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You're a real asshole, Layton.
She wasn't like Amanda. Hell, he doubted Satan himself was as bad as Amanda. But he'd lashed out at Beth as if she was his ex-wife incarnate. Why was he still letting that manipulative woman influence his actions? If he didn't figure out how to shake off her ghost, he may as well give up on winning Beth over. The rub was, he had no idea what to do now besides follow Beth into the hotel and make sure she was safely on her panel before he paid a visit to Little Elvis.
Nodding at the bellboy, he quickstepped into the hotel and spotted her glossy, dark hair moving through the throng of gamblers sitting in a trance at the one-armed bandits. She cleared the slot machines and took a right turn at the elevators. Hustling, he caught up with her in the walkway leading to the conference rooms. Nervous sweat made his hands clammy and he wiped them on his jeans before grabbing her wrist.
“Beth.” No other words came. He had no idea what to say next, but he had to say something before it was too late.
She jerked to a stop, her face a dispassionate mask, mouth in a neutral position and her eyebrows arched. Her chin jutted forward as she tilted her face upward toward his. When her lips curved upward into an almost-smile, his stomach sank.
“You were right, Hank. I haven't been fair with you, so let me be now.” She peeled his fingers one by one from her tiny wrist. “I'm your little sister's best friend, nothing more and nothing less. Let's just forget about what happened.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path in a desperate attempt to salvage the tenuous connection they'd forged. “Look, I owe you—”
“No, you don't owe me anything.” She glanced around him and gave someone in the crowd a little wave. “I need to get to my panel.”
Looking behind him, he spotted Sarah Jane Hunihan marching toward them like Patton bearing down on the Germans in Italy. Judging by the snap, crackle, pop in her eyes visible at twenty paces, the normally sweet-natured old biddy was more than a little ticked off. But by the time she stopped in front of them, the angry spark had melted away as if it had never been there at all. But the spit-and-vinegar attitude seemed more natural somehow, an impression he filed away to consider later.
“There you are! We've been looking for you everywhere since you missed the morning sessions. I was so worried that something had happened to you.” She clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Goodness, this is such a dangerous city that I feared the worst.”
Beth smiled down at the firm's executive secretary and the gaggle of attorneys behind her. “Nothing to worry about, Sarah Jane. I forgot to set my alarm, that's all.”
“I expect more out of my best associate than that, young lady. Especially at a high-profile event like this.” Ed Webster stood with his arms crossed, his mouth so tightly pursed it looked like he'd just sucked a pound of lemons. “If it had been anyone but you, they’d be on the next plane home Don’t let this happen again.”
“Now, Ed, that seems a bit extreme. I don't need to remind you that we've all made a few mistakes in our lives, do I?” Sarah Jane's indulgent smile didn't quite eliminate the venom thick in her tone. “Anyway, Beth is one of those lucky people who manage to land on their feet no matter what plans fate has made.”
Webster shuffled a few steps back from Sarah Jane, bumping into Phil Harris, Mason Carter and Charles McMillian, who had been standing in his shadow, as usual. The firm's junior partners sidestepped out of Webster's way, mumbling their apologies and eyeing each other nervously.
A light sheen of sweat dampened Carter's forehead and he swiped at it with a handkerchief before taking a step away from the group. Harris drew a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He shook a single out and stuffed the pack back into his jacket.
“Nasty habit,” Webster growled at Harris before striding down the hall toward the conference registration table, Carter and McMillian on his heels.
“Not to worry, you two.” Sarah Jane looked between Beth and Harris, patting Beth's hand reassuringly. “He'll get over it. He always does. Now, Beth, let's get you ready for your panel presentation.” The older woman linked her arm through Beth's and together they walked down the hall.
Hank couldn't look away from them. She would turn and give him a last look, then everything would be okay, he was sure of it.
Tension locked his muscles tight the farther away she got until his bum knee throbbed. They stopped in front of an open door and she laughed at something Sarah Jane said.
Now. This was when she'd give him a nod, a wink, a sign of some sort.
Instead, she shook her head and strode into the conference room, never glancing back.
Wasn't that a kick in the balls? All of a sudden his knee became the least of his aches and pains.
“Ms. Hunihan is right. He's all thunder without the lightning.” Harris took a deep drag off the cigarette, closed his eyes and let the smoke out in a long exhale. The worry line between his eyes eased away and he brought the cigarette to his chapped lips again.
It took Hank a second to realize the junior partner was referring to Webster. “Uh-huh, is that why you're smoking like a condemned man?”
Harris chuckled and winked at him. “Yeah, well…when he just gets to know me a little better, understands who I am, it will all be different. I know it will.”
Yeah, right. Webster was a first-rate asshole. Anyone with eyes could see that. “Good luck.”
Stubbing out the cigarette in a freestanding ashtray, Harris nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” He took a few steps, then stopped. “And don't worry about Beth. I'll keep an eye on her.”
His cop radar went nuts. Was Harris involved? He puffed up his chest and loomed over Harris. “What do you mean, ‘keep an eye on her’?”
“Webster. To make sure he doesn’t blow up at her.” With that, he disappeared into a group of twenty or so attorneys milling around outside the conference rooms.
It made sense, but… Shit, he’d become so mixed up that even a chimney like Harris was starting to look suspicious.
