licked my lips, and gave her that ambiguous smile that had no meaning. “Call the main office.”
She gave me an ethereal smile in return, the corner of her eyes lighting up and letting me know she was feeling mellow and sincere. “And please accept my apology for Marcus.”
“A woman should never have to apologize for a man.”
“I understand. He’s really an honorable guy, just not good at delivering his message.”
“Then there is nothing to apologize for.”
“The bobblehead.”
I shrugged. “I might start collecting bobbleheads.”
“If there’s anything I can do ...”
“My ... my ... my brother reads ... is a fan. He reads a lot of books.” Mentioning Rufus always made me feel awkward. The things he had said about me having the good genes always bothered me. I was supposed to be the strong brother. He didn’t know how weak I’d been. My thoughts dissipated and everything felt awkward. I cleared my throat and said, “He wanted me to get him an autographed book. Maybe I can pick up one at the mall and swing by when it’s convenient for ... your fiancé, maybe you can talk your man into signing it for my brother.”
She slid me the novel she had brought down with her, the same one she carried close to her heart at the airport. Told me it was a first edition, already signed.
I thanked her. Her expression told me that my taking that book made her feel better.
She asked, “You have a wife?”
“Divorced.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“No big deal.”
“Kids?”
“No kids. Had a step ... no kids.” I adjusted my coat. She was getting too personal, that made me want to get away from her as fast as I could. I said, “Enjoy your stay in L.A.”
“You’re not driving us tomorrow?”
“You can request me if you like.”
I shot a thumbs-up to the bartender and waved good-bye to Sade.
Sade raised her glass my way and said, “To sharks and remoras.”
I raised my hand like I had an imaginary glass, saluted her toast, then nodded and headed down the stairs. Sade got up before I had made it to the lobby. She left her drink behind and headed for the elevator. She walked head up, eyes straight, as if there were an invisible book resting on top of her head. Her shoes told a tale. Those shoes told me a lot about her mood. She hadn’t changed clothes, just taken off the boxy and conservative shoes she’d had on earlier, put on a pair that pimped out her backside and showed off her ankles. She had been chilling at a bar without her fiance wearing sexy shoes, the kind that broadcasted sensual messaging features.
There was another side to her.
Lisa had taught me that a lot of women had a dark side, some were darker than others. Sade had things on her mind, felt like she wanted to talk to someone she thought she could trust.
I stalled near the fireplace, flipping through Freeman’s book but not reading a word. I absorbed some heat and watched a low-level employee play rent-a-cop and stop Sade. He asked to see her passkey. Sade looked offended, a class thing no doubt, then dug in her purse and couldn’t find hers. She shrugged, went to the front desk and showed them her ID, got another one. Sade went back to the rent-a-cop and he smiled, stepped aside, let her get on the elevator.
Sade wasn’t amused.
I waited until she got on the elevator then dug in my pocket. I stared at the passkey I had lifted from Sade’s purse. I walked toward the elevator, passkey brandished. Security let me by without question. My eyes went to the illuminated floor indicator, tried to figure out what floor she had gone to. I’d seen people do that in the movies. Didn’t know if that worked in real life.
With this passkey I could get by security unquestioned. There were almost two hundred rooms in this palace by the sea, but only twelve of them were suites. She’d said her room was so big, so phat that Freeman didn’t know she was gone. That narrowed it down to twelve doors for Sade to have walked through. Twelve rooms that could hold what Arizona was trying to steal.
I’d broken into houses growing up, stolen cars, sometimes for fun, but mostly out of need. I chilled for a minute, had words with myself, told myself that I could go for it by myself.
If only I knew Freeman’s room number ...
A thousand unlawful what-ifs clouded my