And Able. Lucy Monroe
rolled the food trolley over to her, having dismissed the waiter at the door. He hadn’t bothered to dress, though he had pulled a pair of jeans on before room service arrived. The top snap was undone, though. He had an incredible body, all sculpted muscle and golden skin.
It was all she could do not to fan herself with her hand.
Luckily, the food grabbed the attention of her senses and she sniffed the air appreciatively. “It smells delicious.”
“The food here is pretty good.”
Her tummy rumbled. “I don’t know if it would matter.”
“You haven’t eaten much in the last thirty hours.”
Some of that time was hazy in her memory, as she had slipped in and out of restorative sleep. “You kept feeding me dry toast.”
“I didn’t want you getting nauseous and puking. The last thing your poor head needed was for your body to start heaving.”
“Well, it worked.” She smiled and pulled the silver warming lid off her plate.
He’d ordered her a tofu and vegetable stir-fry over rice. She could smell the Chinese spices and soy sauce and it made her mouth water.
She looked up when he said, “Excuse me for a minute.”
She nodded and he disappeared into the bedroom. He returned shortly, wearing a t-shirt that hugged the rugged contours of his chest, and the snap on his jeans had been closed. He’d even pulled on socks and shoes.
“You got cold?” she asked, disappointed at the loss of such a fine view.
“My mama would string me up by my toes if I came to the table half-dressed to eat with a lady.”
“Your mother sounds like she ruled with an iron fist.”
“Wrapped in the velvet glove of southern gentility.”
“You love her.” It was in the tone of his voice every time he mentioned the other woman, that and a deep, abiding respect.
“Doesn’t everybody love their mother?”
“I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure love described the feelings she’d had for Norene when she died.
Pity, anger, confusion, despair…they’d all been there, but love? Claire couldn’t remember feeling much liking for her mom, not since her dad’s death and the subsequent reversal of roles between her and her surviving parent. Norene had done too much to make Claire’s life miserable for her to feel the kind of abiding affection Hotwire obviously had for his mom.
He lowered his tall frame into the armchair again, and then uncovered his plate. With shock, she realized he’d ordered an identical meal to hers for himself.
At her inquiring look, he smiled. “It occurred to me that watching other people eat meat couldn’t be pleasant for you, considering your imagination’s tendency to wander in less than appetizing paths.”
“I didn’t mean to make it uncomfortable for you to eat what you prefer.”
“Right now, I prefer a vegetable stir-fry.”
“You’re a very nice man, Hotwire.” But she couldn’t let him think she needed that kind of consideration. “But don’t worry about me. I mean it. What you eat is not a problem for me.”
He frowned at her. “You’re not used to people showing you consideration, are you?”
He made it sound like she was deprived. “Josette’s very considerate. So are Les and Queenie.”
She had people in her life. Maybe not many, but some.
He just shook his head. The interrogation continued over lunch until Hotwire was finally content that he knew everything. Then, they finished their meal in silence, the expression on his face thoughtful. When they were done, he rolled the trolley out into the hall.
She curled up in the corner of the couch, tucking her feet under her. “Any amazing insights?” she asked as he rejoined her.
He frowned, his blue eyes dark with unnamable emotion. “Nothing amazing at all. To tell you the truth, I’m pretty stumped.”
“You said you thought one of the terrorists might decide to get even with Josette.”
“Yes. We tried to keep her name out of the official investigation, but under the circumstances, it wasn’t easy.”
“We?”
“Me and my friends in the FBI.”
“Oh. It must be nice to have such well-connected contacts.”
“It can be.”
“So, whoever saw her there must have told others. Somebody came after her, then mistook me for her because I’m the only woman currently living in her house.” She sighed. “That’s the only thing that makes sense because there would be no reason for anyone to want to kill me.”
“We don’t know your assailant was trying to kill you.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right. He had a pillow over my face. He was smothering me. What would you call it?”
“He may have only intended to knock you out, or maybe disorient you…”
“To what purpose?”
Hotwire’s mouth flattened grimly. “He might have wanted to rape you, or kidnap you, or tie you up so he could burglarize your home without the threat of you calling the cops.”
“But the alarm was going off.”
“Okay, so the burglary scenario doesn’t fit, but either of the other two still does.”
“You really think a rapist would stick around to do the deed while a house alarm was going off?”
“Criminals ignore alarms all the time, because in many cases, so does everyone else. Most alarms are not set up to alert local law enforcement and even those that are set up that way are limited by the response time of the local police.”
“Josette’s house alarm is designed to dial 911 with an automated message.” She’d never forget the stress or embarrassment of having to explain to the officers who answered the call how she had forgotten to code her entry into the alarm and hadn’t noticed it was going off for several minutes.
“Yes.”
“But the officer at the emergency room told me my neighbor called it in.”
“He told me the same thing. I looked into that while you were sleeping. Apparently, the automated call went unanswered because of simple human error. The 911 operator put the call on hold and then disconnected it by accident.”
“That’s convenient for the bozo who broke in and tried to smother me.”
“Just as there is no such thing as a totally fail-safe security system, there is no such thing as a perfect person.”
She sighed. “I know, but it’s not exactly reassuring to think that but for the can of mace you insisted I keep in my bedroom, I could be dead.”
“If the assailant had been a professional, that wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“What do you mean?”
“What color were your assailant’s eyes?”
“It was dark, but I think they were a light color, like gray or pale blue.”
“Right. A professional would have worn night goggles, which would have, one, given him better vision; two, protected his identity; and three, prevented the mace from blinding him.”
“So, you think whoever broke in isn’t used to doing things like that?”
“I’d say so, yes.”
“Just because