The Damsel in This Dress (6 page)

Okay,
she thought,
now it’s time to panic.
Running for the phone, she was about to call for hotel security when she heard a short, weak yap. It sounded as though it was coming from inside the room, but there was simply nowhere for the dog to be. She’d checked the closet. In fact, she’d looked everywhere, except . . .

Dropping the phone onto the bed, Betsy rushed to the minifridge. The enormous Seattle Metro phone book had somehow fallen from the nightstand and lay against the front. Shoving the book aside, Betsy pulled the door open.

Two huge brown eyes, desperate and terrified, met hers. He was curled in as tight a ball as he could get, his golden fur damp from the cold.

“Pids! Oh my God! How did you get in the refrigerator?”

Reaching inside, she scooped him up and into her arms. He was shaking so hard, she was having a difficult time holding on to him. She grabbed the lavender knitted throw she’d brought from home and wrapped him in it, keeping his body next to hers to warm him as quickly as possible.

She thought of running some hot water in the bathroom sink and dunking him in it, but after what he’d just been through, that might give him a little doggie heart attack, so she just held him close and kept talking to him.

“Oh, Pids. I’m so sorry. It’ll be all right, sweetie. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s right here.” Well actually, Mommy was thousands of miles away, but her own insides were pained at what had happened. She felt her latent maternal instincts kick in, and even though she wasn’t Piddle’s biggest fan, she never would have wished something like this on the poor creature.

A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Knock knock. Anybody home?”

Betsy’s head jerked up. A large silhouette filled the threshold, broad shoulders, long legs. He was the last man she had ever expected to see darkening her doorway.

McKennitt gave her a mock frown. “I feel it necessary to warn you, ma’am,” he said in what she figured was his best law enforcement voice, “that a lady in a hotel room all by herself really should keep her door closed and locked.”

Betsy narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for the tip, Officer Friendly. You can close it on your way out.”

He placed both his large hands over the area of his heart. “Madam, you wound me.” As he stepped into the room, he said, “May I come in?”

“I’m busy right now. Perhaps another time, like, say, July thirty-second. I’ll pencil you in.” She pulled the trembling throw closer to her bosom and sent Soldier a no-nonsense glare.

Soldier eyed the small coverlet in her arms and lifted a brow. “Cute. Did you bring your blankie with you all the way from Port Henry?”

“Some detective
you
are,” Besty snapped. “There’s a dog in here. A terrified, half-frozen
dog.
” Just then, Piddle began emitting a howl that sounded like a hyperactive squeaky toy.

Soldier eyed the lavender bundle. “I guess we can rule out Labrador retriever.”

He moved into the room, closing the door behind him, then shoved his hands in his pockets. Strolling casually toward Betsy, he said, “If I can guess what kind of dog it is, do I win a prize?”

“Go away. I have enough on my mind without you showing up to gloat about the humiliation you heaped on me today.”

“You humiliated me when you wrote that you hated my books.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“First of all,” she said, taking in the intense color of his eyes, “you weren’t humiliated. You were just mad.”

He thrust out his lower lip and tilted his head as though considering her words. “You’re right,” he said. “I was mad. And then I met you in person and I’m not mad anymore.”

Betsy huffed. “Yeah? Well, you sure couldn’t prove it by me, the way you acted in the workshop this morning.”

Soldier pulled the writing desk chair toward him and straddled it. “Oh come on, Miss Betsy Tremaine from Port Henry, Washington. Loosen up a little. I was hoping you’d have dinner with me. We can discuss our collaboration.”

Betsy’s eyebrows lifted nearly to her hairline. “That wasn’t a collaboration. It was an abomination, and you know it. I wouldn’t be caught dead with you after what happened today. In fact, I was considering leaving the conference.”

Soldier scowled. “Just because of that stupid writing exercise?”

She shook her head. “Well, at first maybe. But then I got back to my room and discovered Piddle.”

His brows shot up. “Somebody peed in your room?”

Abruptly, the Chihuahua’s head popped up through the folds of the blanket. He looked around and blinked a few times, his long lashes sweeping up and down. Then, like a groundhog in February, he dove back inside the blanket and shoved his head under Betsy’s arm.

“
That
was Piddle,” she said. “I’m doggie-sitting while my mother’s in Paris.”

Soldier stared at the bundle in her arms, then began to laugh. Betsy watched him with a mixture of fury and hunger. Not only did he have a great laugh, he was the perfect male specimen: tall, dark, handsome, smart, and sexy. And he wanted to take her out to dinner, the bastard.

If she was halfway truthful with herself, she would have to admit that the hunger she felt right now had nothing to do with steak and baked potatoes.

He was still laughing when she interrupted him. “I need to take him home, to the vet. Now. Today.”

Soldier wiped his eyes. His dark lashes were damp and spiked from his tears of laughter. “Why? Is he sick or something?”

“No. It’s just that, well, when I got back from the workshop, I found him inside the refrigerator. He was terribly cold and frightened. If I hadn’t returned when I did, he might have suffocated or died from exposure.”

Subtly, Soldier’s demeanor changed. He glanced at the minifridge. “I have one of those in my room, too,” he said. “You must have left the door open when you went out.”

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t opened the thing at all since I’ve been here.”

He stood and walked to the small unit, its door still sitting open. Pushing it closed, he reopened it and looked inside. Settling down on one knee, he examined the rubber rim around the door’s frame.

“The unit is sitting level, so I don’t understand how it could have closed on its own. And I don’t see any scratches to indicate the dog somehow got it open.” He ran his fingers across the inside edge of the door. “The magnet that keeps it closed isn’t that strong. No matter how he got in or how the door somehow closed on him, he should have been able to push it open and get out.”

Betsy sat on the bed, the blanket and the dog still bundled in her arms. She stared at Soldier for a moment, trying to remember something. Glancing around the room, she spotted the phone book. “Oh! He couldn’t push it open because the phone book had fallen—”

She stopped. Now that she’d had time to think about it, she realized something about the phone book wasn’t right.

Soldier’s sharp eyes narrowed on her. “What?”

Betsy shook her head in denial. It must have just been an accident. The maid knocked it over, or it was on the edge and just fell. It couldn’t really be that . . .

“When I left, the telephone book was on the desk, not on the nightstand.” Her voice trembled. She battled for control as she spoke the horrible words out loud. “Somebody must have put Piddle in the refrigerator and stuck the phone book in front of the door to make sure he couldn’t get out.”

Soldier stood and walked toward Betsy, but her eyes remained glued on the phone book sitting innocently on the mauve and gray carpet. Slowly, he sat down beside her, his weight dipping the mattress, subtly easing her body toward his.

“Why would anybody put your dog in the refrigerator, Betsy? Who could have done this?”

She lifted her chin and looked up at him. His brows were knit in concern, and he seemed angry for some reason. His cool eyes searched hers as if he could find some answers there. Betsy’s throat felt tight, like she had a rock lodged in her breathing passage. She swallowed around it.

True terror hit her like a bullet to the heart. “He must have followed me here,” she blurted. “It’s the only explanation! The
phone
calls. I didn’t tell Winslow about the phone calls. They came before. I didn’t think anything of them. And then there came the note that night you sent me the e-mail. And the weird stuff at work! I didn’t tell him about that either. I thought it didn’t really mean anything. I . . . I was hoping it didn’t mean anything. I even thought it might be you, when I saw you, because you were staring at me. And you were so attractive and everything, and I didn’t think that you were interested in me, you know like, just for
me
. And then you told me you had seen my picture, and I was terrified. But you didn’t know who I was, not until you read my name tag, so it wasn’t you after all. But—But if
he
followed me, and if
he
did this to my mother’s dog—”

“Betsy,” Soldier interrupted sharply. “Calm yourself. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She’d been babbling. The man must think her a complete moron. But the impact of what was happening to her, what was
really
happening to her, was almost more than her rational mind could bear.

Betsy pinched her eyes tightly closed and took a deep breath. After a moment she lifted her face to Soldier and let her eyes search his.

Desperately pushing down the well of anger and fear rising from the pit of her stomach, she whispered, “This can’t be happening. I don’t
accept
this. I don’t believe this. I am not, not,
not
being stalked!”

Soldier moved closer. Gently taking her by the shoulders, he turned her body toward his. “Betsy.” His voice was calm yet commanding. She looked into his face and wanted to speak, but instead closed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together.

She felt Soldier’s fingers trail from her shoulder up to cup her cheek softly in his warm palm. Through her haze of hysteria she heard his voice.

“Who is not stalking you, Betsy? What note?” She raised her lashes to see Soldier looking deeply into her eyes. “Tell me everything.”

S
oldier hadn’t meant to touch her, but she looked so vulnerable and alone that he had reached for her without thinking. And now he was thinking about how he could pull his hand away without missing the silky feel of her skin too much.

In her arms, the blanket twitched, the tiny dog still shivering and terrified from his Nordic ordeal. Every so often he would whimper or let out a muffled yelp, but so far he’d kept his head down and his body as close to Betsy’s breasts as he could get.

Lucky mutt.

Soldier put his lusty thoughts aside as Betsy told him about the note stuck under the dog’s collar, the police officer instructing her on taking precautions, and how she had come back to her room only to find her dog imprisoned in the refrigerator.

“I’m probably just being paranoid,” she said through a half laugh. “I mean, I’m nobody special. Why would somebody stalk me? This is all just coincidence, right?”

Her mouth formed the words, but her true feelings were plain to see in her big, beautiful hazel eyes. She didn’t want to believe she was in danger, but she was smart enough to realize that denying it wouldn’t make it go away.

I’m nobody special
, she’d said.
Wrong,
he thought. She was more special than she could possibly know.

Reaching behind him, Soldier retrieved the phone and picked up the receiver.

“Wh-Who are you calling?”

“Hotel security,” he said as he punched the O button.

“Oh. Thanks. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I don’t seem to be thinking straight.”

He could see that she was scared, and she had every right to be. Stalking was nothing to be taken lightly, and even though she had been aware and taken precautions, the guy still managed to get near her. Too near.

Betsy Tremaine was the typical stalking victim. She was attractive and she was nice. Approachable. Attainable. Not so beautiful that a guy felt he didn’t stand a chance, but pretty enough to capture someone’s imagination to the point of obsession.

Obsession was one thing, but this guy had put her dog in the refrigerator. An aggressive act, one that might have ended with the dog’s death. Did he mean it as a lesson to her? Had he meant to frighten her, make her feel vulnerable, as though he could get to her anytime he wanted?

Probably.

As he waited to be connected, Soldier let his gaze slide all over Betsy Tremaine. She’d removed her hat, allowing him a view of her shiny blond hair. It was thick and streaked with honey and sunshine. The shorter cut framed her face. She was still wearing the outfit from this morning, and the little diamond drops in her lobes reflected the afternoon light as she moved her head. Clutching that blanket to her breasts the way she was, she looked like a pretty young woman holding her baby, and Soldier immediately got a picture in his head that he wasn’t sure he wanted.

He wasn’t sure he didn’t want it, either.

After a brief conversation with the Crowne Plaza’s manager, Soldier hung up the phone. “They’re on their way,” he said, but Betsy only nodded.

A few minutes later hotel security arrived at the door in the form of one Walter Lemsky. Lemsky was a tall, thin man, a former Chicago cop. He had sharp black eyes that looked like they didn’t miss much. The two men shook hands and Soldier introduced himself.

“Yeah, I reco’nize you,” Lemsky said as he released Soldier’s hand. His nasally voice was gruff, the flat tones pure Chicago. “You’re with the Seattle PD,” he continued. “Robbery and Homicide, right? Read your books.” Soldier noted the man said he’d
read
his books, not that he’d
liked
them. Christ, everybody was a critic.

Lemsky was cordial and gentle with Betsy, asking her questions and taking notes. He’d apparently already requested that the day maid, Mrs. Fionorelli, be sent up, for a few minutes later the woman appeared at the door, meekly entering the room.

The maid’s answers to Lemsky’s questions were brief but certain.
Sì
, the dog had been in the room when she’d cleaned it.
No
, she hadn’t let anybody in.
No
, she most certainly had not put the
piccolo cane
in
il frigorifero
!

The poor woman appeared genuinely appalled at what had happened to the animal, and looked at Betsy with concern in her eyes.

The computer printout listed the times the door had been keyed open. The times matched both Betsy’s and Housekeeping’s estimates. The lock had not been forced, and no unauthorized entries had been made.

“Mrs. Fionorelli?”

The maid gazed up at Soldier with fear and wariness in her faded brown eyes. Her white hair was pulled back and knotted at the nape. The uniform she wore was clean and she was tidy, but the job of hotel maid could not have been an easy one for a woman of her years. Soldier thought of that old song,
She works hard for her money . . .
And now she was practically being accused of trying to harm a guest’s dog.

“Mrs. Fionorelli, when you clean, do you close the door while you’re in the room?”

She shook her head. “No,
signore
. I leave the door open to get
puliti i tovaglioli
, eh, the clean towels, you say, from my cart. Empty the trash,
sì?
Like that? But always, I am careful of the
piccolo cane
.”

“When you were in the room, where was the dog, the
piccolo cane
?”

Her eyes widened and she clasped her hands in a nervous gesture. “He runs under the bed when I come in,
signore
. He stays there and, eh, does the growl to me the whole time I am here, but he does not bite me. He just stays under the bed, yes?”

Soldier looked around the room. The proximity of the door and the closet were such that, with her back turned to make the bed, the maid wouldn’t have seen anyone slipping through the door and into the closet.

“Mrs. Fionorelli, did you open the closet door while you were here?”

“No,
signore
.”

He asked her a few more questions, then dismissed her. On her way to the door, she patted Betsy’s arm.
“Sono molto spiacente per le vostre difficoltà, mancanza.”

Betsy smiled.
“Grazie, signora.”

“You speak Italian?” Soldier asked.

“I saw
The Godfather
three times.”

“Well, that just about makes you fluent.” He gazed into her eyes, but she glanced away, then lowered her head.

Lemsky sat on the desk chair while Soldier walked to the window. The drapes were open now and he could see all the way down to Pike Place Market. Beyond the rooftops and chimneys were the cold waters of Puget Sound. The sun formed a hazy disk in the sky, quiet declaration to the day’s impending decline.

“We can try to get some latents from inside the closet,” Soldier said to no one in particular, “but I’m willing to bet we won’t find anything we can use.”

“I agree,” Lemsky said. Looking around, he puffed his cheeks then let out a breath. “Okay. Perp comes in while the maid’s busy. Hides in the closet until she leaves. Grabs the mutt, shoves it into the fridge. Then, when the coast is clear, he hightails it. Exits aren’t keyed, so his departure don’t show up on the computer.”

“And the maid didn’t hear him come in,” Betsy said, “because Piddle was growling the whole time. Even if he had been aware of an intruder, the maid wouldn’t have paid any attention since she thought he was growling at her.”

As Soldier turned, his gaze was met by Betsy’s worried stare.

“But the question is, why? Why on earth would someone sneak into my room and put my dog in the refrigerator? I don’t get it at
all
.”

Soldier moved to the bed and sat near her. He could see confusion and frustration in her eyes, but he didn’t have any solutions to offer her. “It’s been my experience,” he said, “that stalkers have their own reasons for doing what they do, and it seldom makes sense to anyone but themselves.”

“Do you think it’s the same guy? The one that wrote me the note?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid I do. I’m not much on coincidences.”

Soldier rose from the bed. “I’m going to call this in,” he said. “Maybe they can get some useful prints, but this is a hotel room. There are probably thousands of prints all over the place.”

“Detective McKennitt?” Lemsky indicated with a nod of his head he wanted to have a word out of Betsy’s earshot. She had her face buried in the blanket, cooing to the mutt, so Soldier followed the security man outside.

Lemsky leaned close to Soldier in a conspiratorial manner. “I sure don’t like this,” he said under his breath. “I mean, this kinda gives me the creeps. She’s a real nice lady. I don’t like to think of what this guy might try next.”

Soldier felt his entire body go rigid. He didn’t like to think of what the guy might try next, either.

Lemsky tilted his head down and raised both brows. “It probably ain’t none of my business, but, uh, you gotta thing for the lady?”

“What do you mean?”

Lemsky shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, pal,” he whispered, “I’m a cop, too. I been attracted to my share of lady victims over the years. There was this one gal, bee-u-ti-ful. A real sweetheart. She was a witness to a murder. I was assigned—”

“We should discuss jurisdiction,” Soldier interrupted. “As far as I can tell, no crime has been committed. I have no real evidence that anybody put the dog in the refrigerator, even though we both pretty much know somebody did. But with no evidence of a crime, there’s no crime scene. No crime scene means no jurisdiction. My hands are tied, leaving security in the hotel’s hands.”

Lemsky lifted his chin. “Okay, then. But because I got the same gut feeling you got, I’m going to have to assign somebody to stick with her while she’s a guest in the hotel. That’s why I asked if you had a thing for the lady.”

Soldier pursed his lips. He blinked, and in that flash of darkness saw Betsy’s pretty face, her smooth cheek, soft mouth. He saw her glaring at him as though he were the lowest life-form on the planet, the sparkle in her eyes as she challenged him. He glimpsed the white column of her throat and his own mouth on it. And in his head, he heard her soft moans as she wrapped her naked legs around his hips.

Studying the carpet at his feet, he blew out a breath. “Whether I have a thing for the lady isn’t the issue here. Her safety is.” Raising his head, Soldier met Lemsky’s stare. “But I’ll, uh, I’ll watch over her while she’s here at the conference.”

A knowing glint flared from Lemsky’s eyes. “But it’ll be official business. Nothing personal.”

“No. Nothing personal. She’s the potential victim of a crime, and I’m her watchdog.”

The hotel detective snickered and shook his head. As he started to move away, Soldier’s words stopped him.

“Tell me something, Lemsky,” he said. “That murder witness in Chicago?”

Lemsky nodded.

“So, what happened to your
bee-u-ti-ful
lady victim?”

Lemsky’s face split into a wide grin. “Who, Gracie?” He chuckled. “I married her. Twenty years, three kids. Life’s good.” He winked. “Gotta watch out for dem cute ones, pal.”

By that evening, things had settled down a bit. The fingerprint guys had come and gone, Soldier had ordered Betsy some food, and her dog had thawed from pupsicle to room temperature and seemed none the worse for wear. As for Betsy herself, she had been distracted and flustered and had clung to the small animal as though he were a life buoy that would save her from going under.

Soldier had wanted to put her in another room, but because of the conference, every vacancy in the hotel was filled. He’d quietly arranged to trade his room on the fourth floor for Betsy’s on the third, but she was reluctant to do so at first. The independent little wench.

It took some doing, but he was finally able to convince her that she’d be safer in his room, under his name, and nobody would know of the switch except for the two of them and Lemsky.

Now, sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed in his former room, Soldier watched Betsy unpack her suitcase with one hand while holding the mutt in the other.

Soldier raised his arms. Wiggling his fingers in a come-to-papa gesture, he addressed Betsy. “Hey. Why don’t you give me the dog so you can rest? I’ll take Piddle with me and go down to your room. You can get some sleep.”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ll just hang onto him for a while.”

“Betsy,” he cajoled. “A dog that small must have a bladder the size of a Rice Krispie. It’s been hours. Why don’t you let me take him out?”