On the other hand, there was a reason Stephen King had writtenMisery.
Something buzzed at the edge of my perception, and then the buzz came again, closer.I didn’t even realize it was a voice—much less someone saying my name—until a hand closed around my arm, and Julian smiled into my face.Then his smile evaporated, and he said, “Are you okay?What happened?”
It was like coming out of a cloud.Or—more prosaically—suddenly sobering up.The world around me snapped back into focus.People solidified.The hallway opened up.I took a breath and then a deeper one.
“Dash—”
“Sorry.”I even managed to smile.“Lost in my own head.”
“Looks like a dark place.”But Julian only squeezed my arm once and said, “I’m glad I spotted you.I was hoping we could grab that drink—we still haven’t had a chance to talk aboutMr.Murder.”A smile creased his cheek.“There’s a lot of hurry-up-and-wait in this industry.I’d love to get our part done so that we can sit around and wait for everybody else to do their jobs.”
“God, yes.I’m so sorry.I’ve been kind of busy—”
“With a murder?Yeah, I know.”That smile again.And he squeezed my arm once more, his hand lingering.“You’re a busy guy, I get it.”
I laughed, and I managed to turn it into a movement that let me dislodge his hand—politely, I hoped.“Right.Stumble over a dead body.Dentist appointment.Denouement in the drawing room.It’s a full schedule.”
Julian laughed—a little too heartily for what was, admittedly, a weak joke.He didn’t put his hand on my arm again, but his eyes…lingered.
“Uh, right,” I said.“So, we should get a drink.”
“We should.”
“And talk.”
He grinned.“Unless you had something else in mind.”
He was handsome.He wasn’t Bobby (my God), but he was fit, toned, and had that dark intensity that a teenage Dash would have found intoxicating (he also would have called it brooding, and it was one of teenage Dash’s biggest weak spots).
“Like dinner,” he said into that missing beat.
“Right.”I laughed again.“Uh, maybe.Let me talk to Bobby.”
“Sure.”
“My boyfriend.”
Julian’s grin got bigger.“Invite him.”
“Right,” I said.“Right.”
And then we stood there, looking at each other.
For some reason, that made Julian laugh after about thirty seconds.“How about this?I’m going to get a table at the bar—let’s say, in an hour?We’ll talk.We’ll order nachos.We’ll figure out how I can make you happy, because that is literally the definition of my job.”He gave my jacket a little tug—on the placket this time.“And we’ll see where it goes from there.”
Before I could say anything, Julian started off into the crowd.
As he moved away, I became aware of the full-body flush running through me.Too much attention, I told myself.Too many people.It was almost enough to distract me from the pain in my throat—while the coffee and cold water had helped, they couldn’t keep up with how much talking I was doing.I decided to check the conference registration desk to see if they had any painkillers.
The encounter with Julian served, if nothing else, to brush aside my irrational burst of fear after that conversation with Spenser.Spenser was an overenthusiastic fan who didn’t have good social skills.It didn’t mean anything that he’d—what?Turned his ankle?Pulled a muscle?That happened to people all the time.
For now, the person I needed to focus on was Margaux.She had a motive.She had found Robert’s body.She had known that Vivienne and Steven suspected that Robert’s real killer had escaped justice.
But all of that was in the past.I needed something now.Something I could use.
I needed leverage.
The conference registration desk was staffed by two men who must have been brothers.They had the same round faces, the same thinning rings of hair, and the sameDetectives and Dragonsshirts.(Seriously, was I missing out?How had I never heard of this series before?) One’s nametag said Sam.The other’s said Frodo.
