“How long did it take you to notice?”
“I didn’t,” she lied. “The Major did,” she lied again.
Trapper seemed to know it. He gave a cynical snuffle. “Whatever. It didn’t look like you were returning to Fort Worth tonight, and choices of places to stay in Lodal are limited. This was the second place I checked, spotted your car in the parking lot, and had the desk clerk confirm that you had checked in.”
“He gave you my room number?”
“I’m a licensed PI, don’t forget.”
“That got you my room number?”
“That and a five-dollar bill.”
“Does anyone ever say no to you?”
He looked rueful and amused at the same time. “Yes. The people who really count.”
She didn’t know how to respond to that.
He looked beyond her, his gaze lighting on her open suitcase on the bed, her laptop being charged on the table, her personal belongings already on the dresser. “You came prepared to stay.”
“I was optimistic enough to pack a bag and bring it with me.”
“Must’ve gone well with The Major,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here and all…” His eyes scaled downward from her messy topknot all the way to her fuzzy slippers, taking in the flannel pajamas in between. “Settled in.”
She told herself that his languid survey had nothing to do with her folding her arms across her chest. “It went exceptionally well. That was my producer I was talking to on the phone. We do the interview live on Sunday evening from The Major’s house.”
“Can’t get any chummier than that. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Then for several moments they just looked at each other. Finally, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, cold air is getting in.”
“Sorry.” But rather than let her close the door on him as she’d intended, he shouldered past her and came into the room.
“Trapper—”
“Is he looking forward to it?”
Her mind had to backtrack to pick up the thread of their conversation. “The Major? Yes. He is. Surprisingly.” She told him about the preliminary meetings they’d scheduled. “He promised to cook me his famous chili.”
“That alone ought to send you back to Dallas.”
She laughed, asking, “Is it that bad?”
He nodded, but she wasn’t sure he was paying attention. Since coming into the room, he’d been prowling it. He’d peeked into the bathroom, slid the closet door open and shut, looked down into the rumpled contents of her open suitcase. Some articles she’d rather him not see, and those were the ones he seemed most interested in. She went over and flipped down the top of the suitcase.
“I need to finish unpacking, and my food will be here any minute, so—”
She was about to evict him, but the words got stoppered when he went over to the table near the window and opened her laptop. He looked at the screen, then over at her, then turned the laptop around where she could see what was on it, although she already knew: a newspaper article about him with an accompanying picture.
He cocked his eyebrow.
She said, “I was doing research for the interview.”
“You’re not interviewing me.”
“But you’re part of—”