“Rick?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t care about the fame part,” Allen whispered. “Just so you know.”
Rick didn’t speak for a moment, and then murmured, “I know.”
Allen didn’t push it. “Good.”
He let himself settle after that. Allen closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Chapter Eleven
Rick waited across the street from the hotel with his hood up and his hands in his pockets, watching the entrance as people came and went. Cars rolled up to the curb, passengers climbed out, and the doorman nodded them through.
Cass showed up just after seven, stepping out of a rideshare with a small suitcase and a tote slung over her shoulder. She walked straight to the doors, head down against the cold, and disappeared inside.
Rick gave it a few seconds, then crossed the street and followed.
The lobby was bright and warm, with a low hum of voices and the soft clink of glasses from the bar. Rick kept his head slightly lowered and moved like he belonged there, as if he was just another guest coming in for the night. Cass was at the front desk with her back to him.
Rick slowed as he got closer, stopping near a pillar by the wall, absently picking up a hotel business card and put it in his pocket. He kept his body angled away and listened.
“I’m in 1218,” Cass said. “Could I get a wake-up call at six-thirty?”
“Of course,” the receptionist replied.
Cass thanked her, took a key card, and walked toward the elevators. Rick moved a few steps behind her, close enough to see her swipe in and hit the button, then he turned away before the doors opened. He headed for the stairwell sign, pushed through the door, and started up.
By the time he reached the twelfth floor, he’d pulled his gloves on and kept his hood low, so his face stayed in shadow. He stepped out into the corridor and listened before he moved. Down the hall, a door clicked shut.
Rick walked toward it without looking around, like a man going to his own room. When Rick reached room 1218, he paused outside and listened.
The room was quiet. Rick heard no voices or the TV. Just the faint rush of air from the vent above the door. He put his hand on the knob for a second, then let it go and knocked instead.
At first, there was nothing. Then Rick heard footsteps approaching the door. A couple of seconds later it opened a few inches and Cass’s face appeared, her brows lifting as she focused on him.
For a second, she could only stare. “Rick?” she said, confused, as if she wasn’t sure she was actually seeing him.
Rick kept his head slightly down, his hood shadowing his face, but not so much that Cass couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”
Cass’s mouth opened, then shut. She looked him over once, taking in the hood, the gloves, the fact he was standing in a hotel corridor as if he’d walked in off the street. “What—” She shook her head. “What are you doing here?”
Rick kept his voice even. “Can I come in?”
Cass didn’t move. Her hand stayed on the door, holding it half-open, her body blocking the gap. “We haven’t…” She stopped, then tried again. “We haven’t spoken in years.”
“I know,” Rick said.
Cass watched him, her eyes narrowing slightly. Not suspicious exactly, more cautious. “Did something happen?”
Rick held her gaze. “No. I just saw you and I wanted to see how you are.”
Cass made a small sound under her breath, half a laugh, half disbelief. “You saw me.”
Rick nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
She hesitated, then opened the door another inch or so. “You can’t just show up at my hotel, Rick.”
