She’d be okay. She wouldn’t have to call Alain. Just room service, maybe, get herself that niceahisalad she’d seen on the menu—balsamic vinegar instead of dressing. Yes, that would be lovely.
She started to slide her key in the door. Before she could connect with whatever type of electronic source responded to the key, the door slid open. How could that be?
She stepped inside. Everything was okay in the short, carpeted hall that led to the room. But the bathroom light was on. She was sure she’d turned it off.
She sensed the horror before she entered the room. The bathroom mirror had been shattered. Jagged pieces of glass gleamed from the sink and the pink marble vanity. What was going on? Her foundation lay in a broken glass on the floor. Had that been what had smashed the mirror? Whatever was wrong in this hotel went beyond a faulty alarm, into something more personal. She felt herself shrink beneath the sweater, unable to look at her defiled bathroom, her broken reflection anothermoment. She’d demand another room, damn the cost, get out of here right now.
She stepped out of the bathroom into the short hallway that led to the bedroom. Just find her suitcase. Just get out. Just…
She stopped with a gasp, refusing to believe what she saw. But there it was, taped to the wall above the sofa, almost as wide as the shuttered window. Red background, shiny as lip gloss, black dress, slit to reveal legs so perfect they must have been airbrushed on. And above Julie Larimore’s flawless form, the slogan of which Bobby Warren was so proud.
You Have to Want the Body.
Julie Larimore.
Gabriella ran, grabbing the cell phone again, the key, running into the hallway. She’d be safer out there than in here. She almost collided with the in-charge woman she’d seen downstairs.
“I insist that you move me to another room,” Gabriella said.
“Calm down, ma’am. It’s okay. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience?” Dear God, don’t let her start shouting at this poor woman who was only trying to do her job. “I need out of my room because someone has vandalized it.”
“What do you mean? They just pulled one of the alarms by accident.”
“Who pulled the alarm, if I may ask?” There. Now she was back on track, speaking softly, even though her teeth were all but chattering. “Who are thesetheys?”
The woman shook her head, and Gabriella could see the real story in her face. Too young for the job, twenty-three, she’d bet, and way over her curly little head. “An alarm,” she managed. “Fire alarm.”
“Which floor?”
“We’re looking into that right now.”
“So, you don’t know?”
“We’re pretty sure.” She coughed, then looked her over as if trying to assess what motives lay behind her interest. “This floor.”
“God.”
“There’s no fire, ma’am. It was a false alarm.”
“My room’s not a false alarm. Someone has destroyed it.”
“Destroyed it, how?”
“Threw my cosmetics into the mirror, smashed them on the floor.”
“Did you have a fight with somebody?” she asked through her squint. “Your boyfriend?”
“What boyfriend?”
“Aren’t there two of you registered here?”
“Indeed, there are.” Damned if she’d get into Christopher’s private life. “He’s not my boyfriend. And he isn’t going to want to stay in the room, either. Surely you can get us into another.”
“Only one problem with that,” she said. “If the alarm really was set off on this floor, we need to talk to everyone on it.”
“Are you saying you can’t do that if I’m in a room without a shattered mirror and my personal possessions scattered all over the place?”
