Page 99 of When He Plays

“You just…” Sebastian wiped away blood that dripped from his lower lip. “You just assaulted a marshal, dumbass! You’re under arrest.” He whipped out a pair of handcuffs.

Logan straightened his shirt. Smoothed away wrinkles on the sleeves. Turned for Charlotte and strolled toward her all casual-like. He sent her his most innocent smile.

She could only shake her head.

Logan’s leaned in close to her. His lips brushed over her ear as he murmured, “Consider Pierre stopped.”

Oh, no. No. He had not planned that scene. Had he?

But…

Sebastian’s gaze was knowing as it slid toward Logan.

Yeah, okay. Fine. Maybe the men had semi-planned the scene together.

That was one way to stop a suspect from leaving town. Only he wasn’t the main suspect, and they all needed to talk, stat. But it wasn’t like they could just sneak away for a quick chat, not with Sebastian cuffing Pierre. Not with the crowd watching, wide-eyed.

“Nothing to see here, people!” Sebastian’s loud voice echoed in the cavernous lobby. “Disperse!”

Some people jumped. Most dispersed. Thankfully.

So, yes, she needed to reveal her news, immediately, before some other big drama occurred. “Evelyn delivered a bottle of champagne to Harper,” Charlotte blurted out. “We’ve gotten access to some of the footage from that night, still working on receiving more. But we know Evelyn is involved.”

“You can’t arrest me!” Pierre utterly ignored her words. No reaction at all.

Wouldn’t he have some reaction if he was involved in this mess? She’d deliberately revealed the bit about Evelyn in front of him just to solicit a response.

“I am arresting you,” Sebastian assured him. But a hard line cut between his brows. With one hand, he finished snapping the cuffs on Pierre. The other hand locked around Pierre’s shoulder. “Evelyn?” he repeated as his head angled toward Charlotte. “She was at my Harper’s?”

Wait, what was up with the possessive my? Something to analyze later. “Yes, I⁠—”

“Charlotte Webb.”

Her head jerked to the right.

A woman wearing a dark blue blazer smiled uncertainly at her.

Uh, yeah, we attracted way too much attention. The blonde woman’s hair had been twisted into a bun. Hoop earrings hung from her lobes. A golden name tag on her left breast pocket identified her as Kathleen.

Hotel staff, obviously. Probably pissed hotel staff who wanted them to take their drama outside.

“I’m a US marshal,” Sebastian declared. Seemed that he was in the mood to tell everyone that detail. So much for his undercover work. “Sorry for the scene, ma’am. I’ll have this resolved soon.”

“Ah, yes, please do.” Kathleen cut a worried gaze toward Pierre. “We don’t like trouble here at our hotel.” Her stare darted back to Charlotte. “I have a telephone call for you.”

“Excuse me?” Charlotte was sure she’d heard wrong. The woman had come over because of a phone call?

“On the line at my desk.” Kathleen’s well-manicured hand motioned to a very large desk near the check-in table. Concierge. “The caller asked specifically to speak with you.” A hint of uncertainty. “He described you perfectly, said you would be with the marshal.”

As curiosity filled her, Charlotte found herself inching toward the desk and the phone.

“Press the red button,” Kathleen instructed Charlotte even as the other woman stilled a few feet away from that desk, presumably to give Charlotte some privacy.

How was someone calling her, at this hotel? If it had been Jezebel or Jamar, they’d just use her cell phone to reach her. Also, Jamar was currently sitting about ten feet away, acting as if the painting on the wall fascinated him when she knew he was actually carefully monitoring every detail of the scene between Logan, Sebastian, and a still protesting Pierre.

Charlotte scooped up the phone. She pressed the red button. Put the phone to her ear. “Charlotte speaking,” she began.

“I’d rather it be you.” A man’s muffled response. No accent. Raspy.