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“Luanne, can you stay for a moment? I’m sorry that my partner changed his mind. Will you have a glass of this excellent champagne?”
“Thank you very much, but I can’t. It’s against—”
“Oh dear, I apologize,” said the one that had to be Gozan Remari. “I didn’t want to put you in a difficult spot. I have been at death’s door for a very long time, and now that I’m in remission, this is the first champagne I’ve had in five years. And I don’t wish to drink alone.”
“Well, that’s good news,” said Luanne. “I guess I could take a tiny sip.”
“Good. It is good to celebrate all the important moments.”
Cruz sat up straight in his seat, grabbed the car phone, and called Jack.
“Jack, it’s Cruz. They’ve got a girl in there. We’re going in.”
Chapter 37
CRUZ AND DEL RIO bolted from the fleet car, ran like hell to the parking lot on the same side of the street, then along the sidewalk fronting the hotel, which was littered with runners and ladies with strollers and bike riders. They took the front steps two at a time and arrived in the lobby of Shutters on the Beach, breathless.
Cruz flashed his badge at the desk clerk, a thin young man with a beaky nose and glasses and a look on his face like a mouse had run up his leg.
Cruz said, “A crime is being committed in a third-floor unit, northwest corner.”
“What crime? How do you know that? Are you the police?”
Del Rio snarled, “Where’re the stairs, dimwit?”
Cruz and Del Rio ran up two flights, pushed open the fire door on the third floor, and sprinted to the room at the end of the hallway.
Del Rio banged on the door, banged on it again, Cruz shouting, “Open up. Do it now.”
The door opened, and Gozan Remari, fully clothed in a white shirt, tails out over blue dress pants, said, “What is this? What is going on?”
Cruz said, “Stand aside, sir. We have to check the premises.”
Remari said, “Be my guest.”
Cruz and Del Rio shoved past Remari and entered the homey suite. They found the woman in the room-service outfit standing by the table at the far end of the room. She looked confused but was still in her blue uniform, her hair neat and held back in a headband. She was apparently unharmed.
She was saying, “I didn’t do anything. What did I do?”
Cruz said, “We’re private investigators and these men are sexual predators. Are you all right?”
“Oh my God. No. Yes. I’m fine.”
Khezir came in from the other room. He was scowling, said, “What’s going on here?”
Del Rio said to the young woman, “Did anyone put a hand on you?”
“No. Like I said, I’m fine.”
“You should go,” said Del Rio. “Get out of here, now.”
The young woman scurried out of the room, and Cruz said to the Sumaris, “We know who you are. We know what you’re doing.”
“Oh, mind readers,” Gozan said with a laugh. “And who are you again? Secret police?”
“Watch yourself,” said Del Rio.
“You watch yourself,” Khezir said, rolling up his sleeves. “You are clowns. You need red noses and big shoes. You want to make my day?”
