Secure Location - By Beverly Long Page 0,26
said. She finished making her copies and returned to her desk. She carefully labeled several file folders and stacked everything neatly on the corner of her desk. “I guess Meg is lucky to have her own private investigator,” she said. “Very convenient.”
“I don’t think there’s anything convenient about having both your car and your apartment trashed,” he said.
“You’re right. It’s all shocking, really. The world is a bad place sometimes.”
Her words were fine but there was something that wasn’t. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. And that worried him. His obsession with finding Meg’s tormentor was screwing with his normally good judgment.
Meg’s office door swung open. Slater had his back to Cruz, his arm braced against the office door, like he was posing for the cover of GQ. “Good luck tonight,” Slater said.
“I’m nervous,” Meg said. Her voice was faint, as if she was still behind her desk. “I’ve never talked to five hundred people before.”
“Just look out and imagine the audience naked—they won’t be nearly as intimidating. By the way,” he said as he chuckled, “I think the BJM table is near the front.”
Cruz wanted to cough up his lunch.
Meg laughed nervously. Cruz heard it but he was focused on Charlotte. She wasn’t laughing. Her lips were clamped together and she gripped an empty file folder so tightly that her fingers were turning white.
Slater turned, walked out, and Meg followed. She had a garment bag folded over one arm. Slater nodded at him but didn’t extend a greeting.
“I didn’t realize you were here,” Meg said. “I’m sure Charlotte took good care of you, though.”
“My pleasure,” Charlotte said. Her face was relaxed and she calmly laid the file folder on the corner of her desk with the others. She got up, walked over to the door and opened it. “Let’s get you out of here, Meg. You’ll need time to get ready.”
“You, too,” Meg protested. “You’re at the BJM table, right? I’m going to need you cheering me on.”
“I’ll be there. But if you have just a minute, Scott, I’ve got some invoices that need your approval.”
“Okay,” Scott said. “See you later, Meg.”
Cruz fell into step next to Meg. “What’s in the bag?” he asked.
“My dress for tonight. Fortunately, it had needed some alterations and when I’d picked it up earlier this week from the tailor, I’d left it hanging in my office closet. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have anything to wear tonight.”
“I can carry it,” he said.
“It’s not that heavy,” she said and continued walking. She hadn’t gone more than four steps when Cruz spoke again.
“Five hundred people. This is a bad idea, you know. Somebody wants to harm you and you’re going to be on a stage.”
“Behind a podium. Nobody is going to try anything there. Too many witnesses. Too much security in the room. I’ll take a cab there and back. I’ll be perfectly safe.” They stopped in front of the elevators.
He didn’t look convinced and Meg knew she’d be wasting her breath if she kept on trying. Cruz had never been fond of situations where he didn’t have complete control. Even knowing that, she was still surprised when he said, “I’m going with you.”
He hated black-tie events. “No, you’re not. You can’t. You need a ticket.”
The elevator doors opened and they were inside the empty space. It felt small and tight—even more so because Cruz was crowding her, his big body close. She moved back, stopping when her back hit the rear wall. He stayed where he was, giving her a little space.
“I have a ticket,” he said. “I’ll be sitting next to you at the head table.”
She could feel her chest tightening up. “How did you manage that?”
Before he could answer, the elevator chimed and the doors opened. A young man and woman stepped inside. Cruz shifted slightly, putting himself between them and Meg.
Good grief. There wasn’t a chance that she was going to be able to shake him. He didn’t say anything until they got to their floor—just watched the other two passengers, who quite frankly, only appeared interested in each other.
When the elevator doors opened, he motioned for her to exit. He followed but didn’t speak again until they were inside her room. “I called Beatrice Classen this morning. I wanted to talk to her about the four ex-cons that have worked at the hotel.”
She gritted her teeth. “We discussed this.”
“I know. And I didn’t make any crazy accusations. I met with her and looked at the photos. Only two of