The Wedding Trap (Second Service) (5 page)

"It was a big mistake from beginning to end. Isobel warned me against it, but as usual, I didn't listen."

"There's no shame in making your own mistakes," he said.

"Yeah, well. I guess that makes me pretty shameless then."

He smiled. The butterflies multiplied.

"Anyway, about a week after our breakup I heard that Spencer was dating again," she said. "No problem, right? But then he kept dating. And I wasn't. Sometimes I would run into him and his flavor of the week at Isobel's. Sometimes I'd just see pictures."

"And you got jealous," he said.

Beth's drink arrived, and she thanked the waitress.

"Not of Spencer. I didn't want to get back together with him or anything. The whole thing wasn't even a problem until Isobel got engaged. Then suddenly people were asking me who I was going to bring as my date to the wedding. My mother. Spencer. Everybody. That's when Charlie made his grand return.”

“There wasn't anybody, not in all that time?” he asked.

"Nobody that I liked enough to go out with," she said a little too emphatically. She winced and tried again. "I could have had dozens of guys, I'm sure. But I didn't like any of them. I'd already made that mistake when I went out with Spencer. I didn't want to repeat it."

Beth took a sip of her martini. It was good. Really good.

"Besides, Charlie was supposed to get everyone off my back. He always had before. This time he kind of took on a life of his own. People kept asking questions, and I kept answering. The lies got bigger and bigger until suddenly I found myself bargaining with a car thief in a hotel parking lot."

"Blackmailing, not bargaining."

She waved her hand in front of her. "Semantics."

His smile was wide and genuine.

"So there it is—my life story," she said. "I'm guessing that you're not too keen on telling me yours?"

He slowly shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together.

She took another sip. A part of her wanted to push for more. It was only polite, after all, to give up a little dirt after someone spilled their guts. But somehow she knew that even if she begged, he wouldn't answer.

She looked down and saw that her glass was empty. Again. She looked up. His eyes were on it too.

"I'm not really a lush," she said. "I don't really drink much at all."

Her head was feeling floaty. All of her tension had been replaced by a warm, bubbly feeling that was far more pleasant.

"I can tell."

Beth didn't hear any sarcasm in his voice. Or maybe she was too buzzed to notice it. She didn’t think so. He didn’t seem to judge her. She hadn't once noticed that familiar look of disappointment in his eyes. Maybe that was why she liked him so much.

And she did. Dear God, she'd finally found a man she liked, and he was probably wanted in three states. Her mother would be so proud.

If only he was the gigolo that Isobel thought that he was. At least that would be a step up.

Beth couldn’t stop the laugh before it escaped her lips. Charlie’s look turned questioning.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

He didn't have to press, not with words. He just leaned forward in his chair, and something about his stare made her want to talk more.

"I was just thinking how much Fate likes having fun with me,” she said.

"You believe in Fate?" he asked.

"Not really," she said. "But it seems she certainly believes in me."

***

Alex didn't pull away when Beth slipped her hand into his as they waited for the elevator. She curled her fingers around his, but didn't try to pull him close. She just stood by his side, her warm palm pressed against his. There was nothing possessive or demanding in her touch.

How long had it been since he held hands with anyone? The simple reassurance of human contact—that was what she wanted. And that was the least he could give her.

The very least.

His mind had strayed a few times during their conversation to the other kinds of soothing he could offer her.

She had opened up to him without any urging on his part. Maybe tomorrow she would blame the martinis, but Alex knew alcohol had nothing to do with the words that flowed out of her. She wanted to talk. She wanted to talk to
him.

And, surprisingly, Alex found that he wanted to listen. He enjoyed sitting across from her, watching the way her nose crinkled when she talked about a part of her past that she wasn't proud of.

Alex knew secrets. He knew how people held onto them, usually only parting with them after it became clear that there was no other option. Sometimes not even then.

But Beth had told him willingly. She’d chosen him to be the one to lift her burden, and he was happy to do it.

It was cute, in a way. She thought that her secrets were great and terrible. But Alex knew better. He'd seen the very worst that humanity had to offer. He'd shone light into the darkest corners of humanity. He knew the horrors that could be found there. Listening for half an hour to Beth's very human failings seemed charming in comparison.

She was a little wobbly on her feet as they stepped into the elevator. She hadn't eaten much at dinner. No more than a few bites, and she’d downed those martinis pretty fast. She wasn't drunk, not exactly. But Alex didn't think she was in all that much pain either.

Alex felt a pull on his arm as the elevator rose past the second floor.

"I'm on two," Beth said.

"Not anymore."

The doors opened, and he walked he down the hall. Her hesitation was obvious. She walked a step behind him, dragging on his arm, but she didn't let go of his hand.

She trusts you
. God only knew why, but she did. He rationalized that he wasn't using her—no more than she was using him. It was a mutually beneficial situation. And she was smart enough not to ask too many questions.

Hopefully, there wouldn't be any reason for her to.

But he had meant every word of his promise. He wouldn't hurt her. More than that, he wouldn't allow any harm to come to her. Even the idea made him sick.

Alex didn't dig too deep into the reason behind the emotion. He had taken her on as his responsibility. And he liked her. That was all.

Her expression was openly skeptical when he stopped at the door in the middle of the hall. He swiped the key and held the door open.

"What the..." she said, stepping in before him. There was no hesitation in her now. He let her hand go, and she walked into the suite.

The door closed behind him, and he tossed the key on the table.

She went to the wide window that made up the far wall of the room. She threw open the drapes, exposing a panorama of the bay. Across the water, the lights of San Francisco glistened. She stood there for a long
time with her back to him. The line of her shoulders relaxed a little, enough to tell him that she liked the view.

So did he.

"It's gorgeous," she whispered. She turned her face toward him. "This was your errand."

Alex nodded. That, and other things. He’d also seized the opportunity to take quick look around Isobel Munoz’s room.

"I had the staff move your things."

"Why?"

"I didn't like the view in your room."

Close enough. He needed a clear view of the parking lots. This room gave him the widest vantage. He could see both the visitor and housekeeping access roads into and out of the hotel. She could stare off into the distance all she liked, but his interests were a little closer to home.

"No, I mean, why move my things? I can't afford this room. It took me months of saving to afford the one I'm in right now."

"Don't worry about it. I took care of both rooms."

She turned around. Her mouth hung open wide. She stuttered for a moment before she found the words.

"You can't do that," she said.

"I just did."

"But you can't," she repeated. "Paying for my drinks is one thing, but if I let you do this then you're not the gigolo. I am."

"Excuse me?"

She plopped down in one of the chairs, her feet coming off the ground.

"Isobel might think that you're a man whore."

"Really?" He crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall. He'd had many covers since moving from the Navy to the CIA, but this was a new one.

"She came up with the idea on her own. I just let her believe it. What else could I do? I couldn't let her know what you really do, you know?"

Yeah, he knew. Only too well.

She looked around the room. "It's certainly bigger than my old room."

He nodded.

"And that sofa over there will make things far less awkward when it comes to sleeping arrangements."

"That does seem like an important thing to consider when sharing a room with a gigolo."

She shot him a glare, kicking off her heels. She looked at the wide bed in the room behind her. Then back at him. The war in her head showed plainly on her face.

"Can I see the bathroom?" she asked, as if her answer hinged on it. As if her answer mattered at all.

Regardless of what he felt for Beth—and he wasn't sure he knew exactly what those feelings were himself—she had become an important asset in his mission. He simply couldn't allow her to leave his side.

"By all means,” he said.

She tiptoed to the door in the corner. He stayed a few steps behind.

She let out a long sigh when she looked inside.

"There's a real tub, Charlie. One of those claw-footed ones. I've always wanted to have a bath in one of those." She gave him a guilty smile, like she didn't like the thought that she could be bought with the promise of a nice hot soak. "Always."

He leaned on the door jamb next to her. He had to admit, the thought of her in that tub stirred him as well.

"Maybe, just one night," she said. "We'll see how it works out."

"Sounds fair."

He wouldn't tell her that he’d already given up her old room, and there was no chance of getting it back. The Kensington was booked solid this weekend. He'd had to use every trick he knew to snag this one.

She walked past him to the massive oak armoire that stood in the corner on the bedroom. She opened the door and made a little sound of pleasure at seeing her clothes already hung up for her. She pulled out something short and silky. A nightgown. She stopped and swiveled around.

"I do get the bed, right?" she asked.

"Of course," he said and swallowed hard. He glanced back at the couch about twenty feet away. The longest twenty feet Alex had ever seen.

Chapter 4

She should have let him have the bed.

Beth rolled over for what had to be the thousandth time in the last hour and stared at the ceiling. He would have gotten better use out of it. She could toss and turn just as easily on a sofa as she could on this bed. At least then she would have better reason to.

She’d fallen asleep easy enough. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she wasn’t a big drinker. But her buzz didn't last long. The dreams had seen to that.

She'd been at Isobel's wedding. Everything had been going great. Hell, she hadn't even been crying. Then suddenly, everything changed.

Clouds had rolled in overhead. Rain started to fall. Isobel and Jordan started fighting. Her mother started yelling. Spencer started laughing. Everyone turned on her. They knew it was her fault. Everything was ruined, and it was all her fault.

Beth had woken with a start.

The room was dark. The only light was from the bedside clock that read 3:45. That was an hour ago, and sleep wasn't any closer.

Beth sat up and peered toward the couch, but it was far too dark to make anything out. So instead, she sat and listened for signs of life. Nothing. No rustling fabric. No breathing. Charlie was dead asleep.

Just like she should be. But she wasn’t, and dwelling on it wasn't going to get her there.

Not that she could help it. Her mind was racing. A few nightmare scenarios were still rattling around in there, but the longer she stared in Charlie’s general direction, the more they faded. What replaced them were crystal clear images of her helping him out of his jacket. Working on the buttons down his shirt. Going for the zipper of his…

What she needed to do was to take a walk. Just a little one, around the hotel halls, to clear her head.

Beth slipped out of the sheets and felt for the wardrobe in the dark. She reached inside, and found her jeans and a zippered sweatshirt. They would have to do. It wasn’t like she would be running into anyone this early in the morning.

She dressed, walked on tiptoes to the door, and cracked it open. A sliver of light from the hall fell across the couch. Charlie was there, eyes closed, body relaxed. He wore a plain white T-shirt on top. A hotel blanket covered his bottom half.

Shame, she thought. She'd love to see what he was wearing under there. Boxers or briefs?

She closed the door behind her with a soft click.

The hallway was bright and quiet. The light instantly cleared some of the fog from her brain. She padded down the hallway, not sure where she was going, but with each step the weight of her terrible dream faded a little more.

Everything was fine out here. The world kept on spinning. Nothing she had done had brought it a stop.

She took the stairs instead of the elevator. It felt good to keep moving. Unsurprisingly the lobby was almost as empty as the hall.

"Hi,” she said to desk clerk. “I was just wondering if there was anything open right now around here.”

The woman looked at the clock. "Not yet. But the cafe will open at 5 o'clock."

Beth smiled and thanked her. Coffee would be perfect. And she could explore the hotel for another fifteen minutes, no problem.

Beth wandered down the corridor that led past the restaurant and lounge. She turned corners and looked at old pictures on the walls. She found a flight of stairs that led down to the spa and another that led up to the hotel gift shop. After a few minutes, she wasn't exactly sure where she was.

She pushed open a swinging door and found herself alone in an industrial part of the hotel. Giant washing machines whirled and hummed.

The sound of hushed voices made Beth turn her head. She wasn't alone after all. Two men stood in profile at the far end of the room. She narrowed her eyes: Salvatore Munoz. Isobel's uncle. She didn't recognize the other man. He didn't look like someone from the Munoz family, just some random white guy in a dark suit.

She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she saw one pass a large manila envelope to the other. The second man glanced inside then nodded and pushed a briefcase across the table.

Beth didn’t have any idea what was in that envelope, but it didn’t take a genius to tell what type of transaction she was witnessing. It was the kind that she was better off not knowing anything about.

She snuck back a couple of steps, directly into a metal folding chair that had been leaned against the wall. It clattered to the floor.

Both men swiveled around to face her.

Beth raised her hand and bowed her head in the international sign for
sorry, I got lost and wandered into someplace I shouldn't have, but I’m getting the hell out of here now
.

Salvatore made like he was going to move toward her, but the other man put his hand on his shoulder, stopping him before he could take a single step. She couldn’t hear what the man whispered to Salvatore, but by the way his lips moved she could have sworn he said, "not here".

Beth decided not to stick around to find out. She turned and bolted out the door, then ran like hell back up the stairs.

By the time she found her way back to the lobby, she’d stopped shaking. Even though it was still empty, the civilized feel of the place eased her mind a little.

Salvatore Munoz had always given Beth a serious case of the creeps, and that was under the best of circumstances. Maybe it was the setting—the haze of the fluorescent lights, the well-worn industrial tile—but this incident spooked her more than usual.

Or, it could have been the murderous look in Salvatore's eyes. But that wasn't unusual. In her mind, Salvatore always looked like that.

What in the world was he doing meeting with someone in the Kensington’s laundry room at five o'clock in the morning? Never mind. She really did not want to know the answer to that. In fact, she wanted to forget about the whole incident. As far as she was concerned, nothing had happened. If anybody asked her about it she’d say that she had wandered into the laundry room and gone temporarily blind. It was the damnedest thing.

She checked the clock on the wall. It was still a few minutes to five, but she could wait outside the cafe until they were ready. Suddenly, it was very important that she saw a smiling face. At the very least, someone who didn't look like he wanted to kill her.

***

Beth fumbled to swipe the key in the door while holding two paper cups and a folded paper bag. The first try didn't work. The red light just blinked at her. She was about to go for the second try when the door swung open.

Charlie stood there, still in his white T-shirt and plaid boxers.

Woohoo. That's what she'd been hoping for. Not that briefs would have been bad. There were very few games in life where everyone ended up a winner.

"What are you doing up?" she asked, stepping inside.

"I was about to ask you the same thing.”

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to go downstairs and get a coffee. I thought that you might like one too." She handed him the cup. "I didn't know what you liked, so I guessed."

He pulled off the lid and peered inside. "Black coffee. You guessed right."

"You seem the type. There's a muffin in the bag if you want it."

He reached in and pulled out the oversized blueberry muffin.

"Thanks.”

Beth went over to the window and pulled back the drapes. The sky had just begun to lighten. A purplish glow bathed the concrete city across the bay. Beth curled up on the windowsill. At least there were benefits for being up so early.

"I thought you'd still be asleep when I got back," she said.

He moved to the opposite corner of the window and leaned his hip against it. "I heard you leave."

"Sorry about that. I tried to be quiet."

"I'm a light sleeper." He broke off a chunk of muffin and offered it to her.

Beth shook her head. "I had a banana in the cafe."

He looked at her for a long moment. "You didn't eat much at dinner last night."

Beth looked out at the view and away from his gaze. "Yeah, well, I have a bridesmaid dress to fit into on Sunday."

"You'll look great," he said, taking another sip of coffee.

The compliment, even as off-hand as it was, made her blush.

"Thanks.”

He finished the muffin in three bites, and downed the coffee just as fast. There was a casual efficiency to every move he made that was almost hypnotic. He fascinated her, she realized. She liked watching him do even the most mundane things.

But it wasn’t necessarily the best idea to spend too much time getting to know him. She might not know who he was, but she knew who he wasn’t. He wasn't really Charlie Parker, the music executive who lived
in a luxury penthouse in Nob Hill. He was some nameless car thief who was up to God only knew what.

Which meant that if she was any kind of smart, she'd get all her looking in now. She didn't have any plans to jump in bed with him, no matter what Isobel said. But looking? That was another matter entirely.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said, pushing away from the wall. He crumpled the pastry bag and shot it into the waste basket on the far side of the room.

Good shot. Great one, actually. Beth clapped, and he flashed her the kind of smile that had her holding onto the windowsill for support.

She tried to talk herself out of watching him as he walked across the room, but it was no use. Halfway to the bathroom, he started to lift his shirt. Her eyes fixed on him as he pulled it over his head, revealing a back that was ripped with muscle. Beth couldn't turn away. She couldn't even close her mouth. Her hand dropped limply to her side.

Please turn around. Please turn around.

She repeated the prayer over and over in her mind. She didn’t even care if he caught her gawking.

All right, maybe she would mind a little.

But as it turned out, she didn't have to worry about it. He walked straight into the bathroom without looking back. A moment later she heard the water turn on.

She took another sip of her hazelnut latte. Damn, what she would do to be in there with him. Hey, she needed to shower too, right?

What would he do if she walked in there, stripped out of her clothes and joined him?

Beth laughed. Yeah, right. Like she’d ever have the nerve to do something like that.

She'd be better served by getting ready for her day. She went to the wardrobe and picked out a blouse and skirt. She'd have to shave her legs, and then make it downstairs before everyone else had breakfast. She was meeting up with the rest of the bridesmaids to get their nails done. After that, she'd promised Isobel that she would walk the four blocks to the florist and check on the order for the ceremony.

There wouldn't be time for that long soak in the magnificent tub today. Maybe tonight. This morning she’d have to settle for a quick shower.

Alone.

Beth paused as she was pulling out the pink silk shirt she planned to wear today. All the clothes in the wardrobe were hers. She looked around the room. She didn't see anything that belonged to Charlie. No bags. No suitcases.

She shouldn't pry. She knew she shouldn't. Remember what happened to that curious cat, she reminded herself.

She looked at the bathroom door. It was still shut tight. The water was still running.

One little look around wouldn't hurt anything. What if he was hiding something dangerous in their room? A bomb or something? She had every right to know about that, she figured.

The only other door was the one to the closet.

Just one look.

She rushed over to the door and slid it open. Just a crack. The suit he'd been wearing yesterday hung on the rack. There were two more, just as fine, next to it. There was also a duffle bag on the floor. That was it. Nothing that pointed to who her Charlie really was. But at least she hadn’t found anything dangerous.

Not unless it was in the duffle bag.

She stared at it. It was a plain-looking thing, military green and made out of a thick, well-worn fabric. It had seen some use. Years of it, given the wear around the edges. It was also incredibly out of place next to the Italian suits.

If there was anything real about her Charlie in this hotel room, it was in there.

It was closed up tight, except for one zipper that was undone on the far side.

Beth leaned forward, then stopped herself. She couldn't. It wasn't right. She'd flip out if she caught him going through her personal stuff.

But wasn’t that essentially what he had done by moving her to this room? Someone had to move her things from the first room to here. Someone had to hang her clothes in the wardrobe. He'd arranged all that without asking. If she'd had any secrets, they would have been discovered.

She still couldn't bring herself to do it. Brazenly spying on him just wasn't her style. But if by some accident she happened to sneak a little peek inside, well, that was different.