Lying Eyes (9 page)

"You don't need to. You're pressed for time. Fix your face. I shouldn't have risked upsetting you again."

Jamming his hands in his pockets, he paced away from her and turned back. "Finding you in tears earlier made my stomach ache. My mother cried easily and far too often. Seeing you distraught over something beyond my power to fix struck me like a sucker punch and nearly brought me to my knees."

"May I ask you something?"

"Sure, what?"

"Would you kiss me again? I was too stunned to enjoy the first one."

His hesitancy made her heartbeat skip.

Would he deny her bold request, she wondered.

He stepped in close again and fitted his now soft lips to hers, no longer taking but giving her exactly what she'd hoped for, a gentle, sensual kiss.

She clasped her hands behind his neck, pulled him close and closer still. Fitting her soft curves to his hard body, she prayed the passionate kiss would never end.

It had to, though. She needed to report to her venue, prepared to speak in fifteen minutes.

Carlo must have realized it, too. He stepped back, his gentle hands sliding possessively along her rib cage and hips as he studied her.

"That was—"

"Incredible," she said before he could ruin the most promising kiss she's ever experienced.

––––––––

Y
ou failed again."

"How did you—?"

"You forget. I have eyes and ears everywhere."

*****

C
arlo halted their progress as he noticed the crowd gathered outside The Garden Room. Grasping Allison's arm, he shoved her behind him. "I don't like the looks of this."

"What's going on?" he asked a man standing in the back of the impatient mob waiting outside her venue.

"Someone in charge refused to open the doors, said it's because the room won't hold this crowd."

"I'll be damned," Carlo murmured.

Allison began politely working her way to the closed door. "Excuse me. I'm sorry," she said repeatedly, while Carlo dragged his feet, trying to hold her back.

"Allison, it's not safe for you to mingle in a crowd."

"Relax, Carlo. These are my workshop attendees, hopeful writers with no reason to harm me."

"Someone else may." He tugged her arm again. "
Wait.
"

"No, I can't. I have to get to those doors and resolve this issue."

"No, you don't. You need to go back upstairs and—"

"No, Carlo, I
need
to get inside this room and do something about this impasse."

"How? Wave a magic wand and suddenly make your venue larger? Last time I looked you didn't have a wand. It's time for you to throw in the towel and go back to the room. I'll even let you throw something else in the safety of our room, if that's what you feel like doing."

"Is my safety all you ever think about? What about my career? I can't possible disappoint all these people who have come to hear me speak."

She tried to jerk her arm free of his grasp. "Let me go."

"I can't. It's my job."

"To keep me safe.
Not
to interfere with my conference duties. You heard the Captain."

She intentionally stomped the toe of Carlo's shiny shoe as she surged past him.

"Ouch! Hey, come back here."

She stopped to reach for her phone, allowing Carlo to catch up with her. "I'm calling the room hostess.

"Jenny, it's Allison Marble," she said and paused to listen.

"I know. I'm right outside. Please open the door and let me in. I have a possible solution to your problem."

She pocketed her phone. The door opened a crack.

"Allison?" Jenny called.

"I'm right here."

She turned to the waiting crowd. "If you'll all step aside for a moment and let me go inside, it's my fervent hope this workshop will start in a matter of minutes."

Carlo unwillingly followed her inside.

"How can we resolve this impasse?" she asked a young man wearing a Staff Event badge.

"This room is too small for your audience. The Fire Marshall will shut us down if we let the room fill past its limit."

"Is there a vacant room available that will hold the crowd?" Allison asked.

Carlo said, "You can't just—"

"Watch me and learn."

The staff guru pulled out his phone, spoke into it for a moment. His eyes lit. Smiling at her, he ended the call.

"The Terrace Room is twice this size. Staff is testing the speaker system now. Too bad you have to move, you have such an interesting display laid out in here."

"Which can all be neatly arranged in the new venue."

Carlo tugged her sleeve. "Allison, you can't just—"

"Sure I can. Watch."

She stepped to the doors, opened one wide, and spoke to the waiting crowd.

"We're moving to a larger room, and I need some of you to help."

The crowd quieted.

"When I was in third grade the city opened a new branch library adjacent to the old one. Both buildings were near my school. Single file, the principal marched us to the old library where each student gathered an armload of books. Keeping our places in line, we marched next door to the new library where staff waited to help us shelve the books."

She cleared her throat. "With your help, we're going to move the displays inside this room to our new venue, the Terrace Room. I need about twenty of you to follow me and select one of the items on display. Carefully carry your selection to the new venue and place it on the tables the Event Staff is setting up there."

Allison blocked the door once she had admitted enough volunteers. "The rest of you please hurry to the Terrace Room and take a seat so we won't lose any more time than it takes for everyone to relocate."

Allison's volunteers each grabbed an item on display and hurried after her, laughing and talking among themselves.

The Terrace Room, while twice as big, was set up like the Garden Room and soon everyone was seated. She smiled at Carlo and Susan in the front row and nodded at him as if to say I-told-you-so.

Every available seat was filled, and about a dozen had joined Marsha along the rear wall. Carlo's grim expression made her wary. She'd have to remember he didn't function well when things didn't go according to his carefully thought-out plan.

Only five minutes past the expected start time Allison signaled the room host to begin, and squirmed in her seat as the hostess read the last of her introduction.

"...Mornings, she's a familiar face on San Diego television screens, but Allison Marble is also a multi-published novel writer and investigative reporter. We're lucky to have such a distinguished celebrity present for this workshop on 'The Correct Way to Report Crimes.' Welcome, Allison."

Smiling, she stood and acknowledged a round of applause as she approached the podium.

"I'd like to thank all of you for your patience and for helping relocate this workshop to this spacious room."

She rubbed her hands together. "Now, let's talk about the business of reporting criminal activity in print and for television audiences."

She clicked on the first image in her PowerPoint Presentation. "This is a scene in a typical newspaper newsroom. Most of the time it is bedlam. Not all novice reporters make it. Only the most assertive ones last, the ones who learn to be aggressive. To knock on closed doors. To open unlocked ones and stick their head inside despite objections, and to not take
'No'
for an answer. Persistence pays off. I see some heads shaking. Yes, the pressure to be assertive makes meek, shy reporters cringe. Meek writers, too."

Seeing Carlo's thoughtful expression, she wondered what was going on in his analytical mind.

"Here's a warning you all should heed," she said later, ending her lecture. "Don't characterize your heroine as a reporter and have her act like Miss Milky-Toast. Give her backbone. Make her gutsy. Let her step on toes to get a story. The Mayor may even try to have her fired."

She paused for the scattered laughter to subside. "Never fear. Her editor will love her. Your readers will, too, and if you come to tomorrow's workshop I'll show you how a gutsy reporter can win an alpha hero's heart."

She smiled at the crowd. "Now, as you can see, with help from a willing group of authors to whom I'll be eternally grateful, there are some graphic images of crimes I covered for the station and several scrapbooks containing highlights of my career on display around the room. Please feel free to move about the room for the next twenty minutes and peruse these displays. When order is restored I'll try to answer any questions you have."

Carlo scowled as he leaned against the near wall and, like a hawk, surveyed everyone in his sight.

Ignoring him, Allison strolled about, answering questions and sharing experiences about her work.

When the hostess called time, Allison answered one more question and acknowledged another generous round of applause.

While the audience filed out she stacked the last of her scrapbooks on the Event Cart and thanked the hotel staff for their help.

"Would you like a ladies’ room break between workshops?" Carlo asked, his voice deep. "I intend to stand right outside the door if you do."

"I'd like to go to my room instead."

"What about the next workshop you planned to attend?" he asked, glancing at her schedule on his cell phone.

"I'm beat. I've decide to skip it. I want to lose these shoes and slip into something more comfortable. Maybe relax in the Jacuzzi. Better yet, the Fitness Room."

"Doesn't sound relaxing to me."

"It does to me. For now, I need a chance to burn off this excess energy before I burst. If I wasn't convinced you'd throw a tantrum, I'd ask you to go jogging with me."

"I do not throw tantrums," Carlo said, his jaw tight.

"But you will escort me to the Fitness Room? A half-hour on a stationary bicycle and one on a treadmill should cure me of this blue funk I feel myself slipping into." Knowing her eyes twinkled in anticipation, she smiled at him.

"You win. Stand still long enough for me to text the rest of the team about our change of plans."

A darling pair of red boots paraded by. Allison turned her head and followed the owner's progress. When the owner grinned smugly, Allison gave her a thumbs-up.

Carlo possessively took hold of her arm again. "Done. We're off the clock, so get a move on."

He quickly escorted her to the fifth floor, and let her into her room.

"Are you ever going to allow housekeeping to make our beds?" she asked.

"No, but I'll ask housekeeping to bring clean towels when you run out."

"Good idea. I expect to be sweaty when we come back to the room."

"Consider it done. Knock on the connecting door when you're ready to work up a sweat."

He waved bye, left her staring at his broad back, and closed and locked the connecting door.

Okay. Privacy while I change is good. Right?

She quickly shed her wrap-around dress knit with five-percent spandex and the shoes Carlo hadn't been able to stop admiring, and slipped into her new sports bra and matching shorts. A head band and gym shoes completed her ensemble and in what she considered record time she grabbed the matching tunic and knocked on the connecting door.

The door opened wide. She swallowed, stunned by the six-feet of buff male Carlo's muscle shirt and track shorts revealed.

His appreciative gaze skated across every inch of her uncovered flesh before slowly returning to her face, his face flushed and his Adam's apple bobbing.

Is he about to have a heart attack?

"Yes, I'm ready, but if that garment you're holding isn't a cover-up, I'm not sure I'll be able to walk to the elevator with you."

"It is," she said with an impish grin and reluctantly donned the tunic.

He moistened his lips and grabbed two bath towels. "We're heading to the Fitness Room," he said into his radio, set it on the desk, and led her out into the hall.

"Where to?" he asked, his words strained.

"The fourth floor. Across the Skywalk from the Food Court."

"The west elevator should be closer," he said, turning west at the end of the hall. "Or we could take the stairs?"

"No need, we're just a few steps from the elevator closest to the Fitness Room."

She and Carlo rode down the one floor in silence and stepped out into a chest-high concrete maze she'd admired from the lobby till now.

Four walled-in concrete Skywalks came together in the center of an open loft area four stories high, giving her an interesting view of the lobby and the busy bar she was yet to visit. The lobby café was only open for breakfast and lunch. Those empty tables below reminded Allison of her favorite black and white photograph by Alfred Stieglitz featuring an outside eating area viewed from above.

Ahead, through the floor to ceiling glass walls of the Fitness Room she saw three towel-draped males trying to outdo each other on treadmills, their towels bouncing jauntily as they jogged.

She grinned.
Men.

Allison walked straight to a vacant treadmill and climbed on. "This is just what I need."

"She's just what
I
need," one of the men murmured, elbowing his companion.

Carlo glared at the trio. The ensuing respectful silence lasted until he selected a rowing machine with an unimpeded view through the glass walls and started the machine.

Always the cop. Does this man ever relax?

Allison decided to forget all about alpha heroes and drug deals gone sour and for the first time in twenty-four hours totally relaxed as she set a fast pace and began to jog.

The men nodded to them, pocketed their cell phones, and strolled out the door. She stopped jogging, planning to move to a stationary bike, but hesitated, her gaze following the buff men out the door.

Deep in conversation, the men strolled along the skywalk where an unusual movement snagged Allison's attention.

A dark-skinned face bobbed into view, disappeared, and bobbed up again.

Allison's heart clenched.

"Carlo."

He kept right on rowing.