your wife was where she shouldn’t be.”

  Truman took a deep breath and mentally backpedaled. Aggravating the man was senseless. “You’re right. There’s no point laying blame. It was an accident.”

  “I’m sorry she got hurt. I hope you don’t hold the Palace Arms responsible.”

  To hell with the Palace Arms. All Truman cared about was Katie’s welfare. He eased his arms under her shoulders and gathered her to his chest. “Hang on, cupcake, your bunny rabbit is here. Everything is going to be all right.”

  9

  Katie’s head lolled against his arm, alarming Truman. The blow to her head had knocked her out cold.

  “I called an ambulance,” the manager said.

  “Cancel it,” Truman commanded.

  “Why? She’s hurt. She needs to see a doctor.”

  “She’s my wife. I decide about her care. Cancel the ambulance.” Truman prayed hard that he wasn’t making the wro
ng choice. He didn’t want to jeopardize the investigation, but if Katie was seriously hurt, the manager was right, she needed to see a doctor.

  The manager made a motion at someone in the crowd. “Cancel the ambulance.”

  Katie moaned, and Truman’s spirits buoyed. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she peered straight at him.

  Truman gasped at the intensity of feeling passing between them. It was as if Katie had peeked into his soul and saw exactly everything he’d ever hidden away there. He felt more out of breath than when he’d tumbled down the stairs.

  “Zack,” she said weakly.

  For a moment Truman had forgotten Zack was his undercover name. How on earth had she remembered it under the circumstances? Good job, Katie.

  “I’m here, cupcake.”

  “What happened?”

  “You fell.”

  Katie frowned. “I don’t remember.”

  Truman propped her to a sitting position. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts a little.” She fingered her temple. “Ouch.”

  “You’ve got a small cut.”

  The crowd murmured, happy to see Katie was all right, and dispersed. The manager paced and wrung his hands.

  He had to make sure she was oriented to time and place.

  “What your name?” he asked.

  “Tess Dupree.”

  “What day is it?”

  She reeled off the correct day, even factoring in that it was after midnight.

  “Who’s the president of the United States?”

  She groaned. “Please don’t make me say that name. I’m not a fan.”

  Okay, she was all right then. “I’ll take her up to the room,” Truman told the manager. “She’ll be fine.”

  The manager licked his lips. “I’d feel much better if you’d take her to a doctor.”

  Truman looked at Katie. He’d feel better, too, but he found himself trapped between a rock and a hard place. Did he risk blowing their stakeout? Then again, was anything more important than Katie’s health?

  Best to give her the option. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” Truman asked her.

  Katie frowned. “Heck no, why would I want to do that?”

  “She’s all right.” Truman’s gaze searched out the manager’s. “Don’t worry, we won’t be suing the Palace Arms.”