Lying Eyes (4 page)

"Sounds like a mob scene. I don't
dare
let you go."

She turned back to him so fast her long hair swirled around her shoulders and hugged her neck like a cozy shawl.

Squelching the desire to stroke the soft-looking strands he said, "The Captain will have the final say about you attending the conference."

––––––––

"W
here the hell have you been? You were supposed to call me as soon as you delivered the goods."

"I ran into trouble."

"What kind of trouble? Didn't you make the exchange?"

"I collected the money..."

"And?"

"I... screwed up."

"How?"

"Union Station was swarming with undercover cops. The back of my neck started tingling as soon as I stepped into the waiting room."

"I'm not interested in your tingling. What did you do?"

"I blended in with the crowd hurrying outside to catch a cab."

"Good thinking. So how did you screw up?"

"One of LA's finest in uniform stepped up beside me at the taxi stand. I didn't want to get caught with the money, so I ditched the bag."

"Damnation. How?"

"Swapped it for a similar bag belonging to a classy chick heading for the Caprice Hotel."

"Get to the point, dunce. Where is my money?"

He swallowed. "I elbowed my way to the head of the line, commandeered the next cab, and followed her."

"And..."

"Once she checked in, I lost her."

"Idiot. How did you manage that?"

"The uniform rode up the elevator with her. She got out on the fifth floor. He got off on the next floor. I continued up. Now all I have to do is hang out on the fifth floor and until I find out which room is hers."

"If you know what's good for you, you better find her and get my money back..."

*****

A
llison fervently wished the detective would land somewhere.

Her stomach ached and she was yet to quench her thirst.

He stopped pacing long enough to swallow two gulps of bottled water and resumed his endless prowling.

She wanted to scream, the tension in her room thick enough to slice with a knife.

He yanked out his ringing cell phone and answered it with, "Demetri."

Why does that surprise me? He is a man of few words.

He listened a moment. "Thank you, Sir."

Instead of putting his phone away, he placed a call.

"Lacey? This is Lieutenant Demetri."

He paused, listening.

"Yes, I'm all checked in."

A longer pause.

"No, I haven't collected my Conference Staff package yet. That's what I wanted to speak to you about. I have two... assistants who also need to register for the conference. Is it too late?"

Still listening, he grinned.

"Susan Norcross and Marsha Daniels. Sorry about the short notice. Please ask the person in charge of registration to prepare badges and conference packets for them."

His shoulders relaxed.

"Great. Thanks." He pocketed his cell.

"All courtesy of the LAPD?" Allison asked.

"Right. Marsha will share your room, and Susan will move in the room directly across from yours."

Carlo grinned.

Allison clinched her jaw. She hated being made to feel like a recalcitrant child.

"Sounds like it's all coming together. The female undercover officers are checking in now. The men are riding over with Captain Samson and will be here soon, but I still have a bad feeling about this."

"Is that why you can't be still?"

"Partly. I keep thinking there's something I've overlooked, some precaution I need to take to lessen the danger to you."

"Relax, Detective. I'm a big girl."

"All one-hundred-and-ten pounds of you? When are you going to get this through your thick skull? If the Captain allows you to stay and attend the conference you will be in constant danger."

"I've been responsible for my own safety for years. I know kickboxing and—"

"Have you ever come up against a desperate man with a gun?"

She swallowed with sudden difficulty. "No, not against an armed man."

"When I was twelve, my sixteen-year-old brother was the victim of a drive-by shooting. I was standing right beside him. Believe me, there is no more helpless feeling than seeing the life blood flow out of someone you care about."

"I'm sorry. What did you do?"

"I was so traumatized I couldn't even scream. I don't want the same thing happening to you," he whispered.

"Was the killer caught?"

His eyes darkened. "No. I thought it would be easy. I saw a Hispanic youth with a chipped front tooth stick his hand out a car window and pull the trigger. The back of the hand holding the gun had a bloody knife tattooed on it. He was riding in the front seat of a beat-up, older model, grey, four-door car. The rear door on the passenger side was darker than the rest."

"To be so traumatized, you vividly recalled small details. Did you report all that to the police?"

"Sure, for all the good it did."

"LAPD failed to find the shooter?"

"They told me it was because I didn't get the license plate and couldn't ID the make and model of the vehicle involved. I didn't see the driver, but I'll never forget the tattoo on the shooter's hand. He's still out there, laughing up his sleeve at the police."

"What about your other brother? You said—"

He scowled at her and sighed. "I had just turned eleven when my five-year-old brother talked my mother into letting the two of us walk to the corner store to buy candy with his birthday money. The store wasn't far, just to the corner and across the street."

Carlo cleared his throat. "He was talking a-mile-a-minute about what he planned to buy and happily skipping at my side when he slipped his hand from mine and darted ahead."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes. I. Do.
I ran after him, but a convertible careened around the corner. Next thing I knew the baby brother I'd taught to walk lay broken and bleeding beside the curb, still clutching the quarters that had burned a hole in his pocket all morning."

Stealthily, Allison brushed aside a tear.

"All of it
my
fault. Mom was devastated. I'd promised to keep my brother safe if she'd trust me to walk him to the store alone.

"I failed both of them," he said, causing emotion to clog her throat.

His quiet words made her chest ache as the detective peered at her, his eyes dark and moist. "I should have had a tighter hold on his hand."

"So now you bend backwards to keep everyone you come in contact with safe."

The detective's eyebrows shot up and he silently studied her. "Something like that. It's the main reason I refuse to let you out of my sight again. I failed my brother, but there's no way in hell I'm letting anything happen to you."

*****

A
brisk knock sounded. "Room Service."

"Let the fun begin."

Clearing his throat, the detective headed for the door while Allison carefully surveyed the room.

"Relax. The room looks fine. So do you."

She preened.

Satisfied by his peep through the peephole, the detective opened the door for a security guard and two smiling waiters wearing white coats.

Allowing the door to swing wide, he nodded to the guard escorting them and let the waiters pushing rolling tables enter and carefully arrange trays of food on every flat surface in the room.

From beneath one white-draped table a waiter removed a tub filled with iced-down sodas and beer and placed the tub on the now draped luggage rack. The other waiter shoved two bottles of chilled white wine in the mini-refrigerator, opened two bottles of red wine with pricey labels and set out glasses.

While the shorter of the two waiters arranged plates, silverware, and napkins on the dresser, the detective signed his name and room number on the charge slip, tipped both men generously, and escorted them out.

"You may as well fill a plate and enjoy some of this food before the rest of the brigade from Central Community Police Station arrives," he said, "or there won't be anything left. The cops at Central have a reputation for putting away tons of food in minutes."

"I will. It's been a long time since my Danish." She picked up a plate and perused the spread. "Yum. These sandwich wraps look good. I have roast beef, unless I miss my guess."

She set her filled plate on the desk, took a seat beside it, and covered her bare knees with a linen napkin.

The detective's gaze followed every move she made.

She grinned.

"Do you want soda or beer?" he asked, his words choked.

"A Coke for now. I want to keep a clear head."

"Me, too." Loading a plate with sandwiches, he slumped in the chair in front of the widescreen television.

"Long day, huh?"

"The longest in recent memory."

"You know you don't have to do this," she said.

"Don't have to see this through to a satisfactory conclusion? Why the hell not? I'm the one whose lap you dropped this in."

"This is my problem, not yours. Walk away. No one will be the wiser."

His voice lowered a careful notch. "You're suggesting I
run
? I stopped running from a fight when I grew big enough to win."

She sighed. "Who taught you to be so tough?"

"Not who. What. Hard knocks on the playground have a way of toughening the weakest kid and are far more effective than any lesson taught in school."

"I can't picture you ever being weak."

He scoffed. "My older brother would have quickly pointed out my faults. I was small for my age. One bully laid in wait in our alley every afternoon. I can't count the number of times I ran home after school and dragged my brother out to the alley. One look at him, and the bully's friends would all run."

The detective worshipped his brother.

"How did you manage without him?"

Carlo swallowed and proudly said, "Most days I outran the worst bully in the bunch. Developing a tough skin helped, too. One day in the lunch line I realized I towered above him. That afternoon I stopped running and floored him with an unexpected uppercut. My lucky punch bloodied his nose. Looking down at the sniveling bully, I imagined my brother applauding."

"Is your brother's killing the reason you became a cop?"

"Partly. My father was a detective, too. He answered a robbery-in- progress call at a liquor store. As he pulled to the curb the thief came running out, his gun blazing. The two of them exchanged shots." The detective grimaced. "Only the liquor store owner escaped unharmed."

"I'm so sorry. How did your mother survive all those tragedies?"

"Italian women are made of steel."

Italian men, too. You're an amazing example.

He stilled, listening to the voices in the hall she'd just noticed.

Someone knocked lightly.

"I'll get it. I'm closer," the detective insisted.

A crowd surged inside, most of them laughing.

The detective rolled his eyes, so predictable she almost laughed at him along with her guests.

He turned to her and lowered his voice. "Miss Marble, the best looking one of these jokers is my Captain. Captain Samson, this is Allison Marble, the star of this show.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Marble," he said, shaking her hand.

"Welcome, Captain," she murmured. "Would you mind asking everyone to use first names? I have a feeling I'm going to be seeing a lot of some my guests."

The Captain nodded. "Good idea." He tapped a wine glass with a fork. "We've been asked to use first names, so please feel free to introduce yourselves."

Allison swallowed a smirk when two women wearing skirts shorter than hers approached.

"I imagine you'll have plenty of time to get to know these ladies," the detective said. "Susan Norcross and Marsha Daniels, this is Allison Marble, the writer you've been hearing so much about."

Blushing, Allison frowned at him as she whispered, "Don't exaggerate, Carlo."

He shrugged, his facial features tightening as he turned to introduce the remaining men. "Allison, this is Oscar Hanson and Earl Aiken. These officers will be your shadows for the next few days."

Smiling, she shook their hands. "I look forward to your company."

Carlo growled.

She took an instant liking to all four of the undercover officers, who were obviously awed in her presence.

Bob Stonewall arrived last. He wore a dark brown uniform, a gun on his hip, and carried a small paper bag. "Everybody, this is Bob Stonewall, head of Hotel Security."

"Miss Marble, these are for you," Stonewall murmured, giving her the bag. "Carlo said you lost your toiletries. I know this isn't all you need, but these few necessities should get you through the night."

She could feel a hairbrush and a tube of toothpaste, and assumed the other hard thing was a packaged toothbrush. "Allison, please. How thoughtful of you."

She opened the top dresser drawer, dropped the bag inside, and closed the drawer.

Captain Samson cleared his throat. "Welcome, and please introduce yourselves to the rest of the team. When you're ready, feel free to fill a plate. I'm tired of seeing this overflowing buffet and not sampling some, so please join me."

He opened a soda and moved to her side. "How are you handling this situation, Allison?"

"I'm doing fine, you should be worrying about Carlo. He's a nervous wreck."

One of his bushy eyebrows lifted as the Captain studied her for a moment. "Is that a fact? I don't recall ever seeing Carlo lose his cool."

The Captain's description made her chuckle. "Perhaps stalemated is a better word. I suspect he's accustomed to always getting his way."

"More often than not. Are you saying that hasn't been happening here?"

"He and I are often at cross-purposes when it comes to how we should proceed."

"Carlo didn't mention a problem. How would you prefer to proceed?"

"I'd want to attend as many conference events as time allows, acting as if nothing untoward has happened. I came here to make two presentations, attend a writers' conference, and hopefully garner ideas for my next book. I can't do any of those things if your detective keeps me locked in my room the way he's threatened."