She Can Hide (She Can #4)(68)

But it was too late now. She’d passed the jumping-off point when she’d made that call from the car.

“Yes, Miss Foster.” The concierge turned and called over his shoulder, “Randolph?”

A large, hard-looking man stepped out of a doorway behind the counter. The bulge under his jacket and the earpiece looped over one ear identified him as security. “This way, Miss Foster.”

Abby followed his hand gesture to a hallway off the opposite side of the lobby. He walked a step behind her and to her right. They stopped in front of a private elevator. A swipe of his card key opened the doors. He waited for Abby to board first. She stood to the side, as far away from him as she could get in the small space. He swiped his card again and pressed the very last button. The car shot upward with a smooth launch and glided to a stop ten seconds later. Abby’s stomach kept dropping for a few more nauseating seconds.

As the doors slid open, fresh sweat damped Abby’s lower back. What had she done?




Ethan turned his truck into the parking garage of the Valentine Casino. He’d pushed his pickup hard all the way down the Atlantic City Expressway to catch up with Abby. He popped a handful of antacids into his mouth and chewed. The extra bold venti, and Abby’s inability to trust him, burned all the way up his esophagus.

With a fist to his on-fire solar plexus, he watched her park her rental car two aisles over. Laughing and talking, a trio of middle-aged women crossed in front of his pickup, their voices echoing in the concrete structure. Abby got out and walked toward the casino elevators with purposeful strides. She knew where she was going, he realized with another stab to his pride.

It was no coincidence that she’d headed for Atlantic City, where Joe Torres lived. She knew a lot more than she’d told Ethan.

He followed at a discreet distance. Fortunately, he’d changed out of his uniform before chasing after her. His jeans and boots blended with the varied dress of the casino’s patrons. He waited outside the elevator until her car stopped on the lobby floor. Then he jumped in the next one that opened. On the main floor, he spotted her at the end of the long hallway that led to the hotel registration desk. Stopping on the other side of the lobby, he peered through a tall potted fern.

Abby was talking to the concierge. Ethan drew back when the security goon escorted her down a private hallway behind the desk. How the hell was Ethan going to follow her?

Three young couples in cocktail attire walked from the direction of the gaming floor and crossed the lobby. A slender brunette stopped, put a hand on her man’s shoulder, and slipped off her sky-high heels. The relief that relaxed her face was close to orgasmic. Hooking two fingers in the skinny straps, she padded barefoot to the elevator banks.

Ethan skirted the lobby and studied a display of brochures next to the concierge desk. Picking up a pamphlet on the historic town of Smithville, he glanced casually down the private hall. The goon card-swiped a key slot and escorted Abby onto an elevator.

Damn. How would he follow her?

“Excuse me, sir.”

Ethan turned. The two guys standing behind him were twin mountains of brawn. Ethan eyed bulges under their jackets. Armed mountains of brawn. The little earpieces with the wires down the sleeves indicated they were part of the staff, whatever that meant. The fact that they were official employees of the casino didn’t give Ethan any warm or fuzzy feelings of security.

“You were following the lady.” Number One had a head the size and shape of a microwave oven. The flat-top buzz didn’t help.

“What lady?” Ethan lied.

Number One took a step back and mumbled something into his wrist. Thing Two didn’t budge.

Number One nodded toward the hall behind the counter. “Please come with us, sir.” Despite the “please” and “sir,” it wasn’t a request.

Ethan was tempted to show his badge and talk his way out of the situation, but he held his tongue. If he were lucky, these guys would lead him to Abby.

Number Two led the way. At the end of the narrow hall, he swiped their way onto the same elevator that had transported Abby. Ethan got on without being told. Though hardly small, standing between his linebacker escorts, Ethan felt like the water boy.

The elevator climbed to the top floor. Whoever Abby was meeting was a VIP. The doors opened with barely a swish of the rubber seals.

Number One nudged Ethan’s shoulder. He stepped off the elevator. His shoes sunk into ocean-deep pile carpeting. Valentine Entertainment Group was written in gold letters on the facing wall. Except for the landing, the floor was dark. Guess the execs didn’t work 24-7. They went through a set of glass doors and turned right. From an office at the end of a hall, a light beckoned.

This was going to get interesting.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Abby’s footsteps were silent on the plush carpet. The entire first floor of her house would fit in Ryland Valentine’s penthouse office. Everything was clean-lined and luxurious. It was the kind of space that politely whispered money rather than screamed it. She’d only been here once. The other times she and Ryland had met, he’d come to her.

Ryland’s expansive mahogany desk sat on a raised platform that was more throne than workspace. He stood as she entered. He was thinner than the last time she’d seen him. The small paunch was gone. He was paler too, his hair fading from elegant silver to white. Though an inch or two over six feet tall, the slight stoop he’d acquired made him seem shorter. Age was catching up to him. No one, not even the powerful head of Valentine Entertainment Group, could outrun time.