Lori stepped back and for the second time almost took a nasty fall. Again, the detective prevented it, but this time did not release her until he’d marched her back into the reception hall, closed the door to the stairwell and used more yellow crime scene tape to seal it.
He checked the clipboard at security, then held up her temporary pass between two fingers. “Next time I find your name on my ingress log, you will be in cuffs.” He slid the license back across the desk. “You just bought yourself a formal warning, Ms. Sykes.”
“Um, I really wasn’t trying to muck up your investigation. I’m a mystery writer, and I thought I could soak up some ambience for my next book.”
“Go soak up whatever it is you need to somewhere other than my crime scene. If I catch you here again, I will arrest you for hindering an investigation. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly, turning to leave, walking away, and wondering if he was looking at her butt. He was kind of a hunk. She slowed and looked over her shoulder.
“Out,” he ordered, pointing toward the door.
She grinned. Yeah, he’d been looking. With that little bolster to her self-confidence, Lori was off to finish writing her notes. Maybe she’d share what she’d seen and felt with the girls. After all, they were going to form a murder club, right?
CHAPTER 4
JESSICA
Well, the signing today hadn’t gone as expected. Jessica kicked off her Jimmy Choo’s as she entered her hotel suite. She looked around and smiled. Being a bestselling author had its perks. The suite was truly gorgeous with a separate bedroom and attached bath with an enormous king-size bed, a separate large sitting room with a desk and ergonomic chair, and a bar/kitchen area. There really wasn’t a kitchenper se,but there was a hidden microwave, a fridge filled with snacks and drinks, and a bar with top-shelf booze. The room was on the top floor and had a panoramic view of the harbor.
While waiting for the police to get to them, the four of them had taken the opportunity to sit and talk. Not networking, just spending time with each other, getting to know one another, and had begun the process of becoming friends. As they did so, the idea for the Mystery Writers’ Murder Club was born. Jess was pretty sure that those three women were going to play a significant role in her life from now on. Sometimes you just knew when you met someone that you were destined to be friends.
Writers tended to be loners by nature. Being a loner could be a good thing, provided you didn’t couple it with being shy or introverted; then, it could make you become a hermit. The fact was that for the most part, writing was a lonely profession. Most people had no clue how people created their works of fiction. Perhaps it was different for those who wrote non-fiction, but at the end of the day, it came down to you and your laptop. As she often did, Jess opened up her laptop and began making notes—observations, feelings, and a brief outline of what had happened.
Afterward, she changed out of the clothes she’d worn to the signing and into something more comfortable—black, leather leggings, a caramel-colored tank top, and a slouchy brown sweater over the top. She pulled on a pair of mid-heeled booties and checked herself in the mirror. She’d learned the hard way to make sure she looked good before going out. These days she couldn’t go hiking with Tracer, her basset hound, without having her hair and makeup done.
Regardless of how scattered, tired, or stressed she might feel on the inside, she realized with a certain amount of fame and fortune came the responsibility to look the part. Sometimes it could be a pain, but every time she didn’t take the time to look good, somebody wanted a picture with her. There was always somebody watching, somebody who recognized her and wanted a moment of her time. Seeing as how those same somebodies were responsible for her success, she figured the least she could do was look the part when she went out.
She left her hotel room and made her way to the private elevator, pressing the L for lobby as soon as she got in. Another nice perk of her suite was there were only six rooms on this floor and each of them was assigned an electronic key card that operated the elevator, which meant coming or going there were no stops on other floors.
What a day this had been. She was looking forward to spending time with her new friends in spite of Sandy’s murder and the canceled signing. Was it a bad thing to be more upset by the canceled signing than Sandy’s murder? Jess didn’t want anyone to be dead, but she loved meeting her readers and Sandy had not been a very nice person. The fact was, Jessica could think of a lot of people at the signing who might have had a reason to kill Sandy.
Jessica had already spent part of the afternoon arranging for someone to join her tomorrow morning to help wrap and ship all the pre-orders for her readers. It might seem silly to stay an extra day to get that done, but the idea of lugging all those books back home and finding the supplies to do it herself was just a bit more than she could handle.
The elevator doors whispered open, and she stepped out onto polished marble, the gleam of oriental rugs leading toward the restaurant where the others waited. She barely made it two steps before the air seemed to shift.
Oh, hell.
From the corner of her eye, she caught him—a tall, impossibly gorgeous man whose presence rolled through the space like command itself. Authority clung to him, not forced, but lived-in, like a second skin. And those eyes—locked on her. Not glancing, not wandering—waiting.
Her breath snagged, heat spiking low in her belly. A shiver slid down her spine, visceral and unwanted.Steady, Jessica. Be polite. Be firm. You’re not interested.
But her body wasn’t listening. Her pulse hammered, her palms damp against the strap of her purse. He was her characters brought to life: the alpha who took up oxygen, the one readers begged her to write again and again.
God, he’s perfect. He could walk onto the cover of my next book and readers would swear I’d invented him. Hell, would he say yes if I asked?
The thought burned hot, reckless. She jerked her gaze forward, forcing her legs to carry her across the marble.No. No, no. That way lies trouble. Fun to write, maybe. Fun for readers to devour. But living it? Not a chance. Not after last time.
At the concierge stand, the same man showed a badge, and the concierge pointed toward the restaurant.
Jessica felt herself relax as he faded into the background without approaching, and she joined her new friends and headed into dinner. The hotel’s restaurant was one of the best in the city and its chef had been making the rounds of the celebrity chef cooking competitions where she won more than she lost.
Bowls of lobster stew moved past on a server’s tray. Butter and sea salt rode the air. Somewhere a gull scolded the weathered eaves.
They sat down and gave their order to their waiter. As soon as he left, the four women settled back and began to discuss their industry, offering each other advice and support. They were at four very different stages of their careers, but Jessica was convinced they could help each other.
At the bar’s mirrored back, his reflection hovered two stools down, attention on their table as if waiting for a cue.
Fiona looked at Lori and said, “Have you lost your mind? What were you thinking when you went back to the event site? Good god, Lori, you could have been hurt or arrested.”
