12
THE GUARD AT THE LITTLE outpost had seen Keith before. He tried a quick wave, but the fellow frowned and stopped him.
“Yes?”
“Hey,” Keith said, offering an engaging smile. “You saw me this morning, remember?”
“Yes?” The man didn’t smile. He waited.
“I’m a guest of the Masons.”
“Your name?”
“Keith Henson.”
“I’ll have to call the Masons,” the guard told him.
It wasn’t as if the man were big and brawny, or as if he had a gun, Keith thought. If he had really needed to get through, he would have just gunned the engine.
But he wanted to keep his presence here on the level.
“Go ahead. Amanda is still here, isn’t she?” he asked pleasantly.
The man stared at him again, then relented. “Yes, Miss Mason is still here. Go on.”
Apparently Amanda had invited men to the club before. He must have fit the profile of her previous guests.
He wasn’t sure that pleased him.
Didn’t matter. He parked his car and hurried toward the front entrance. He hadn’t been able to move quickly enough to see what car the couple from Nick’s had taken from the lot, nor had he managed to follow Beth and discover if the couple had been following her, as well. He wasn’t even sure she was here.
As he walked in, he was startled when she came running down the stairs and directly into him.
“You!” she said, backing away as if he had suddenly become poison. He was startled. She wasn’t staring at him with the simmering anger she had afforded him just a little while ago. She was staring at him as if he were some kind of heinous beast.
“What?” he demanded sharply.
“Henry!” she called, and he realized that one of the waiters from the restaurant had apparently heard them, and was hovering near the arch that separated the foyer from the restaurant.
“Yes, Beth?”
“Call the police. Now.”
Keith’s heart sank. What the hell had she found out about him—or what did she think she knew?
“What is it?” he demanded.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? I just found a skull on my desk—another skull—and look who’s hanging around. Again. Henry, call the police,” she repeated.
“Yes, Beth, immediately,” Henry said.
“A skull?” Keith said, staring at her hard. Then he walked past her, heading up the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going? Don’t you dare touch a thing. The police are on their way!”
He ignored her. She followed him up the stairs, nearly touching him, she was so close. But he continued to ignore her, reaching her office, stopping in the doorway.
“Where?” he demanded.
“On the desk.”
He walked a few feet into the office. There was nothing on the desk that didn’t belong there.
“Where?” he repeated.
She stood next to him and stared. “This is impossible!” she exclaimed.
By then they could hear sirens. Henry had obviously dialed 911.
“I’m telling you, it was there.”
Footsteps were pounding up the stairway.
“What’s wrong?”
Keith turned to see Ben Anderson striding into Beth’s office. Several other men were behind him.
Ben gave Keith a seriously suspicious glare and hurried to Beth’s side. “What is it? What happened?”
“There was a skull on my desk,” Beth said heatedly.
“What?”
“There was a skull on my desk,” she repeated.
Keith saw the emotions flickering through Ben Anderson’s eyes. Dismay, worry, agitation—and a sense of weariness and annoyance.
“Not again,” Ben said softly.
Beth glanced at her brother. “Dammit, Ben. What is the matter with you? When have I ever been a scared-of-herown-shadow, paranoid storyteller?”
“What are you doing here?” he demanded of Keith, as if it somehow had to be the other man’s presence that had brought this on.
“Guest of the Masons,” he said softly.
“All right, what’s going on?”
This time, the question came from a uniformed police officer, who parted the gathering crowd on the landing and came into the office.