“Sure I can, thanks to modern technology.”
“You can videoconference. Although, that doesn’t mean you should. It sounds like you have more important things going on.”
“All right.” Giving in to others was physical for him, a tightening and loosening of his shoulders, an anxious nod of his head. “Fine. If I’m free, I’ll video in. If not, they’ll have to proceed without me.”
“Okay—”
“But make sure Larry calls me before they make any—”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Olivier. Just enjoy your vacation.”
“I’m not on—”
The line went dead, the first time she’d ever cut him off that way. He set his phone down, envisioning everyone in the office break room, celebrating his absence. He doubted that, though. Beau could be hard, but he was a good boss and a good man to work for—he knew that. Maybe that was why they all seemed to think he needed time away.
He shifted in his seat, the road out his windshield narrowing into the horizon. He thought about e-mailing his assistant and asking her to send detailed minutes of the meeting directly after, but he let it go.
Lola had mentioned more than once his frustrating devotion to work. She’d wanted more of his attention than she got. Well, she had it all now.
* * *
Beau spotted the New Orleans motel a second too late, and his tires shotgun-shrieked against the pavement when he slammed on his brakes. He veered across oncoming traffic into the parking lot. Lola wasn’t far now. She might not be in her room, but he had all evening to find her. They’d been playing this game for too long—it had to end. They would argue, that was unavoidable—he was angry. Seeing her again would test his control. But then what?
Beau entered the front office chest first, his authority unmistakable. “I’m looking for a woman who checked in here earlier.”
The long-nosed, pimple-faced clerk was unimpressed. “We get a lot of those—women.”
Beau flattened his hand on the counter. “My associate called and spoke to someone. Was it you?”
“Your associate?” He looked over Beau’s shoulder, then his own. “Uh, it wasn’t me.”
“Is there anyone else working?”
“Yeah, but he’s on his break for another twenty minutes.”
“Fine. Her name is Melody Winters. Check your system.”
The man blinked once slowly before turning to the computer. His mouse clicked, his fingers tapped the keyboard. He shook his head. “I don’t see her…”
“But I was told that she’s here.”
The clerk raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. Uh…”
“What?”
“What?
??d you say the first name was?”
“Melody.”
“Oh.” He shook his head. “Nope.”
Beau rolled his eyes. He inched his hands closer to the computer, tempted to jerk the screen in his direction. “How about Lola?”
“Oh.” The man nodded. “Yep.”
“She’s here?” Beau’s frustration yielded to relief. “Which room?”
“I can’t—”
“Money. I have it. You can have it. For your cooperation.” Beau almost cringed, barely able to form a full sentence. He wanted to be better, to do this the right way, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d come too far, was too close, to start following some ambiguous set of rules. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his wallet, pulled out three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “You can come with me if you don’t trust me. Keep my wallet as collateral. Whatever. Just give me the room number.”
The man looked from the money to Beau to the door behind him. He slid the cash toward himself on the counter and pocketed it. He wrote something on a slip of paper and held it out.
Before Beau could take it, the clerk pulled it back and whispered, “I never gave this to you.”
“Fine.”
“Destroy it when you’re done.”
“Give me the fucking paper.”
The man’s eyes widened. He handed it over.
118.
Beau went to room 118 and knocked. He sniffed, stuck his hands in his pockets. So much for a thought-out, specially-tailored plan. He banged on the door until it opened to reveal a short, gray-haired woman.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She scowled. “You knocked on my door.”
“I’m looking for my—my girlfriend…my wife…”
“Well, which is it?” the lady asked.
“She told me she was in room 118.”
“Harold,” the woman called behind her without removing her eyes from Beau.
“I’m not here to bother you,” Beau said, holding up his palms. After a nostril-full of air, he said, “I’m just looking for my wife—have you seen her by any chance? Dark hair, slim, tall, blue eyes, shiny hair—”