Well Played (Well Met #2)(41)

I wanted it to be Daniel.

But one step at a time.

“Stacey, hey.” Daniel’s voice was light, casual, and it gave me pause. This wasn’t the attitude of someone who knew that he was caught.

“Hi, Daniel.” My voice matched his for casualness, and I have myself a mental high-five. “What are you hanging out in the lobby for?”

“Oh. Some kind of mix-up with the rooms. The guy said he was working on it.” He glanced down at his phone, then over at Julian, who busied himself at his monitor, pointedly not looking at us.

“Hmmm.” I nodded, as though I hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing. “That’s weird.” It wasn’t weird. Julian was stalling Daniel, just as I’d asked him to. “But I’m glad to see you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“To me?” His eyes lit up with interest as he stowed his phone in his back pocket. He was still acting way too casual, and I wanted more than anything to trip him up.

“Sure,” I said. “After all these months, you know. All those emails, all the things we’ve said to each other. It’s nice to finally see you face to face.”

“Me? No.” There was a glimmer of something in his eyes, but he blinked it away fast. He was good. But he couldn’t hide the flush that crept up the back of his neck, which I saw as he turned his head to the side, away from me, to study the terrible artwork on the far wall. “No,” he said again. “You mean Dex.”

“Do I?” My eyes narrowed as I studied him. Even though I was confronting him with the truth, he was still denying it. He still wanted to nudge me toward his cousin. Was he just Dex’s mouthpiece after all?

“Well, yeah. You’ve been . . .” He glanced up at the ceiling now, and he swallowed hard. The casualness was gone from his expression, and he was starting to struggle. “You’ve been communicating with Dex. At least, that’s what he . . .”

“You know what, you’re right.” I shook my head with a hollow chuckle. “Silly me. Do you know where he . . . Never mind.” I dug in my bag now for my phone. “I have his number. I can just call him.”

“No!” Daniel took a step toward me, his hands raised, his eyes wide, and I knew I had him. Better yet, he knew I had him. But he still tried to keep up the pretense. “No, don’t. I . . . uh, I think he’s driving. You should probably . . .”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine. Let me just . . .” I pulled up my contacts and hit the green button next to Dex’s name. That green button I’d never had the nerve to hit, all these months. Then I watched the blood drain from Daniel’s face as his back pocket began to ring.

I raised an eyebrow. “Well? Aren’t you going to answer it?”

He pressed his lips together hard before making a sigh of defeat. Then he pulled his phone out of his back pocket, still ringing, my name on the display. He hit the red button on his phone at the same time I did on mine.

“I think we need to talk.” All the playfulness was gone from my voice, and he nodded.

“I think we should.” His voice was hushed, defeated.

“Why don’t you finish checking in,” I said. I glanced over at Julian, who winked at me and brandished a key card like it was a winning ace. “I think everything’s straightened out now. I’ll be in the bar; you can meet me there.”

“Okay.” Daniel had the look of someone who realized he’d been set up, but knew that he didn’t have the right to complain. “Yeah. I’m gonna need a beer.”



* * *



? ? ?

The hotel wasn’t anything fancy: one of those low-budget chain affairs, but it had a little restaurant connected to it. Not even a restaurant: more of a glorified bar with a burgers-and-sandwiches menu, but the important thing was that it had Guinness on tap. That was part three of the plan.

The clicking of my heels faded into the general noise of the bar, and I settled myself on a stool where I had a good view of the entrance. I ordered a glass of rosé for me and a pint of Guinness for him. And then I waited. Now that I knew that Daniel was the man on the other end of the phone, I knew his drink order. He’d told me weeks ago. He hadn’t been referring to this particular night, and he’d been making me believe he was someone else, but I knew his plans. I knew his routines. I knew him.

I just wasn’t a hundred percent certain who he actually was, or how much of what he told me was the real him. So the Guinness was a test.

It didn’t take him long; I was only a few sips into my wine before he walked through the door, and I sucked in a breath. I’d been so busy analyzing his expression in the lobby, looking for truth in his eyes, that I hadn’t really looked at him.

I did now.

He looked tired. Which, of course, made sense because he’d probably been driving the better part of the day, and all of our drama aside, his mind was probably on the first day of Faire tomorrow. His face was pale, made paler by that uniform of black T-shirt and black jeans he always wore, and there was the shadow of a couple days’ stubble on his cheeks. He was so different from his cousin, the kind of guy who spent quality time in the gym counting reps. There was nothing about Daniel that was showy, except maybe his hair. His build spoke of subtle, lean strength born from years of hauling around equipment and living on the road. Arms that didn’t advertise their muscles, but they would be there when needed. The kind of guy who could catch me if I fell.