Hannah Jayne (28 page)

I narrowed my eyes. “So what are you coming along for?”

“I’m not the kind of guy who lets a girl go to her doom all by herself.”

I offered Will a sarcastic smile. “What a gentleman.”

“And I got nothing better to do.”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” I dug a crushed bag of popchips out of my shoulder bag. I saw Will eye the bag with unrestrained horror.

“You want?” I asked tentatively.

Will grabbed the bag, wound the window down, and tossed out my chips.

“Hey!”

“You do not snack in a 1958 vintage Porsche 365.”

“When did the Boring Police make you their huffy English master?” I grumbled.

Will rolled his eyes and gunned it up California Street, his little car huffing as we rounded Nob Hill. “This it?”

I looked up at the hotel, stately in a uniquely San Francisco way. “Yup.”

Will yanked the car toward the curb, and a white-gloved bellman, who kindly opened my door, offered me a hand.

I made a mental note to hire myself a bellman, once I became filthy rich.

The valet came around and opened Will’s door. Will gave him a quick once-over before handing him the keys, holding his eye.

“She’s precious, you know.”

“I assure you we’ll take the best care of”—the valet eyed Will’s rust-colored clunker—“her.”

“What was that about?” I hissed as Will threaded his arm through mine, guiding me into the lobby.

“Have you not been paying attention, love? I’m your Guardian, and people—things, whatever—are after you.”

“And you think the valet was going to get to me through what? The giant rust stains on the side of your car?”

Will whirled to face me. “Nigella is a vintage 19—”

“I know!” I groaned.

“She just needs a little TLC to be restored back to her former grandeur.”

I rolled my eyes. “So how are we going to find Harley?”

Under Suspicion

Chapter Twenty-Two

Will sized up the broad-shouldered woman behind the front desk. She was looming in a navy blue blazer and smart haircut, head bent, chin jutted out as she held a phone receiver between her shoulder and ear. She was barking short, little retorts every few seconds.

A slow, suggestive grin spread across Will’s face. He licked his puckered pink lips, and I ignored the urge to slide a feather of kisses over him. He was my Guardian; and good-looking or not, he was annoying as hell.

Also, he had a car named Nigella.

He raked a hand through his hair, making the spiky, sand-colored strands stand up in a charmingly disheveled way. He jutted his chin toward the cluster of neatly upholstered chairs that were set up to look like a cozy living-room set. “Wait over there.”

I wandered over to the faux living room and scanned the magazines fanned out attractively on the coffee table, while keeping one eye on Will as he sauntered up to the phone lady.

His back was toward me, but that sly grin practically shot out like a force field or an English mating call.

Phone lady didn’t seem to be swayed.

Will leaned seductively against the front desk, and the woman hung up her phone. Her pinched face and naked eyes fixed on him. She offered him what looked like a stock, cour-teous smile and Will leaned a bit more over the front counter, saying something that I supposed was sexy and suggestive. From the look on the lady’s face, Will was either about to get a master suite or slapped with a restraining order.

He slowly turned and grinned over his shoulder at me, giving me a double thumbs-up, while the lady got back on the phone. From the looks of the dark-suited man quickly barreling toward Will, she had summoned security.

I fished around in my purse for an envelope—this was one time it really paid to pack the world in my shoulder bag—and mashed several magazine pages inside. Then I popped up and wedged my way between the hulking guard and Will.

“Hi, um, excuse me. I’m supposed to deliver this to Harley Cavanaugh. The writer?” I wagged the thick envelope just under the security guard’s nose. Close enough for him to think it was chock-full of very important information; fast enough for him not to realize the envelope said YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY WON $1,000,000!

By the time the security guard pushed me aside, Will had slipped away, and the phone lady turned her static smile on me.

“Did you say you have something for Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“Yes.” I waggled the envelope. “Very important documents. Mr. Cavanaugh needs them right away.”

Now that I was close enough, I could see that the phone lady wore a little engraved nametag on her lapel. “Sharona,” I added, eyeing her name tag.

Sharona pursed her lips and gave me a suspicious once-over. “And who did you say you were?”

“I didn’t. What I did say was that Harley Cavanaugh needs these documents right away.”

Sharona held her palm open. “I’ll see that he gets them.”

“I would really prefer to deliver them myself.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.”

“I understand. But will you please ring him right now to let him know that they’re coming?”

Sharona let out an exasperated sigh and waved the security guard away. He retook his post by the front door, apparently content that Will, the English threat, was gone.

Sharona’s ultralong nails clicked away at her keyboard and she was back on the phone. I could hear the shrill ringing as she cradled the receiver. I stood up on my tiptoes and whispered the word “bathroom.”

Sharona rolled her eyes and jabbed one clawed fingernail a little too close to my left ear, but I got the gist. I slid the envelope in my pocket and beelined across the foyer toward the restrooms.

I was pacing outside the ladies’ room when Will came up to me, smiling broadly. “That was brilliant, love, really.”

“Did you see the computer screen?”

“Three thirty-seven. Thanks for getting security off my back, too.”

“Next time, let me do the talking.”

We took the stairs and I was huffing by the time we reached the third floor. I assumed it was the altitude and helped myself to a chocolate off the maid’s cart as we counted off the rooms.

“Here we are, room 337,” Will said.

“Okay.”

We stood and stared at each other. “Okay, what?” Will asked.

“Knock.”

Will rapped on the door and we stood, waiting, silent.

Nothing happened. I pressed my ear to the door.

“Do you hear anything?” Will asked.

I shook my head. “Well, that was a big waste.”

“Not at all.” Will threw on that charming, sheepish grin, which he did so well, and strolled down to the maid who was locking up room 341.

“Hi there. My wife and I are here on our second honeymoon”—he looked over his shoulder at me and I gaped, wondering how he could muster a bashful blush on command—“and we seemed to have locked ourselves out of our room. It’s our first time here, and we’re just so excited to see the city.”

The woman looked around Will at me and I nodded quickly, feeling my ponytail bobbing.

“We’re from the UK,” Will continued.

“Yes, yes,” I said, coming closer to Will and pouring on my Madonna/Gwyneth faux English accent. “I thought I had the key in the boot, but the hubby here thinks we left it in the room when we went out for a pint.”

Will looked at me. “Cut it out,” he whispered.

“Blimey,” I continued, slapping a palm to my forehead. “I’d forget me head if it weren’t attached to me shoulders, that I would.”

The maid said nothing, but slipped her keycard into the lock. The little green light flashed and Will pushed open the door, smiling gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Pip-pip,” I called, waving.

Will pushed me into Harley’s room and slammed the door behind us. “‘Pip-pip’?” he mocked. “‘Blimey’? Where the hell did you get your English?”

I put my hands on my hips. “I was playing along, asshat. And now I’m wondering why.”

“What do you mean?”

I flicked on the light and Harley’s hotel room looked like every other hotel room in the Mark Hopkins hotel—elegant, lushly appointed, without a blood-written message alerting us to the room owner’s murderous desires.

“We’re here in Harley’s room. You know who’s not here? Harley. He’s probably out killing Nina as we speak.”

“This was your idea, love.”

I slumped on the bed. “I guess I didn’t really consider what would happen if we didn’t find Harley.”

“What were you planning if we would have found him?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Citizen’s arrest. Mythical ass kicking. Maybe get him van-quished by those sisters on Charmed?”

Will sat down next to me and slung an arm over my shoulders; then handed me his cell phone. “There’s only one way to find out if Nina is safe tonight.”

I took the phone and dialed Nina’s, counting the rings.

“Wait a second,” Will said, ears pricking. “Listen.”

I pulled the phone from my ear and cocked my head. “Nina’s phone is ringing in stereo.”

“Wait a second,” I heard, “it’s my roommate.”

Will and I looked at each other. Nina’s voice was muffled, slightly. “Let me just turn this off,” Nina said.

The dial tone droned in my ear. “She just turned me off!”

Before I could continue my tirade, Will grabbed me by the wrist and hurled me to the floor.

“What—”

He clamped a hand over my mouth—hard—and slid with me under the bed. It was then I heard the lock jiggle and Nina’s voice came closer.

“They’re here!” I hissed in Will’s ear.

“Way to get in the game,” Will whispered back.

I watched Nina’s elegant heels walk across the surprisingly plush carpet; then I watched Harley’s polished wingtips follow. There was some murmured conversation; by the cadence and tone Harley and Nina were exchanging some grossly sexual banter. I looked at Will; my lip curled into a disgusted snarl. He waggled his eyebrows at me. If the intent was to be suggestive, it missed the mark and lodged securely in “ew.”

My ear pricked when I heard Nina’s voice drop into her singsong, sexy, sweet sound—the one usually reserved for big fangs and large favors. I pressed my forefinger in front of my lips, should Will decide to talk.

“Listen,” I mouthed.

“Harley, sweetie,” Nina said while I watched her press up onto her tiptoes. “I’m so thirsty.”

Will looked at me. Even under the faint, dusty light of the bed skirt, I could see that he was clearly alarmed. Frankly, so was I.

“Well, maybe we should see what we’ve got in the minibar,” Harley said, his voice deep and sexy.

“Oh, sweetie. You know what I’m really thirsty for?”

I felt a hot wire split down my spine. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My own roommate gone rogue? My heart thumped painfully, and my fingers curled into the carpet. I gripped down to the studs.

“I just have this absolute craving”—Nina’s voice was a slow, seductive drawl—“for a French 75.”

Even from under the bed, the dumb-dog smile was evident on Harley’s face.

“Oh, yeah? What happens in a French 75?”

“It’s a cocktail, silly.”

Harley’s “oh” sounded crushed.

I watched Nina’s pointy-toed shoes move closer to Harley’s shiny ones, and I guessed she was pressing her body up against him in that way she had, snaking her arms around his neck, lips brushing his ear.

“I would do anything for a French 75. Be a dear and get me one.”

Harley broke toward the phone. “Let me call room service.”

“No”—there was an audible pout—“that will take too long. Run downstairs for me, sweetie? I would be so happy.” Harley didn’t answer and Nina drawled on. “And it would give me some time to freshen up.”

Will and I exchanged relieved looks when we heard the quick smack of Harley’s lips on Nina’s; we watched his wingtips hightail it for the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?”

“Aghhh!” Will and I both shrieked at the two coal black eyes that glared at us from under the dust ruffle. Will must have tried to make a break for it, because the next thing I heard was the unmistakable thunk of skull on box spring and Will grumbling while his hand massaged his forehead. “Son of a bitch.”

“Both of you perverts, out of there. Now.”

Nina pointed to the ground and Will and I shimmied out from underneath the bed like pan-icked puppies. If we’d had tails, they would have been firmly planted between our legs.

“What are you guys doing here?” Nina hissed over her shoulder as she crossed the room and threw the lock on the door.

Will leaned into me and barely moved his lips. “Oh God. Does that mean she’s going to kill us now?”

“Maybe,” Nina said, nostrils flaring. She was suddenly—noiselessly—a half inch from Will’s nose.

“Nina,” I said, sighing, “we need to talk to you.”

Nina lodged her hands firmly on her narrow hips. “And you couldn’t use the phone?”

I put a gentle hand on Nina’s cold forearm, then led her to the end of the bed. “Sit down, Neens. This isn’t going to be easy to say.” I licked my lips and looked from Nina to Will, who lowered his eyes solemnly. “Nina, Harley’s going to kill you.”

The edge of Nina’s lip twitched, and then the other one. She blinked, probably a half-dozen times. I watched her form fists, then stretch out her fingers. She wouldn’t look at me, and I put my hand on her knee.

“Are you okay?”

I felt the tremor roil through her before I heard the sound—a wild, high-pitched gurgle. I looked at Will; his eyes were wide, alarmed.

“Nina?”

She was shaking now; her tiny shoulders spasming; tears streaming down her face.

And then came the laughter.

“This is funny to you?” I gaped.

“No,” she barely managed to gasp out.

“We’re here to save your life!”

“That’s what’s so funny,” Nina gushed, pressing her palms against her mouth.

I stood up and stomped ineffectually. “Shut up! I’ve saved your life before! Why should this be any different?”

Nina doubled over, still engulfed in silent, hilarious spasms. When I looked at Will, he simply shrugged his shoulders; then cracked his own toothpaste-commercial smile.

I shook Nina’s shoulders, forcing her to look up at me. “Look, Nina. I’ve read Harley’s book, and all signs point to him as the Underworld killer. If he knows you’re onto him—or that you’re a vampire—then you’re probably next.”