Hard Beat(18)

I’m winded by the time I leave the hotel’s basement where the makeshift gym is located and jog up the thirteen flights of steps to the twelfth floor. Once I walk into the hallway, I realize I have no clue which room is Beaux’s. Only one way to find out.

I grab my cell phone from my pocket and pull up her number, walking the short distance of the hallway as the ring fills my ear. It takes a few moments, but I hear the faint ring on my right-hand side and follow it until I’m standing outside room twelve thirteen.

My hesitation over having the wrong room is fleeting as my knock resonates through the empty corridor. Beaux’s voice mail picks up, her throaty voice filling my ear at the same time the ringing on the other side of the door I’m standing at ceases. At least I know I have the right room.

I rap on the door again and listen for any sign of movement behind the door but hear nothing. I call again, almost determined to wake her up now, prove a point that she thinks she can handle this job but that she can’t. Fuck yeah, I’m being a prick, but I don’t care.

Her voice mail picks up again. I pound one more time and press my ear to the door. I tell myself I just want to wake her up, but unease begins to creep up on me. Why isn’t she answering? Is she that dead-to-the-world tired?

Or is something wrong?

I fist my hand against the door to prevent myself from pounding it down as the same worries I always had over Stella’s safety in this godforsaken land come back with a vengeance.

She has to be asleep. No one leaves their cell behind anymore these days. Maybe she sleeps with earplugs in or music on or some other lame excuse for being unable to hear me. I accept the attempt at rationalization but can’t ignore that feeling in my gut that tells me otherwise.

“Let it go, Thomas,” I mutter as I turn away and head into the stairwell, despite all of the horrible images flashing through my mind of what could be wrong. And then I become angry. I’m not a worrier. I’m not some overdramatic guy who worries about people I don’t care about. If I were, I wouldn’t be able to do my job. I see death and destruction all the time in all sorts of unfathomable ways, so I’ve learned to not think about those possibilities.

So why the f*ck am I thinking along those lines when it comes to Beaux? The last thing I want is to be thinking about her.

Shit. This whole thing with Stella has affected me. The thought pisses me off even further because that means the brass at work might just be right. And I won’t let them be right. Now I’m pissed both at Beaux and myself, so it seems my little venture to set things right just put me back on the goddamn Tilt-A-Whirl.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that when I fling open the stairwell door to my floor, I collide solidly with another person going just as fast as I am. We both cry out as we stumble backward, and I know before I even look down whose biceps my hands are gripping. I push Beaux away like she’s a hot coal.

We stare at each other, chests heaving, eyes guarded. Her hair is a mess and her makeup is smudged under her eyes, lips nude, but Christ she’s still absolutely beautiful. I shove the unwelcome thought away and manage to drag my eyes from hers to notice she has on the same clothes as yesterday, camera bag dropped on the ground behind her from our collision.

“Where the hell have you been?” She looks at me like I’m crazy for asking. Maybe I am, but I still want an answer.

“None of your damn business.”

“Actually, it is.” Still, I ask myself, why the f*ck do I care? I shouldn’t. I don’t want to. But damn it to hell, this woman calls to me on all kinds of levels.

“Screw you.” She pins me with a nasty look as she steps to one side, and I mirror her motions to prevent her from leaving. The truth is I’m looking for a fight, and she just walked headfirst into one.

“Well, you got the screwing part down pat.” I make a show of looking up and down her body, connecting the dots I don’t want to connect: same clothes, different floor of the hotel, a tired woman. She spent the night with someone else. “It seems you like to play with all the boys on the block, huh?” The words are out of my mouth before I can see through my disregard for her. Sure, I don’t want anything more from her, but at the same time, my ego is bruised to think she didn’t think more of me – or any other man for that matter – to at least wait a day before moving to the next warm bed.

I’m such an asshat. I was sitting up at her door worried that something was wrong with her because she wasn’t answering, when instead she was busy ringing up her own bedpost tally. Serves me goddamn right for caring. Lesson learned.

Beaux stares me down, blatant derision mixed with embarrassment playing out all over her flushed cheeks, while my disbelief at my earlier concern skyrockets.

“I don’t believe it’s any of your business what I do or don’t do, Tanner. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m exhausted and want some sleep.” Her gaze flickers down to my bare chest and the T-shirt bundled in my hand before reaching my eyes again. She raises her eyebrows as she waits for me to move, and the irony isn’t lost on me how the positions were reversed just yesterday.

“What if we had a lead? What if I was just up at your room pounding on your door because you didn’t answer your phone? How would you handle it then, huh?” Honestly I know I’m being a prick by baiting her with my questions, but I’m past the point of caring. “This isn’t sorority row. It’s best you start acting like the professional you claim to be instead of some two-bit —”