You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,27
story could be her ticket out.
She’d make sure of it.
She drove past snowy fields with sagging fences and stands of fir trees until she spied the inn, an old hotel that James Cahill had brought back to life. Oh, he’d had a vision, she thought, pulling into the gravel-strewn lot and waiting for an elderly couple to back s-l-ow-l-y out of a parking spot.
But then he was a Cahill.
Growing up with the proverbial silver spoon stuck firmly between his teeth.
The rich get richer.
“Ain’t it the truth?” she said to herself as she zipped into the parking slot. She was already working on the story behind her editor’s and sports nut O’Day’s backs, and she’d done some digging on the Cahill family in San Francisco. If she were lucky—and she was today—she’d be able to wangle herself a ticket to the City by the Bay and get some backstory and dirt on the Cahill family.
Wouldn’t that just be the best?
Smiling, she cut the engine, checked her look in the mirror, and added a touch of lip gloss to her naturally pink lips. Dark bangs poked out of her red ski hat; her eyes, smoky gray, were bright, and her skin was a little rosier than usual, but she looked good, and she knew it. She woke up looking good. Lucky that way.
There was that word again.
She locked the minivan before heading inside the quaint building with its stained cedar siding and thick plank-covered porch. God, enough with the Western motif! She half-expected to be greeted by a saloon girl straight off a Hollywood set, but inside, the hotel looked like it belonged in the twenty-first century.
She’d tried to talk to James Cahill earlier, but she’d been thwarted by a nurse built like a fullback who had blocked her entrance to Cahill’s room. Since Charity had learned that Cahill was finally awake, but amnesic—didn’t that beat all?—it might be better to gather information from other sources, have her facts down, before she went face-to-face with him. She had a gut feeling he might not want to be all that forthcoming.
She eyed the surroundings, including a long front desk manned by a woman in her fifties who was helping a customer. To one side was a single elevator and an open staircase, near a tall Christmas tree glistening with white lights and red ribbon. The opposite side of the desk area opened to a wide dining area and a bar where several patrons were nursing drinks and staring at a flat screen mounted on one end.
Twinkling Christmas lights had been strung over the archway to the bar area, and Charity couldn’t help but think the yuletide festivities were a bit overdone. But then James Cahill made the bulk of his money at this time of year, didn’t he? He profited from all the goodwill and big bucks that were a part of the holiday spirit.
A real prince of a guy.
She headed into the bar, where she slid onto an open stool next to a fortyish man in a Mariners ball cap sporting a trimmed goatee that was just starting to show hints of gray. A half-drunk glass of beer sat in front of him, and he was watching some basketball game on the muted TV. He turned away from the television long enough to check her out, his gaze lingering a second longer than necessary; then he picked up his drink and turned his attention back to the game.
The barmaid was dropping a slice of lime into a glass and flicked a glance Charity’s way. “I’ll be with you in a sec,” the blonde said and placed the drink in front of a woman three stools down. Then it was Charity’s turn. “What can I get for you?” Blondie asked. She was pretty, Charity thought, with her blue eyes, cute little nose, and easy smile. Her name tag read SOPHIA. Charity felt she’d hit pay dirt. This woman—Sophia Russo—was the woman James Cahill had been rumored to be seeing while still involved with Megan Travers.
Perfect.
“I’ll have a whiskey. Straight up.”
“Any particular kind?”
She eyed bottles displayed on lighted shelves in front of a mirror mounted behind the bar. “Jack. Black Label.”
“You got it.”
Though he didn’t cast a glance her way, Goatee-man’s eyebrows inched upward a fraction. Good. She pulled off her hat and shook out her hair, then dropped the hat on the vacant stool next to her clutch.
And that got his attention. He actually gave her an appraising stare.