Beauty Dates the Beast(39)

“And you’ll stay with me until we figure this out, so I can protect you?”

“Yes, but I have to let Giselle down easy. She won’t like it if you come in and start throwing your weight around, demanding things. Let me handle her.”

“All right. Five minutes. But no more.”

I nodded, headed for Giselle’s office, and knocked on her door.

No answer.

I cracked the door open and peeked in.

No one was there. That was odd. If Giselle wasn’t in, then who was running the office?

That did make bailing out of work a little easier, though. Flickers of guilt bothered me as I realized that no one would be in, but I couldn’t stick around and hope someone showed up. I went to the other side of Giselle’s desk and grabbed a piece of her stationery to leave her a note.

Giselle, family emergency has come up. Call me on my cell and I’ll explain.

I wrote down my cell number and signed the note, hoping that she’d understand. I studied the note for a moment, biting my lip. Oh, who was I kidding? She wouldn’t buy it. I drummed my fingers on the desk in frustration and accidentally hit her mouse.

The computer monitor blinked to life, and Giselle’s screen lit up.

I froze. Giselle would kill me if she knew I’d seen her screen—her desktop wallpaper was a rather incriminating picture of her and three sailors. Oh, my. How she could look at that every day and still get work done, I didn’t know.

Windows were flashing on her screen, and I clicked on one. A chat messenger—BigWilly69 (lovely man, I’m sure) was sending frantic messages. R U STILL THERE? R U ALIVE? HELLO LOL. All dated at 10:49 last night. Odd. I clicked on a few of the other messages and found the same thing, although one had sent a picture of his dick. Nice. I quickly clicked away.

Maybe she’d just forgotten to turn off her computer when she’d left the office?

A new message popped up. Giselle, are you there?

The screen name was Jason_ontheprowl.

Jason?

I hesitated a moment, then typed. Hi, Jason, it’s Bathsheba. I’m borrowing Giselle’s computer.

A long moment passed. Then Jason’s response lit up on the screen.

Bathsheba—a smiley face followed my name. Are you okay? You left so fast last night. I was hoping we could talk. Tonight, maybe? Drinks at my place?

Ugh. He’d gone straight to Giselle to try and set up more dates? Something has come up, I typed. Can we catch up next week?

Or never. Never would be a really good time to catch up.

Sure, he typed, another smiley tagged on. I’ll call you.

I good-bye’d, then logged out of chat. The calendar was underneath the chat box, and I took a look at it.

She’d booked three more dates for me today. Garth again, Jason in the evening, and some new guy named Ricardo in the afternoon. She’d thoughtfully tagged each appointment with the client’s profile ID, the sum he’d paid to date me, and an email address.

I fired off quick emails to the men explaining that I would be out of town, then deleted the incriminating evidence from Giselle’s Sent folder.

“Bathsheba?” Marie’s inquiring voice called out.

“In here,” I called back.

She stepped into Giselle’s office a moment later, thumbed a gesture behind her, and gave me a curious look. “I found a stray. Can we keep him?”

Behind her, Beau came out of the shadows and grinned at me. “It’s been ten minutes.” He lifted his head and sniffed the air once, then rubbed his nose. The scent of Old Spice must really bother him.

“I was just shutting down Giselle’s computer. Then I’m done.”

Marie was looking at Beau with a rather adoring look on her face. “Take your time. I can make some coffee if you’re going to be sticking around,” she said, and I realized she wasn’t talking to me. Irritation flashed.

Beau grinned, but his eyes were resting on me. “Thank you, but we need to get going.”

I nodded and moved around Giselle’s desk. My shoe slid across the tile, and I nearly face-planted on the floor, but Beau lunged past Marie and grabbed me. “Sorry,” I breathed, distracted by his proximity. “I slipped on something.”

I glanced down and saw dark smears on the tile, sticky and red.

Blood.

Beau’s face paled. “I didn’t smell it,” he murmured in surprise, even as he ushered me out of Giselle’s office and hurried through the main office.

“Where are you going?” Marie cried behind us. “What’s going on?”

“Bathsheba is in danger.” Beau didn’t break stride, urging me toward the door. “I’m sending someone over here to look after the office. I want you to come outside with us, understand?”

She gave him a frightened nod and glanced back at Giselle’s office, then followed us out.

I wasn’t moving fast enough for Beau. He swung me into his arms as if I weighed nothing and carried me out to the car. Ramsey had gotten us a rental car at some point last night, and Beau shoved me into its backseat. “Lie down and cover up with that coat until I tell you otherwise.”

I heard Marie slide into the front seat and lie down, her terrified breathing loud and raspy. For God’s sake. It wasn’t like snipers were going to be shooting from the rooftops or something. “Beau, are you sure—”

“Lie down,” he snarled, and I did. He shut the door after me, and I lay there, scarcely daring to breathe. Outside he paced back and forth, jingling the keys, ready to move.

It seemed like an eternally long time before I heard other voices, and I sat up to sneak a peek. The other Russell clan members had arrived. At the sight of them, Marie was let out of the car—I was given a firm glare and stayed put—and Beau and his men investigated the building. One of them stood outside, protecting me as I lay in the back of the car, and then Beau reemerged. The men talked in low voices, but the body language was a bit more relaxed. Safe for now.

Beau opened my door and I slid out of the car. “Marie will be okay?”

“Yes. Two of the boys will stay with her.”

“How come you didn’t smell the blood?” I asked.

“There were too many other smells—the dust, the cologne, flowers. You.” He glanced over at me. “The Old Spice was bothering my nose, so I focused on the smell of you and nothing else.” He looked angry. “It was stupid of me.”

I sat in flattered silence as Beau got in, then pulled out onto the street. I had a million questions, but all I could think about was that pool of half-dried blood under Giselle’s chair.

We drove back to the hotel in silence. I was lost in thought, and Beau didn’t seem inclined to talk, either. The hotel was bustling this morning—people getting coffee before heading off to conferences or meetings, people with suitcases checking out. I shivered every time someone looked at me, then realized it was because I was wearing a dirty sweaterdress and no tights in winter.

My hand clenched tight in his, Beau led me back through the maze of hotel rooms, his face bleak, his eyes slitted and cold. Determined. Angry. He paused in front of our door, sniffing the air, then pulled out the key-card.

“Beau,” I said, “I don’t have any clothes.” With the angry protective state he was in, I might not emerge for days.

He gave me a hard look. “You’re not going back home.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

He glanced at my dress. “Wash it in the sink.”

Typical male response. “Are you on drugs?” An elderly couple passed us in the hallway, staring. Maybe I’d been a little too loud. Oops. I leaned in, dropping my voice to a whisper. “I don’t have any panties.”

A slight smile lightened his expression. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No! I’m telling you I need some panties,” I whispered furiously. “We need to go to the store—”

“Too risky,” he interrupted.

The store? Risky? Was he mad? “Then you need to call Ramsey and tell him to bring me panties.”

He stared at me for a moment. “No.”

I blinked in surprise. “What do you mean, no? I need clothing.”

He pushed the door open and gestured for me to go in. “Your life is in danger. You can go shopping later.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. The vein throbbing there was going to burst soon if I didn’t get to punch something. “You’re not listening to me,” I began.

“You’re not listening to me,” he said, putting his hand on the small of my back and basically shoving me forward.

I planted my feet, furious. “Beauregard Russell. If I have to stand in this hall all day arguing over panties to get some, then by God, that’s what I’m going to do.” I braced my feet against the door frame, glaring at him.

He tickled my sides and I collapsed in a fit of giggles. He grabbed me by the waist and carried me inside, dumped me on the bed, then crawled on top of me. A hint of a smile had returned to his stern face.