Dangerous Flirt(Laytons Book 2)(31)
Eyeing him warily, she crossed the room and grabbed the purse. Her gaze narrowed when he wouldn't surrender it to her. “What now?”
“Your thing's in three hours?”
“Yeah.” She tugged at the purse.
Laying on his best aw-shucks charm, he kept the purse locked in his grasp. “What a coincidence. I've been hoping to learn more about estate planning. We'll take a cab to your hotel so you can finish up and then head over to the conference together.”
“Really?” She was giving him her best you’re-full-of-shit look. “Isn't that convenient.”
“I agree. So, you'll give me a couple of minutes?”
“Look, Hank, I appreciate you coming to my rescue last night. Really, I do. But I’m fine today and I can take care of myself.” She yanked on the purse to no avail.
He let all pretense fall from his face. “No. There were two guys following you.”
Her mouth tightened and fear flashed in her eyes before disappearing. “Probably just wolves thinking they’d found a drunk and helpless sheep.” Releasing the purse, she stepped back. “Hank, thank you for your help last night but this isn’t your battle.”
Ouch. That hurt like a jab to the nose. “So you say.”
“Why are you doing this?” She crossed her arms and probably would have shot laser beams from her eyes at him if it was possible.
“It's the right thing to do.” Tucking the purse under an arm, he headed toward the bathroom to gather his shaving gear.
“Where have I heard that high-minded phrase before?”
He shut the door against her question, knowing those words had changed their lives on a hot summer night a long time ago—and they were about to do it again.
Chapter Thirteen
So, how many of your neighbors are pissed off at you for not selling?” Hank's disembodied voice filtered through the closed bathroom door in Beth's hotel room.
She wrapped the blow dryer's twisted cord around its handle and stuffed it into the basket under the sink. “Most, but I can't imagine any of them are behind this.” No, the worst she'd gotten were a few dirty looks and snide comments whispered behind her back.
“Me neither. Mrs. Cranston is a royal bitch, but she doesn't hit me as the type to get her hands dirty like this.”
She tried to picture the brittle, thin eighty-year-old Mrs. Cranston in a black ski mask spraying graffiti and tossing hamburger wrappers around Beth's grandparents' house. If the situation hadn't been so serious, the image would have made her laugh.
She'd known her neighbors for most of her life, ever since she'd gone to live with her grandparents. It didn't make sense that any of them would do this. She even worked with Mrs. Hunihan, who lived a few miles up the road, and hadn't noticed any difference in the way the executive secretary acted toward her. What motive would there be? Money, sure, but even as ticked off as some of them were, they weren't violent folks.
“That leaves the buyer.” His voice sounded stronger, he must have moved closer to the door.
Turning, she gazed at the closed door, picturing him on the other side in his jeans and lightweight gray dress shirt. Sitting next to him in the taxi on the way over here had been torture. She'd tried to stay on her side of the seat, but he'd felt no such compulsion and her skin sizzled from his nearness. Excitement bounced around her stomach at the memory and she laid her palm against the door to steady herself.
What was wrong with her? She had to distance herself from him before it was too late, but with who knows who after her, she wasn’t going to get rid of him anytime soon.
She slipped her black, knee-length dress from the hanger on the bathroom door, lowered the back zipper and stepped inside it.
“You haven't been able to get any more information about who it is?”
Raising the dress up, she slid her arms into the cap sleeves then cracked open the door, hoping to see him on the other side. No such luck. “Nope, all roads lead to a farmer who has been dead for a decade.”
“Damn, what I'd give to have access to my computer right now.”
“You can't log in from mine?”
“No, we have a closed system that only allows certain IP addresses access.”
Beth wriggled inside the dress, one arm stretched behind her back, trying to reach the zipper. Her fingers brushed the metal zipper pull, but couldn't grasp it enough to yank it up. Hunching over, she inched the fabric higher until she reached the zipper. She grunted and jerked it upward until it snagged on something and wouldn't go any higher.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Tugging it harder was an exercise in futility, but she tried anyway. Her shoulder ached from the awkward position and her glasses had slipped down her nose so far they were in danger of dropping off and smashing to the floor. Having to show up late to the conference with her only pair of glasses held together by a piece of tape was the last thing her career needed right now. Admitting defeat, she stood and adjusted her glasses. The world came back into focus with Hank standing in the now completely open bathroom door.