Perfect for the Beach (20 page)

John bounded out of the bed and caught up with her just as she was stepping into the stairwell. “Wait!” he said, and she turned around in surprise. Then her gaze dropped to his groin and she grinned. “I don’t even know your name.”

“So?”

“Where are you going?”

“MYOB, pal.”

“I don’t know that club.”

“Very funny. Seriously, thanks for helping me out and all, but I have to run. And dude … you need to get dressed. Not that
I
mind. But still. Public hotel and all that.”

“It’s too bad,” he said regretfully. He leaned casually against the doorframe. Then jerked upright—the metal frame was
cold.”
You could have stayed in my room as long as you liked. Now, of course, I’ll have to call the house detective and let him know you’re on your way down.”

She glared at him, her eyes slits of laser blue. “Blackmailer.”

“Actually, I’m an accountant.”

“Yech! Even worse.”

“Oh, come on,” he coaxed. “Whatever’s going on, it’s obviously too hot for you to leave right now. Why not come back to the room for a while? Frankly, I’m dying to hear all about it.”

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I’m an accountant in town for a convention. What
else
am I going to do?”

“Good point.” She nibbled on her lower lip, which instantly made him want to do the same thing. “Well … I s’pose you’re right. I mean, it’ll be tough getting out of here for a while. And you did help me out … and kept your mouth shut when Frick and Frack came knocking.”

He snorted at Frick and Frack, then shrugged modestly.

“All right,” she decided. He was so relieved he nearly toppled down the stairwell. “I’ll come back. For a while. But you
really
have to put some clothes on.”

“Why?” he asked, escorting her back to lucky Room 666. “You’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah, but … do you, like, work out every day or what? I’ve seen bodybuilders in worse shape. Seriously. Clothes. First thing.”

They stopped outside his room and he smacked himself on the forehead. “Dammit! I was in such a rush to get you, I forgot the keycard.”

She smirked at him and ran his card through the slot. “Grabbed it from your pants on the way out,” she said.

“You keep your hands out of my pants.”

“Oh, like you really minded five minutes ago.”

“Irrelevant.”

“Besides, I didn’t know if it’d come in handy later.”

“You are an unregenerate pickpocket.”

“Whatever you say, pal. But your wing-wang isn’t wagging out in the hallway anymore, thanks to me.”

He’d have liked to strike up a strenuous argument to refute this point, save for the annoying fact that she was right. “That’s not going to be your pet name for it, is it? Wing-wang?”

“We’ll see,” she said mysteriously, and practically shoved him inside.

Chapter Four

“Mmm nnn’d eeel eeeeg,” she said with her mouth full.

“What?”

She chewed and swallowed. “I
said,
I didn’t steal anything.”

“That’s nice. Back up.” She was still dressed, and gorging herself on room-service chicken, gravy, mashed potatoes, broccoli, and chocolate milk. Sadly, she had not instantly disrobed after room service had come and gone.

He was wearing the standard-issue lux-hotel white terry-cloth robe, sitting on the bed and watching her. He was hungry, but not for food. “What is your name?”

“Oh. Didn’t I tell you? Sorry.” She stuck out a hand, shiny with chicken grease. He shook it gingerly. “Robin Filkins.”

“And the girl named ‘Robin’ didn’t steal anything.”

“Har-har. And nope. How can you steal your own property?”

“Lots of ways. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“How about, not?”

“Why don’t you want to tell me? An unburdened conscience is a light one.”

“Who talks like that? And to answer your question, because it’s none of your business?” she guessed.

“You involved me,” he explained patiently. “You made me your alibi. At the least, you owe me an explanation.” He eyed the gorgeous mounds under her T-shirt. “Or, barring that—”

“Simmer down, El Horno. I’ll cough up the scoop.”

“Only if you promise to stop mixing your metaphors. And to never call me that again.”

“Hey, a bird in the hand is worth a pig in a poke.” She laughed and a few red curls escaped her ponytail and bounced around her face. “Besides, don’t get uppity with me. You never told me your name, either.”

“It’s not like you gave me time for civilized conversation.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints, pal.” She smirked.

She was really quite something—shameless, funny, blunt. He itched to touch the curls framing her face, to see if they felt as silky soft as they looked. “Point taken. It’s John Crusher.”

“Seriously?”

“Sounds like a professional wrestler, doesn’t it?”

She gnawed on a chicken leg. “I bet all the other accounting weenies are terrified of you.”

“Actually, I’m a freelancer with my own business, and rarely run into other accounting weenies. So, you were going to explain your curious yet refreshing actions of the last hour …?”

“I was? Oh, right. I was. In a nutshell: cracked my uncle’s safety deposit box. Got my property back. Took off. Cracked the first door I found on the highest floor. Jumped your bones—temporarily. The end.”

“Why my room?”

“Cracked the hotel reservation system
first
—you weren’t supposed to check in until tonight, Early Boy.”

“You’re quite right,” he said, surprised. “I caught an earlier flight.”

“Yeah, and thanks for nothing. I go to all that trouble to lift a universal housekeeping card, and
you
show up early. I just about dropped my panties when I heard your key card rattling in the slot!”

“If memory serves, you
did
drop your—”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, figured I’d hang out here for a couple hours until the heat was off, then slip out the back. This was, of course, totally foiled when you showed up. Although I must give you snaps for your cooperation.”

“Cooperation,” he said dryly, “is my middle name. And you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. We can be—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Crusher?” she teased.

“Something like that. But I do insist on knowing exactly what you st—uh, got back.”

“Why?”

“Overreaching curiosity. I’m taking a survey. Pick a reason.” He frowned. “It wasn’t a gun or something, was it? Because if that’s the case, I’ll toss you right out on your pretty behind.”

“Hey, I do have
some
scruples, pal. And no, it wasn’t a gun. It was—”

“Open up in there!”

They both jerked around at the sound. “Never a dull moment around here,” he said, starting to recover from his heart attack. “What now?”

Chapter Five

Robin grabbed Studboy’s arm just as he reached for the doorknob. And nearly dropped his arm in surprise—solid as a rock. It was like grabbing a two-by-four. The guy probably bench-pressed small automobiles to stay in shape. “You know, just because they tell you to open up, doesn’t actually mean you
have to open the door.
Ever watch any movies?”

“I’m a slave to direct commands.” But he took a moment and peeked through the peephole, at least. “Hmm. The manager’s back, but the detective isn’t with him. I don’t recognize the gentleman who is.”

She started to get a nasty suspicion. “Move over. Let me see.” She peeked. As if he knew he was being watched, the taller man waggled his fingers at the door in a cheerful wave.

Dammit! It was that crook, that conniver, that blight on society, Uncle Rich.

Enraged, she jerked the door open. “Cheat!” she hollered as the manager cowered away from her. “This is a total cheat! Game over!”

“Fine, thanks, and how’ve you been?” Uncle Rich shot his cuffs—he was impeccably dressed, as usual—and smiled at her. “Besides, I’m here to concede. This round’s yours.”

“Oh.” That was an entirely different story. “Ha! I mean, thanks for coming up.”

“I don’t understand,” the manager said. “You’re saying she has your property—”

“It’s
my
property,” Robin interrupted.

“—but it’s no longer a problem?”

“Oh, it is, but for now, we’re calling a truce. It’s a long, dull story and I’m sure you have many duties to attend to.” Rich shook the guy’s hand and Robin saw the fifty-dollar bill disappear. Masterful! Every time she tried that, the bill either stuck to her sleeve or fluttered to the floor. “Thanks for your help.”

With that, he stepped into John’s room and shut the door in the manager’s bewildered face.

“Nice robe,” he said politely to Studboy.

“Nice scam,” Studboy said back, just as politely.

When Rich poked her, Robin remembered herself. “Oh, right. Uncle Rich, this is St—uh, John Crusher. John, this is my uncle, Rich Calque.”

“Robin and Rich. Hmm. Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“How did you get past all the employees to crack the right safe deposit box?” Rich burst out. She nearly chortled as he continued. “And how’d you know which one was the right one? And how’d you avoid—” He eyed John in his robe. “Never mind, I figured that one out on my own.”

“Uncle Rich, you know I can’t divulge gory details. That’d be cheating.”

“And I’m sure you two paragons of morality have a horror of cheating,” John said dryly.

“You hush up. Uncle Rich, you know the rules: we get it however we can, whenever we can. Drawn out confessions aren’t part of the game.”

“Listen here, young lady, I taught you everything you know—”

“And my dad taught me the rest. And one of the things he drummed into me was that thieves are like magicians …”

“… you never tell them how you did it,” Rich finished. “She’s quoting my own brother at me! Niece, who do you think taught
him?”

“I’m confused,” John said. “But then, I’ve been that way since I checked in.”

Rich wandered over to the chair in the corner, glanced over his pleats, and sat down. Robin knew he meant to look vague and well-to-do. That was about half right. “Oh, it’s this silly little game my niece and I have been playing for … uh …”

“Ten years.”

“Right. She steals from me, I steal from her. It’s the only way we could agree on who got to keep it.”

“Keep
what?”

“This,” Robin said, handing the small blue velvet bag to John.

“Really, Robin, you’re getting too good at this,” Rich complained while John gingerly felt the bag. Robin almost laughed; John looked like he was expecting anything—a mousetrap, a rattlesnake. “I’d barely moved the thing to this hotel and you snatched it away.”