Secure Location - By Beverly Long Page 0,28

it out of the box, flipped open the catch, and put it on. It felt warm against her skin. She brushed the stone with the tips of her fingers.

“Thank you,” she said. Her throat felt dry, her lips stiff.

“I was right,” he said. “It’s the same blue.”

Another chunk of her heart broke off.

“I can’t be late,” she said and walked out the door.

Chapter Seven

The cab ride to the hotel was uneventful but Cruz could not shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. It was no wonder. They were walking into an unsecured venue, with multiple access and egress points, and Meg, looking even more beautiful than usual, would be the center of attention. There would be lots of noise, lots of movement, lots of strangers.

In other words, a cluster of the most significant magnitude.

The driver made a sharp turn and pulled up close to the entrance. A uniformed doorman hustled over to open the door. Cruz didn’t miss the appreciative glance that the man sent Meg’s direction.

The smokers were milling around the entrance, puffing away their anxiety. Cruz wrapped an arm around Meg’s shoulder, ignoring the startled look that she sent his direction. He guided her through the doors and across the lavish lobby.

There was a large poster advertising the event and a woman dressed in a long black dress with black gloves up to her elbows was waving people toward an elevator. “Fourth floor,” she murmured.

In the elevator, Cruz maneuvered Meg into the corner and stood in front of her. The space was crowded—men in black tuxedoes, white shirts and ties. An occasional handkerchief in the pocket or brightly colored cummerbund around the waist was the only differentiation. Not so with the women. All colors of dresses, some to the floor, some to the knee, and one whose butt was barely covered. They wore lots of makeup and at least one of them smelled like burnt cinnamon toast.

The ballroom was straight ahead. Four sets of double doors were open and flanked on both sides by women in long dresses handing out programs. Before they had a chance to take a program, Beatrice Classen, wearing a long green dress and matching jacket trimmed with peacock feathers, swooped down upon them.

“Meg, Meg, this way. Oh, my, you look so lovely. Just like Annette Benning in that movie, you know, The American President.”

Cruz remembered the movie. He and Meg had only been married a year or so. It had been her turn to pick the movie and he’d made the obligatory groans and moans about watching a chick flick. But it had been worth it when Meg had agreed to watch it in bed and they’d had to DVR a portion of it to allow for a brief intermission of rainy afternoon sex.

He’d been fond of Annette Benning and Michael Douglas ever since.

Meg let the woman kiss her on both cheeks. Then she pulled back just a little and waved a hand in Cruz’s direction. “Beatrice, Cruz Montoya. I understand you met this morning.”

“Yes, yes. Nice to see you again, Mr. Montoya.” Beatrice turned to Meg. “All this time and I never realized you were married.”

“Cruz is actually my ex-husband,” Meg said.

“Oh.” Beatrice looked even more like a bird with her puckered mouth and furrowed forehead. “I’m...I’m...”

Cruz looked at Meg. Now what?, his eyes seemed to ask.

Cruz was probably right. It would be easier just to pass him off as her current husband. Easier tonight. But definitely more difficult the next time she met anyone from A Hand Up. They’d ask about her husband and at some point, she’d have to give the difficult explanation. We’re divorced. Have been for some time. Just friends now.

She’d still be lying.

Meg put her arm around Beatrice’s shoulders. “It was really nice of you to be able to get him a ticket at such late notice. He’s in town for just a short while.”

“Happy to help,” Beatrice said, her lined eyes full of speculation. But to her credit, she didn’t probe. In her sixty-some years, she’d probably seen a lot of things. Maybe this wasn’t that odd. “Let me show you to your seats,” she said.

She led them through the large, dimly lit ballroom that was filled with round tables for ten. The overall effect of the starched linens, gleaming silverware, candles and flowers was stunning. Meg could feel her chest tighten up. This was a big deal. A Hand Up was an offshoot of one of the more high-profile charities in San