Chapter Twenty-One

Platt knocked on my door at eight nineteen the next morning, interrupting Alex’s lecture on promises and meddling. I never thought I’d live to see the day when I’d be glad to see Platt at my door. My vision of a lengthy, lusty good-bye scene with Alex had long since been replaced by a twenty-minute rant on the dangers of inserting myself where I didn’t belong—glossing over his role in the whole escapade, of course. Like he needed to tell me anyway. Visions of my flower in Trinity’s hand had haunted my dreams, making it impossible to sleep.

Platt’s Neanderthal brow lowered, casting an even deeper shadow over his eyes. I guessed that was his way of saying good morning.

“I’m not any happier than you are about this,” I said, waving him inside. “You may as well come in.”

Alex handed Platt his business card. “Call me if anything goes wrong. Anything.”

Platt took the card without looking at it and shoved it in his pocket. “Sure you can’t stay?”

“I would if I could. I appreciate the help.” Alex’s words of thanks sounded more like he’d signed an IOU than a simple gesture of gratitude. He grabbed the handle of his suitcase and took my hand. “Step into the hall with me.”

I slid my keycard into the back pocket of my jeans and followed him out into the hall.

“I’m going to miss you,” Alex whispered, stroking the side of my face with his thumb. “I think I’m already used to sleeping next to you and that little snorty, wheezy sound you make.”

“At least I don’t kick you and pretend I’m asleep so I can cop a feel under the guise of sleep groping.”

He backed me up against the wall, his hands moving to my hip and the back of my neck. “I was sleeping, and I’m not the only one with wandering hands, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I was going to let you get to second base when we said good-bye this morning, but you wasted all of our fondling time with your lecture.”

He put his forehead to mine. “Damn.”

I looked into his baby blues and wondered if he were for real, if what was happening here was all my imagination, wanting it to be real. It felt real and scary and oh so thrilling. I closed my eyes, trying to control the hope that wanted to bloom.

“Azalea?”

I pulled away and opened my eyes. “What?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll set up that date you owe me. Okay?”

He said and did all the right things, so why was I still having a hard time trusting him? “Sure.”

He looked for a moment like he’d say something else, then changed his mind. Instead he tipped my head back and gave me the kind of kiss that made me forget everything that had happened this weekend, my fears, hell—even my own name.

“Uhhh,” Alex said, breaking the kiss. “If we’re not careful, we’ll give the guys in security something to post on the Internet.”

“It’s your own fault.”

“I know. I wish I didn’t have to go. Be careful. I mean it.”

“And you didn’t the last fifty-nine times you said it?”

“Be good,” he scolded. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“All right.”

He gave me one last kiss, pressing his lips hard to mine as if branding me, then he walked off down the hall, towing his suitcase behind him.

I turned to go back into my room when a thought struck me, snagging my attention. I looked up at the ceiling, noting the small black half globe at the end of the hall. A security camera. If my hotel had them, surely a hotel as swanky as the Raine had them. They would have picked up anybody going in or out of Dhane’s and Trinity’s rooms. And if so, why hadn’t the police looked at them? They’d know their approximate times of death, cross-reference that with the cameras, and you’d have an image of the killer on video.

I let myself into my room. Platt had parked himself at the end of the bed and was flipping channels like a champion.

“Hey, Detective Platt?”

He grunted.

“I’ll just be a couple of minutes, and then we’ll go down to the convention center.”

He might have mumbled something rude, but thankfully the TV drowned it out.

I finished drying my hair, smoothing it straight and bumping it at the ends with a round brush so it curved toward my face. I brushed bronzer on my cheeks and a matte coral lipstick on my lips. A thin line of black liquid liner on my top eyelid and lots of mascara completed the look. I’d chosen jeans again for comfort and topped them with a striped T-shirt strategically ripped and worn inside out for that I-paid-a-fortune-to-look-like-a-bum look. Five chain necklaces looped down at different lengths, matching my tassel chain earrings. I pulled on black Converse All Stars and examined myself in the mirror, feeling very punk-rock chic.

“I’m ready,” I called out to Platt, grabbing my bag and cell phone.

He flipped off the TV and trudged out into the hall after me.

With as innocent a face as I could muster, I asked, “Hey, what are those black globey things on the ceiling?”

Platt glanced up without tipping his head back. “Security.”

“Oh, wow, really? Do all the hotels have them?”

“Sure.”

“Huh. And they’re on all the time? I mean, they’re, like, taping every second? Day and night?” I punched the button to call the elevator.

“They ain’t Christmas ornaments. Of course they do.”

“How fascinating.” I put in as much enthusiasm as I could, channeling Amber. “Your line of work must be so interesting, getting to investigate crimes and all.” I tried to bat my lashes, but it made me kinda dizzy, so I stopped.

He adjusted his belt over his belly, tucking his thumbs into the waistband. “It can be. I get to lock up some major asswipes.”

The elevator arrived. Thankfully it was empty.

“Really?” I was quickly nearing the end of my ability to shovel bullshit while pretending to be impressed by anything Platt did other than not walk with his knuckles dragging the ground. I had a new appreciation for Amber. It must have taken her years to perfect her skills. “You must have gone through scores of footage in your career. I bet you’ve seen some pretty strange things.”

He snorted, and I had to resist the urge to check him for a curly tail. “This is Vegas. What do you think?”

“Gosh.” Mental head slap. Did I just say “gosh”? “I guess with technology these days, you could have cameras everywhere and they’d never fail.”

“You’d think that, but believe me, they do. Like this case I’m working on… Hey.” Platt’s face scrunched up. “You’re not supposed to ask questions.”

“Oh, sorry. I just get so curious. It’s a fault, really. I blame my mother. She questions everything.”

“That and you don’t shut up.”

The elevator reached the bottom floor, letting us out.

“Right. Sorry.” I headed off ahead of him, trying to hide my smile. So there was something wrong with the tape at the Raine. Interesting. Except I wasn’t supposed to be involved with this case anymore. Conflounded! And I wasn’t supposed to speculate about who would have the technical knowledge and skill to go around Raine security. Or how they would do it.

I got in line for a taxi, with Huff-n-Puff wheezing behind me from the short walk to the front of the hotel. Honestly, that man was one cheeseburger combo away from a gazilliondruple bypass. Some protection he was. I would have been better off with Jun in a fight than Platt.

Finally a cab pulled up and we climbed in. I was meeting Vivian, Juan Carlos, and Richard at the convention center. I had already missed most of the workshops, so I was really looking forward to going to some today. And I had a really cool outfit for the awards tonight. It had taken me weeks to put it together and I couldn’t wait to wear it. I loved dressing up.

We pulled up to the convention center and Platt got out, leaving me to foot the full cab fare. That Platt, always the gentleman.

I traipsed into the convention with my very large, very surly shadow and found Juan Carlos and Richard.

“Where’s Viv?” I asked.

“She’s not coming. She and James are spending the day together to see the sights.” Juan Carlos rolled his eyes so far up I thought they’d drop inside his skull. “Please. The only sights she’s likely to see are her ankles and the ceiling above the bed.”

Platt chuckled.

Juan Carlos jerked his head at Platt. “Who’s the Grimace clone?”

“My bodyguard.”

“Seriously?” Juan Carlos scrunched up his nose. “Where’d you go, Cheap Charlie’s Discount Security? Was he marked down? Is he paying you? Wait! Why do you need a security guard?”

Platt waved a hand. “Hello? I’m standing right here.” He patted his side. “And I have a gun.”

“Sorry,” I said to Platt. “He tends to talk about people like they aren’t there. He’s harmless.” I gave Richard and Juan Carlos the rundown on what had happened at the police station yesterday and why I was saddled with the world’s least-intimidating bodyguard.

“Holy shitake mushrooms! That’s it. I’m not doing any more investigating for you.” Juan Carlos made a motion across his throat. “You’re cut off.” He froze. “Oh my God. I did it again. I can’t believe I did it again.”

“Come on, Sensitive Sally,” Richard said. “Let’s go look at the scissors. I need a new pair of channeling shears. Unless you want us to stick with you, Azalea.” He gave Platt a concerned once over, clearly doubting his ability to protect me.

“I have a gun,” Platt reminded him, patting his side again.

“I’ll call you if I need you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I told him.

“Sensitive Sally is right,” Platt mumbled as we walked to the part of the convention center where the workshops were being held. “That guy’s more than a little light in the loafers.”

I rounded on him. “If we’re going to spend the day together, you’re not allowed to disparage my friends and I won’t mention the blob of jelly on your tie. Or your awful hair.”

Platt touched the top of his head. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“That color is too ash for your complexion and the hair over your ears makes your face look wider, more block-like. And we should really discuss your manscaping. You could braid the hair from your ears with your eyebrows.”

He put one hand to his ear and the other to his brow, frowning.

“If I had my shears and trimmer with me, I’d fix it for you. But I couldn’t bring them on the plane. Hey, I know. When my workshop on updos is over, we’ll go into the Expo and I’ll pretend to try out all the scissors on you. How does that sound?” I couldn’t walk around all day with Platt’s hair looking like that. People would think it was my work.

“What the hell’s an updo?”

I grinned. “You’ll see.”

Forty-five minutes later, we emerged from the updo class. I thought Platt would have nodded off or made fun of the presenter, who made Juan Carlos look butch, but he sat there watching like he’d take what he’d learned and use it.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked. “You looked like you might have enjoyed it at least a little.”

“My daughter’s into that hair stuff.”

I whipped my head toward him so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. “You have a daughter?”

He gave me a look, daring me to make a crack so he could use his gun.

“How old is she?”

“Nine. Her mom passed a year ago.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and fixed his eyes to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.”

We entered the main Expo floor. The noise level here must have been about a million decibels, but it had a fun, circus-type atmosphere. I couldn’t wait to do some shopping!

“Let’s see if we can’t find her some pretty barrettes,” I said to get him out of his funk. “Oh, I know. I bet she’d love some clip-in hair extensions. I got some for my niece. What’s her favorite color?”

“Pink.”

Like my flower, I thought, then quickly pushed it out of my head.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Phoebe.”

“What a pretty name.”

“Her mom picked it out.”

Ugh. Okay. Note to self: Don’t bring up anything having to do with the mother. I couldn’t take the way Platt’s jaw firmed, like he was fighting emotion. It made me think of his poor motherless daughter and another less-than-fortunate girl who’d died with my flower in her hand.

“Hey, look. This is what I was talking about.” I dragged him over to a booth with clip-in extensions.

Half an hour later, Platt had a bag full of pink clip-in hair, pink nail polish, and pink barrettes. I had even trimmed him up enough so that he almost looked attractive. Well, maybe attractive was a stretch, but at least I didn’t have to watch his ear hair move with the breeze anymore.

“Come over here,” I told Platt. “My friend Devin was looking for hair-color models the other day. I bet he’d fix your color right up.”

Sure enough, faster than you could say midlife crisis, Platt was sitting in a styling chair with Devin applying color to his hair while he pitched the product to the crowd. Platt was a very good sport, even allowing Devin to put in a few foiled highlights.

I watched for a while, but then I got bored and my gaze wandered. The Hjálmar booth was just a row over. I thought for a moment about going to see if Juan Carlos’s friend Mateo was still there, until I remembered all of my promising and swearing to not investigate anymore.

I stood on my tiptoes but couldn’t see over the crowd. Taking a reverse step, I arched my back to see if I could look up the row. Nothing. There were too many people in the aisle. I took another step. Then another. Before I knew it I was in the aisle. The booth wasn’t far. If I could see it from here, then I could see Devin’s booth from the Hjálmar booth, right? I’d just be a second. I’d be right back.

I reasoned my way up the row until I stood at the Hjálmar counter. It was packed. They must have somehow shipped more product overnight and it was flying off the shelves. I spotted Mateo.

I jumped with my hand in the air. “Mateo! Mateo!”

He saw me and made his way over. “What’s up, Azalea? Crazy, huh?” he said, indicating the counter.

“Insane. I can’t believe you guys restocked so quickly. I thought you would have been cleaned out by now.”

“Nah. The corporate office is in Washington, but we have a distribution center here in Vegas.”

Washington?

“Is that where Dhane lived?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Is that where research and development is, too?”

“Yeah. I gotta go before I get in trouble. See you around?”

“Sure. Thanks, Mateo.”

Kennedy had scolded Alex for calling Kansas, but he had also mentioned Washington. Had Alex called Washington and not told me? And if so, what did he find out? What other information did Alex have that he hadn’t shared with me?

I turned away from the counter, so deep in thought I went the wrong direction and ended up two rows over from where I was supposed to be. I hustled double time back to Platt, panic clawing at my throat.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to find the last person I expected standing in front of me, face flushed and mad as hell. My heart leaped into my throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Oh, crap,” I croaked out.