Private Lies

“No, ma’am.”

Great. She could feel anger and dread stir deep inside. His car was here, but no room in his name? Maybe the room was registered in his roommate’s name. Damn. She should have questioned Gage further.

“I don’t suppose you have a John Smith?” Roxanne asked dryly.

“Seventy-two of them.”

“Of course. Thanks anyway.” Roxanne hung up. “Strike one.”

Toni smiled and looked around the opulent, bustling lobby. “Good.”

“Good?”

She pulled Roxanne by the wrist. “Now we can troll the bars.”

“The next time you get an idea this stupid, remind me to talk you out of it.”

Toni laughed, dragging her into the bustling lobby bar. Happy hour was in full swing, without a vacant seat in sight. As they craned their necks and wound through the tables, a pair of young businessmen gallantly gave up their stools at the bar. The men bought them drinks—a Long Island iced tea for Toni and a glass of white wine for Roxanne—and while Toni carried the small talk, Roxanne looked for Gage.

She flinched as each dark-haired man turned around. She strained for the sound of his voice. And frantic explanations scrolled through her mind. The parking deck at the Sheraton was full, so Gage had parked here. The meeting location had changed at the last minute. Gage was meeting a client here, then going to the Sheraton later.

But as much as she wanted to believe these excuses, her sense of practicality doubted it, and her imagination kicked into high gear. Hadn’t Gage been distant lately? Distracted? When he’d visited New York two weeks ago, had he really been here? And this week, had he gone to Chicago and come back early? Had he gone at all?

Could he really be cheating on her?

Though she’d never once considered him dishonest, she’d always sensed a dangerous, dark side in Gage. Ironically—given her vow to steer clear of cops—she wondered if that quality had attracted her.

After thirty minutes with no sign of Gage, and with nervous panic fluttering in her belly, she nudged Toni. “Let’s go.”

Toni batted her lashes in Jr. Executive #1’s direction. “In a minute.”

She stood and nudged Toni hard enough that her drink sloshed to the rim.

“Oh, right.” Toni downed one last slug of tea. How the girl drank that stuff and still walked—especially on high-heeled slingbacks—Roxanne had no idea. “Gotta cruise, guys,” she said to the suits as she slid off her stool. “Maybe we’ll catch you later in the Quarter.”

Roxanne nudged her friend. “Let’s go, Brandy.”

Toni’s eyes narrowed briefly, then she led the way out of the bar and across the lobby. From a bellhop, they learned there was a quiet piano bar on the twenty-sixth floor, so they headed up.

“I could get into this undercover work,” Toni said, inspecting her face in a compact.

Roxanne watched the elevator numbers light in sequence. “We’ll sign you up for P.I. school ASAP.”

The doors opened, and Toni strode out, Roxanne hot on her heels. The maître d’ stand was positioned at the bar’s entrance.

How did one go about these things? Following someone, tracking them down, confronting them? She swallowed hard. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to her siblings and father when they’d yammered on about their cases?

Tamping down her nerves and regrets, she watched Toni smoothly tell the tuxedo-clad maître d’ that she and her companion would prefer to sit in the back. He escorted them across the room to a small table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, affording them an incredible view of the Mississippi River. Nauseous, Roxanne couldn’t appreciate the sight.

A waiter in black pants, white tuxedo shirt and black vest took their orders—Diet Coke for Roxanne and another Long Island iced tea for Toni—and Roxanne decided she would definitely drive home. She fiddled with the drink-special menu, then the gold-rimmed, crystal ashtray, while taking surreptitious glances around the room. It wasn’t until the smiling young waiter set her Coke in front of her, then met her gaze directly, frank male appreciation reflected in his eyes, that she remembered her disguise. She was Marina—exotic Mediterranean beauty. The description was so far from the usual her—quiet, ordinary Roxanne—she nearly giggled.

Good grief, she was getting hysterical.

The waiter left, and Roxanne concentrated on scanning the room—the dark, elegant attire of the customers, the quiet conversations, the muted lighting, the quiet strains of the piano.

“He’d like this.”

“A bit stuffy for me,” Toni said, wrinkling her nose.

Roxanne cast a sideways glance at her friend, wondering, incredulously, when this had become a girls’ night out.

“Uh, right.” Toni cleared her throat. “Gage.”

“He’s the reason we’re here.”

“Of course.” Craning her neck, Toni deduced, “He’s not here.”

“I’m beginning to agree.”

Roxanne studied each customer in turn. Though the bar boasted several dark-haired men in conservative suits, none of them were Gage. None had his stark masculinity, his controlled coolness, his sexy—

Whoa. What’s this?

A man at one end of the bar had turned. He lifted a dark amber drink to his lips. Sparkles of gold and diamonds winked at his wrist. Broad shoulders filled a black suit jacket. His manner was smooth, confident. Unsmiling, he nodded at his young male companion.

Gage.

Her heart hammered; her mouth went dry. Her gaze locked on his sculpted cheekbones and strong jaw. “He’s there,” Roxanne said to Toni, even more certain as she said the words aloud.

Toni’s head bobbed. “Where?”

“The left side of the bar.”

“He’s too young.”

“The one next to him.”

“He’s got a—”

“Ponytail, I know.”

“He’s smoking.”

Roxanne had noticed that, too. Her whole body grew numb. Her heart sank. “I was kind of expecting a svelte blond lover,” Toni said.

“Let’s hope it’s not the kid sitting next to him.”

Toni pursed her lips. “No way.”