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.
Torn between standing guard like an unwanted mutt or tracking down the thugs from last night, Hank hesitated. His cop sense had all of the hairs on his forearm reaching for the sky. Everything looked normal. Everyone acted normal. Everything should feel normal, but it didn't. Something was off.
Listening to his gut, he marched toward the conference room. Through the open door, he saw Beth sitting behind a long table at the front of the room fiddling with some papers in front of her. A crowd of attorneys filed into the lecture hall through the other door to sit in the several hundred empty seats. Folks from her firm buzzed around the dais.
Fine. Everything was fine.
Damn, he couldn’t afford to overreact to every twingy feeling. Nothing would happen to her in a room full of hundreds of people. Time to go make Elvis sing.
The Little Elvis Wedding Chapel didn't look any better in the light of day. It looked a hell of a lot worse.
In a town full of tacky, this velvet-and-gold shrine to a man who’d died on his toilet stood in a class of its own. A six foot tall papier-mâché Elvis in a well-filled-out white jumpsuit with a suspicious eye stood next to a large hand-printed sign urging the marriage-inclined not to spill their drinks as they walked down the aisle.