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“I'm a
fraid that’s not possible, Sheriff. There is other…information on this tape that needs to stay only with me.”
Clenching his jaw, Hank tried to think past the frustration.
“However, I can print off a few screen shots.”
“Armstrong, I could hug you right now.”
“I'd prefer you didn't. Save that for your lovely lady on your wedding day, Sheriff.”
Chapter Fifteen
Beth needed an IV coffee drip. STAT. Unfortunately, it had yet to be invented. Just as bad, Phil Harris blocked her from the silver coffee carafe on the snack table. The entire area surrounding the drink station was deserted, except for Phil. He ignored her please-move body language and kept his large frame parked in front of the coffee.
“So, what happened to you last night?” Phil leaned in, popping her personal bubble.
“Not much.” Besides being drugged, followed by a couple of goons and waking up in a strange hotel room with Hank's fingers wrapped around her breast, not that one of the boss's minions needed to know that.
“Oh, I know the drill. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
Beth sighed. “I need a cup of coffee, Phil.”
Instead of moving out of her way, he grabbed her elbow and wheeled her around toward the door. “You don't want this sludge. Come on, I'll buy you a cup and we can talk.”
A chill brushed across the back of her neck. With all that had happened recently, there was no way she wanted to go have a private chat with Phil. “After the panel we just finished, I think I'm all talked out.”
He tightened his grip on her elbow. “You must've seen the note by now. We need to talk.”
The yellow note stuck inside her research file about Haverstan? Fear crawled across her skin like a platoon of army ants. “That was you?”
“Come on.” He edged closer. “We’ll talk about it outside.”
His fingers dug into her bones, triggering her flight or fight response. “No way in hell am I going anywhere with you.”
“Look, I'm trying to help you get out of this mess. It's gone too far.” His gaze darted around the room. A light sheen of sweat appeared on his bald forehead. “I can't do it here, but come with me and I'll tell you everything.”
No way should she go anywhere with Phil. Was he insane? Was she for even considering it? Because she couldn't deny the offer of the answers she desperately wanted was tempting. Anyway, it was Phil—dumpy, lumpy, chain-smoking Phil. If they talked somewhere public, he couldn't pull anything on her. Even if he did, she could knee him in the balls before he even blinked his eyes. Right?
“Please, Beth. I need to get this off my chest and you need to know what's going on.” Sincerity poured from his gaze. So did fear.
“Why are you scared, Phil?”
“Not here.” Like a trapped animal, he scanned the room as if looking for predators about to swoop down on him. He let go of her elbow, patted down his suit jacket, slid a hand into the left pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Please.” He tapped a cigarette out of the soft pack and slipped it back into his pocket.
Going with him was stupid. No doubt about it. But she couldn't not do it. Phil may be the weak link in the chains of secrecy wrapped tight around Haverstan. She hadn't found anything but dead-ends and corporate lies in her research and couldn't afford to miss an opportunity to uncover more. Last night proved events were spiraling out of control.
“Okay, but we're going somewhere with lots of people.” Hank was going to kill her, but at least she’d text him. “Let me get my cell phone and briefcase. They’re still on the dais.”
Phil's face went white and he dropped his cigarette. “Sarah Jane's there.” He tugged her toward the hall, leaving his cigarette on the floor. “She…she'll watch over them.”
As she passed through the lecture room's door, Beth glanced over her shoulder and made eye contact with Sarah Jane. The older woman's penciled-in eyebrows were drawn together, disapproval radiating from her like a harsh wind that blew against Beth's skin and left her wondering what the hell was going on.
Ten minutes later she sat down at a bistro table tucked away into an alcove of a mock Parisian cafe on the other side of the casino from the convention area. The cafe was crowded with tourists grabbing a bite to eat between shopping expeditions and rounds of poker. Lucky for her, Phil couldn't light up in here. Unlucky for her, she'd had to stand with him outside the cafe while he’d sucked down two cigarettes, one right after the other.
The beefy estate attorney fiddled with his green plastic lighter and fidgeted in his seat. He'd loosened his blue-and-red striped tie as they’d rushed away from the lecture hall. Now it barely formed a knot, he'd tugged it so far away from his thick neck.
She'd been in enough staff meetings with Phil to know he wasn't one for comfortable silences. He was either freaked out, had no idea what to say or wanted her to be the first one to speak.
