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Funny, he couldn’t remember exactly.
Too much to drink. He needed to stop drinkin
g so much. But he was so upset, so unhappy, and a little bit scared.
No more wine, he ordered himself. A nice, hot, relaxing tub, and some music. Then maybe he’d tag Andi, or Marlo, or Connie. He didn’t like being alone. He wanted a woman to talk to.
Women always listened.
He tried to get up, intending to put the wine aside, go start the tub. Drunk, he thought, disgusted with himself.
Determined, he shoved to his feet, managed one staggering step.
The glass flew out of his hand, shattering against the table as he went down.
Winded, reasonably sure her feet were bleeding, Nadine made a beeline for the front desk.
“Nadine Furst. I need your head of security.”
The woman on the desk smiled pleasantly. “Good evening, Ms. Furst, and welcome back. May I ask what you require security for?”
“Listen, you know I’m on the cleared list for … Mr. Birmingham’s suite.” She used the alias Julian used to protect his privacy.
“Yes, Ms. Furst, you’re on Mr. Birmingham’s approved visitors list.”
“I need security to go up to his suite with me.”
“Is there a problem?”
“There will be if you don’t get security, now.”
“Just one moment, Ms. Furst. I’ll get the manager.”
“I don’t want the manager. Hell with it. You send security up, or you, Marree,” she said, reading the name tag, “and this hotel are going to be the subject of a scathing exposé on Now.”
She turned, loped toward the elevators.
He was probably there, cozied up with his femme du jour, she thought as she jumped on the elevator. And she was about to make a fool of herself. He’d be amused, she decided, and very likely invite her to join the party—and he wouldn’t really be kidding.
They’d have a quick laugh over it. Please. She closed her eyes, struggling to find her usual cool. Please, let him be with a woman, let them have a quick laugh, let his horrible sense of dread and panic be the product of working too long on the crime beat, seeing potential murders everywhere.
She bolted out of the elevator, raced on feet now thankfully numb to the end of the corridor. Ignoring the DO NOT DISTURB light, she punched the buzzer, added several hard knocks.
“Julian! Open the door. It’s important. It’s Nadine.”
He couldn’t hear her, of course, unless he engaged the intercom, but she continued to call out as she buzzed and banged.
And with every second the panic and dread swelled.
“Ms. Furst!” The manager strode down the hall with a big, dark-suited man at her side. “Please. You’re disturbing our guests.”
“They’ll be a lot more disturbed if you don’t open this door.”
“Ms. Furst, Mr. Birmingham has requested not to be disturbed. If you’d like to leave him a message, I’ll—”
“Open the damn door.”
“I’m going to have to have you removed. If you and Mr. Birmingham have had a tiff, this is no way to—”
