IN ROOM 33 (21 page)

Christian slipped on a pair of clean white gloves, picked up the phone, and dialed. "Mr. David Grange, please."

He was fortunate enough to be put through immediately.

"What do you want, Christian?"

David's abrupt question rankled but didn't deter Christian from his goal. "I'd like a status report on the progress of my property acquisition." Christian chose to be circumspect on the telephone. One never knew who might be overhearing at the other end.

"I'll get back to you on that, of course, but I will tell you the party in question will be coming to dinner with Lana and me at the end of the month. We'll know for certain then, but I'm confident things are going well."

It pleased him that David was also being prudent in the choice of his words. Although he did hear that irritating note of impatience in his tone. "Really? Perhaps you'd be good enough to share the reason for that confidence with me."

"For God's sake, I said I'd get back to you." His voice started to rise; he lowered it to continue. "And I will. Get off my back."

Christian ignored his impertinence. "Another question. Equally important, I believe. Did you discover any next of kin for that young woman we discussed?" Christian had to wait for his answer, another impertinence.

"Only her mother."

"Good, then rather than you and I argue as to whether or not the party will sell, I suggest we meet to consider a move on to Plan B."

Christian heard a sharp intake of breath. "Why?"

"I've heard rumors of planned renovations and a blossoming relationship. Activities and a relationship that would not be to our mutual benefit. I've decided it's best we take care of it sooner rather than later." Christian could use Mike for the job, of course, but he had other uses for him before he was disposed of. And David had grown arrogant of late, wasn't as malleable as he should be. He hadn't been the same since he'd entangled himself with that Emerson woman. It was time for a lesson in humility. David would balk, but David would perform. He was Christian's man, and he must not be allowed to forget it. Killing his lover's daughter would be the perfect reminder.

Another breath, long and deep this time.

"David, are you there?"

"I'm here."

"Come by tomorrow night. Midnight. We'll discuss the details then."

Christian hung up before David had a chance to argue and turned to Mike, who sat placidly picking at his thumbnail. "You've done well. Carry on with the, uh, evictions. I want the hotel empty by this coming weekend. That gives you four days. Leave the boy and his mother until the last. Melly needs her walks. And you are to leave Miss Cole and Mr. Emerson alone—completely alone. Have I made myself clear on that?"

"Uh-huh."

Christian pulled off the white gloves, dropped them on the table beside his chair. "As for tonight, don't do anything other than watch. If—and when—the girl does go to his room, I want to know about it."

Mike smirked. "Watch, huh? I can do that."

Odious creature! Another minute, he'd be drooling all over the Persian carpet. "I don't expect they'll invite you into the room, Michael."

"I got my ways."

Christian lifted his gaze to the heaven he'd forsaken as a youth, and tried to stem his repulsion. He'd come to a new low in his life, having to deal with the likes of this disgusting specimen. When it was over, when the hotel was his, he'd make certain the guests were of a much higher caliber.

He wanted this stupid beast out of his sight as quickly as possible, but he had one more item of business—a question to ask. Were he a younger man, he might not ask it, perhaps even fear the answer, what it might require of him. But he wasn't young, he was very old, and he would not, could not, abide divided loyalties. "About Sinnie, Michael. Is she playing a part in this relationship between the Cole girl and Mr. Emerson?"

"Sinnie? Yeah," Mike said, and laughed. "I heard her tell Wade he should marry the bitch so he could get his hotel back. His legacy, she calls it."

What warmth remaining in Christian's blood turned to sleet.

Sinnie had given Wade Emerson good advice. If he heeded it, there would be trouble—and heeding it would not be difficult. Not only were the Emerson men attractive, they were notoriously weak when it came to women. Joe had been positively idiotic over that sow of a wife of his, and she for him. Loathing, thick and bilious, simmered low in his stomach at the thought of her. As for the tall, handsome Stephen, that wastrel had been picked off by the worst harlot in a bad lot. He suspected the young Emerson would also be sexually appealing. And if the woman's legs were shapely enough and open at the appropriate angle—and she had his grandfather's hotel in her portfolio—what would stop him from fornicating his way to ownership?

Bile rose to Christian's mouth, acrid and bitter, and his heart stumbled behind his brittle ribs.

Women. They were always in his way.

The young Cole woman had inherited his hotel, had plans to renovate, fill it with people—too many for him to organize, keep track of. He shivered, fear slithered snakelike around his bones. And tonight, if Michael were correct—she was going to have sex with Joe's grandson—right under his feet.

And now Sinnie. His Sinnie, despite his unending kindness to her, had deceived him, told him Wade Emerson was moving on. All the while encouraging the pup to woo and marry the little Cole slut to get his hotel back.

His hotel
The words tore along his mind on metal skids, sparking and burning a path to the root of his avarice, the core of his hate.

Stupid, stupid woman. She'd poked her nose in where it didn't belong for the last time. He calmed his turbulent emotions. Sinnie had said too much, been disloyal.

She was dead to him.

He looked at the hulk of a man sitting across from him, his ham hands hanging between the open wedge created by his thick thighs as he awaited Christian's bidding.

And very soon she'd be dead to everyone else.

* * *

Lana tied the terry robe around her slim body, and answered the door. Already annoyed. "I expected you earlier, Joy."

"I got tied up. Sorry." She didn't look sorry.

Even in coming to see her, the girl was inconvenient. Lana was expecting David in less than an hour. She stepped back from the door to let her in. "If I'd known you were going to be late, I'd have put this off until tomorrow." She disliked feeling pressured, but it was past time for the mother/daughter bonding routine to start, and she'd pull it off if it killed her. Wade Emerson was not going to get her hotel. She calmed herself, readied herself for the hour ahead. "I wish you'd called."

Joy stepped into the high-ceilinged foyer. "Actually, the last time I called you was on your forty-fifth—or was it sixth—birthday, and you told me you didn't appreciate the reminder."

Lana laughed, surprised she actually enjoyed her daughter's acerbic humor. "You're right. Let's go out to the patio. A drink?"

"Iced tea, if you have it."

"The ready-made kind."

"Perfect."

Joy followed Lana to the kitchen. Done in a combination of white, maple wood, and with stainless steel appliances, it looked as if it were completed yesterday. "It's in there, I think." Lana waved in the general direction of a cupboard and took one of the high seats around the center island. She watched her daughter move with skill around a room she rarely frequented. "Do you cook?" she asked, suddenly curious.

"Yes."

"What? What kind of things do you cook?"

"This and that. "Joy went to the fridge to get ice cubes. "When I'm ambitious I tackle French, maybe Thai."

"I'm impressed. Although I do boil a mean egg."

Joy gave her a sideways look. "I don't remember that."

"I've only done three. I suspect you were away." Lana was pleased to see a smile, however brief, turn up Joy's lips. Lana wasn't much as a mother, as the boiled egg story testified. And Joy was difficult, but, looking at her now, seeing how beautiful, how like herself she was, a sliver of regret made her think some kind of friendship would have been nice through the years. Lunch. Shopping, maybe. But Lana was a realist. Her daughter didn't like her, perhaps even hated her—all because of her father. In Joy's eyes, Lana might just as well have killed the man with her own hands. "Let's go outside," she said, using the spoken word to negate the useless thoughts in her mind. "We'll sit beside the pool. It's stuffy in here after that rain. Thank God, the sun has come out."

"Sure, lead the way."

When they were settled, Lana in a lounge chair, Joy in an upright one by the patio table, Lana said, "You should get out of the sun." And to her surprise, Joy nodded and pulled her chair to shelter under the table's umbrella. To even more surprise, her daughter's easy compliance caused a small lump in her throat. She set her gin and tonic on the table beside the chair. Two sentimental bouts were enough for one day. Any more would be maudlin. "So tell me, have you decided to sell the hotel to David? Let me take the money and run?"

"We agreed on a month. It's been barely two weeks."

"Just curious." She watched Joy purse her lips, a habit of hers when she was thinking. She'd done it as a child and was doing it now.

"Did you know that Stephen and I had a drink together a few months ago?" Joy asked.

The abrupt change of subject caught Lana off guard. "No," she said. "He didn't mention it."

"We met by chance in San Francisco a few months back. We talked for an hour or so."

"It must have been a hell of a conversation, considering it was enough to have him change his will." Her tone was sharper than she intended. And though she wanted to know what went on between the two of them, she wouldn't ask. No point. Ancient history. She settled herself casually, more comfortably, on the double lounge.

The look Joy leveled on her was faintly impatient, and she paused before adding, "We talked for a long time. He must have been ill then, although he didn't mention it."

"Hmm." Lana didn't want to talk about Stephen. He was dead, gone—of no value to her now. If she were to live as she always had, resolutely in the present, resolutely for herself, she didn't have time to reminisce about Stephen.

Joy sipped her iced tea but kept her gaze on her mother. "You really don't care, do you? Eighteen years of living with him, and you don't give a damn."

"Stephen's gone. Dead. I don't see the point in talking about him now or rehashing whatever we had together."

Joy's look was more startled than disapproving, although Lana knew the disapproval was there, a twisted root curled around her daughter's soul. A soul very much like her own, strong and cautious—and self-protective. Perhaps it was a family trait. "I thought you loved him," Joy said.

"I did, in my way. But the truth is, people come and people go from your life. Attaching too much of yourself to anyone is a waste of emotional energy."

Her daughter fixed that unnerving stare of hers on her. "You're afraid of people leaving, aren't you?" She spoke quietly, seeming awed, as if she'd just discovered the Holy Grail. "God, I should have seen it before. It's textbook psychology. You're afraid of being hurt—so you walk away first. Hurt first."

"Don't be ridiculous. And Stephen died, in case you've forgotten. He left me—the hard way. It sure as hell wasn't the other way around." If this was mother and daughter bonding, it was a pain in the ass. She wasn't about to let Joy beat her into a corner, judge her.

"But you were already having an affair with Grange before that, already marking your exit," Joy went on.

Lana briefly considered lying but decided it was pointless. It wouldn't make Joy's opinion of her any worse—or better—than it was. Besides, she'd learned long ago, silence was much more effective than lies. She shrugged, hoping her nonchalance would deter her bulldog of a daughter.

"Do you love him, Mother? Like you loved Dad? Stephen?" While her tone was thick with sarcasm, disbelief, she appeared openly curious.

Lana got up from the lounge. "Why all the questions? What do you want from me?" This getting together idea looked like a major mistake. She should have known Joy would try to control things, make them go her way.

"Me? Nothing. I haven't wanted anything from you since the day you took me away from my father. But you invited me here. We've never really talked before"—she sighed—"so I thought I'd make the most of it."

"And here I thought you were just being your usual pain in the ass."

Joy met Lana's gaze, her eyes no longer so coolly determined. Now there was something else. Confusion? Lana couldn't be sure. She hadn't spent much time learning to read people. Never saw the point—and it took her attention off what mattered. Herself. A fact she never apologized for.

"You fascinate me," Joy said, suddenly quieter, less accusatory. "Did you know that? I've never met anyone who comes close to your degree of selfishness. But even knowing that, I look for more from you. But you always disappoint. When you left Dad—"

Lana held up a hand. "Oh, please, let's not go back to the Bronze Age in your pubescent search for truth." She dropped the hand, angry that her stomach muscles flexed and contracted with no command from her. "I am what I am. I look out for myself, because I'm the only one capable of doing it."