Seventeen

It was noon before Mel opened her eyes and faced the day. She wasn’t sure what had lured her from her sleep. The bed was harder than she was used to and the room was colder, the surroundings were plush but unfamiliar, and her pillow was hard. She thought it was likely a combination of all these things that made her wake up, feeling stiff and tired.

She glanced around her. Done tastefully sleek and modern, the room was all burnished copper, glass, and black leather. Slowly, it all came back to her. Oh, yeah, Vegas.

Then like a rabbit smelling a carrot, her nose twitched. Bacon. If someone had ordered bacon, then there had to be coffee to go with it. She jumped out of bed, shoved her blond bangs out of her eyes, drew on her thick hotel robe, and strode out of her room to find the others.

The penthouse had a kitchen and Holly was in the center of it with a man who, judging by his uniform, was a hotel chef. Mel had stayed with Tate before in a high-end hotel where a full domestic staff came with the price of the stay. It always amazed her that Tate stayed so down-to-earth given how lavish his life had been.

Holly and the chef were laughing and chatting, and he was teaching her some fancy knife maneuvers while Marty, Oz, and Manny looked on in amusement. There was no sign of Tate or Angie.

“Hey, look who decided to join the party,” Marty said.

He patted the seat next to him and Mel slid onto it while Manny poured her a cup of coffee just the way she liked it.

“Thanks,” she said. Their fingers brushed when she took the mug from him, but he seemed unaware as his eyes went right back to Holly, where she was chopping up a pile of vegetables under the supervision of the hotel’s chef.

“They’re making omelets,” Marty said. “Hmm-mm.”

“You don’t like vegetables,” Mel said. “Are you actually going to eat one of those?”

“I already did,” he said. “I’m waiting for my second.”

“Forget the eggs. Mel, you have to taste Holly’s pancakes,” Oz said through a mouthful. Syrup dripped down his chin and he wiped it with his cloth napkin. “They’re light and fluffy with just a hint of lemon. Seriously, I have to have the recipe for these.”

Mel glanced at Holly. With a big white apron tied over her long john shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, she looked like a little girl helping out in the kitchen. Her long dark hair had been shoved up into a ponytail on top of her head and her upturned nose made her look all of twelve.

When she saw Mel, she smiled and her happiness shone in her bright blue eyes, making Mel blink. “Melanie Cooper, this is Mario Consuelo,” Holly said and pointed at the chef. “He’s amazing.”

“Hi, Mario,” Mel said. “Nice to meet you. So, what’s your specialty breakfast dish?”

“Well, since I’m cooking for another cordon bleu chef, I feel I must make my small Normandy-style brioche with apples and an apricot glaze,” he said. He was wearing his chef’s toque and his whites were impeccable. He looked very serious until he smiled and the deep dimples in his cheeks gave him a dab of mischief.

“You had me at brioche,” Mel said.

Mario delivered the small loaf of bread with a thin, crisp apple slice on top to Mel with a side of whipped butter. It looked delicious. Mel tucked into it with her fork and the sweet bread melted in her mouth. Now this was how every morning should start.

“Did you use a touch of Calvados?” she asked.

Mario looked impressed. “Just a few drops of apple brandy but you tasted it. Well done.”

“It’s exquisite,” Mel said.

Mario kissed the tips of his fingers and then touched his forehead in a gesture of gratitude before he turned back to the stove to finish Marty’s second omelet.

Holly came around the table with her own breakfast and Manny hopped up to let her have his seat. She looked flustered by the gesture and Mel wondered how a Vegas showgirl could be so undone by basic gentlemanly courtesy. Then again, maybe Holly hadn’t gotten to experience much of that in her years as a working girl.

A busboy began to clean up after them and Marty and Oz moved themselves to the lounge chairs out beside their private lap pool on their rooftop balcony. Mel knew this little excursion to the penthouse was costing Tate a small fortune, and she also knew that he thought any expense to keep them all safe was well worth it.

The thing Mel couldn’t let go of was what or who exactly they were being protected from? Was the shooter after Holly or one of them? And if so, was it Angie, Mel, or possibly even Tate? Or was there something else entirely going on, and if so, what?

“Can I get the door for you?” Mel asked Mario as the busboy wheeled his loaded cart toward the suite’s front door.

“No need,” Mario said. “I am taking the back way.”

“There’s a back way?” she asked.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he said. He opened the front door and let the busboy out, and then he went back into the penthouse to a small door at the end of the hallway. It opened into a utility type of closet where extra pillows, linens, and bathrobes were stored. At the back there was a tiny door that looked like an elevator door.

“See, I have my own escape hatch,” Mario said.

“What the what?” Mel asked.

Mario tapped in the number to their suite and the door slid open. It was a tiny elevator.

“I’ll be darned,” Mel said.

“Well, we can’t keep the rich and pampered waiting, especially at ten thousand dollars per night,” Mario said. “It’s only big enough for one, but it gets the staff where they’re needed pretty quick.”

“That is so cool,” Mel said. Although as she registered the cost of the penthouse, everything went gray and she started to see spots.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said. “It lets out by the main kitchen. Come visit me sometime and we can cook something together.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at her and Mel laughed as the door slid shut and he disappeared from view. Mel shook her head. The other half really did live completely different lives.

She reentered the kitchen to find only Manny and Holly. Mel didn’t think she was imagining the tension between the two of them.

“Holly, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Manny asked.

Holly glanced up from her empty plate and blushed. “No, not at all.”

Mel frowned. The blushing thing was out of control. Was Holly doing it on purpose? Could a person do that on purpose? She glanced at Manny. He looked positively beguiled.

“Great, how about we go to the other balcony so as not to disturb Marty and Oz?” he asked.

Mel looked at him and he shrugged and said, “What? It’s police business.”

“Sure it is,” she said. This time it was Manny who blushed as he escorted Holly outside.

There was still no sign of Tate or Angie. Maybe Tate was sleeping in because of the knot on his head and Angie didn’t want to leave him unattended. She was certain Angie would holler if she needed help.

Through the French doors, she saw Marty and Oz looking pretty comfy napping in their pool loungers. The last of the busboys wheeled out of the suite, taking his rolling cart of food with him. As Mel sat at the granite counter sipping her coffee, she felt like an outsider looking in and the familiar feeling of loneliness crept in, stealing the warmth from her and making her shiver.

Her pocket buzzed and she pulled her phone out of her robe. She had been expecting her mother to call. Joyce was a worrier of the first order and since Marty and Oz had told her about the explosion, she was bound to be upset.

Mel looked at the front of her phone and her heart did a little skip jump sort of thing as Joe’s name appeared. She hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. She missed him and she was mad at him. She loved him and sometimes she really hated him, well, not him so much as his career, or as Tate had so painfully observed, she hated how his career always came first.

“Hi, Joe, what’s new with you?” she asked. She tried to sound indifferent, but she was afraid it just came out snotty.

“Morning, cupcake,” he said. “How are you?”

His low voice rolled over the familiar endearment laced with concern and caring. It made her breath catch and her head spin. She had to clear her throat before she could speak.

“At the moment, I’m surprised,” she said.

“Really?” he asked. “I was going to call you last night after I spoke to Manny, but he suggested I wait. He said you were a little prickly.”

“Prickly?”

“I believe he said something about you joining the holy sisterhood,” Joe said. He sounded amused, which irritated Mel beyond reason.

“I think I’d make a fine nun,” Mel said. “What’s it to you anyway? You’ve sent your minion to babysit me. You should have a clear conscience.”

She glanced out the window and saw Holly and Manny standing by the railing of the balcony while they talked. Even from inside the suite, she could feel the sizzle of chemistry between them. She tried to read their lips. Were they talking about the explosion, the car crash, the shooting? Or had they moved into more personal waters?

She couldn’t tell and despite what she’d said to her friends, she wasn’t really sure how she felt about it. She had begun to like Holly despite not loving the idea of her owning an offshoot of the bakery. But now she was moving in on Mel’s personal life and it felt straight-up invasive.

“Mel? Are you listening to me?” Joe asked.

“What? Huh?” Mel turned away from Manny and Holly. She stomped back to her room, away from the sight of them.

“I was cataloging all of the reasons why you might be mad at me,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, whatever,” Mel said. “Look, I need to go figure out what the plan is, so I don’t really have time for this.”

“Okaaaaay,” Joe said. He sounded hurt and a little irritated. “This conversation has gone from awkward to openly hostile.”

“I’m not hostile,” Mel said. “I’m just . . .” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t think of what she was other than pitifully lonely and, yeah, a little whiney.

“I sense we need to talk,” Joe said. “Really talk. As in you and me, face-to-face. I know this case has—”

“You know what, Joe?” Mel interrupted. “We really don’t need to talk. I’m done.”

“What?” he asked. She could tell she had his full attention now.

“You heard me,” she said. “I’m done.”

“Done with . . .”

“I’m officially done with waiting for you, for your cases to be resolved, for the bad guys to all be put away, for all of it. I can’t always be the second most important thing in your life. I want to be first. I want to be number one, and I can’t keep putting my life on hold, waiting for an elevated status that clearly isn’t coming. I’m done, Joe.”

“Mel, I know the past few days have been scary and you’re probably pretty shaken up—”

“That’s not it,” she said. “Well, not all of it.”

They were both silent. Mel didn’t know what more to say and it was clear that Joe didn’t, either.

“Listen, I have to go,” she said. “I’ll call you when we get back to town, but I really don’t think there’s anything left for us to talk about.”

She didn’t wait for him to say anything. She didn’t want to hear it. To make sure there was no extension of the conversation, she ended the call and turned the volume off on her phone and went to take a shower, where she had a good long cry.

It took holding her breath while she dunked her face in a sink full of cold water to make her nose and eyes stop looking so red, but Mel was confident that when she joined the others, she looked perfectly normal.

She should have known better. As soon as she stepped into the main room, where Angie was sitting with Tate, Angie rose from her seat, crossed the room, and hugged her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’ve been crying, haven’t you? Is it a little post-traumatic stress?”

“No, just allergies,” Mel said. She hugged her friend back and then released her.

Angie looked like she was about to argue, but Tate spoke first.

“Yeah, I heard the pollen count was abnormally high.”

Angie looked at him like he was thick, but he shook his head. Angie heaved a sigh and gave Mel a look that clearly stated that they would be talking later.

There was a knock on the penthouse door, and Manny appeared in the doorway. He gestured for everyone to stay put while he went to answer it. He arrived back in the room moments later with Billy Eastman and Sydney. She was clutching a large stuffed panda and looking wide eyed at the enormous room.

“Mommy?” she called.

Holly must have had a mother’s bionic hearing because she came running down the hall in a bathrobe with a towel twisted around her hair. She opened her arms and Sydney launched herself into them.

“Oh, baby,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Billy glowered as he took in the reunion. “I’m only here because your attorney threatened me with a lawsuit if I break the custody agreement.”

“My what?” Holly asked as she glanced over Sydney’s head.

“How can you do this?” he demanded. “How can you put our daughter in danger like this? I thought you were a better mother than that.”