The 5th Horseman (Women's Murder Club 5)
Page 64
His face cracked in a crazy grin that left us both in a paralytic standoff that was finally broken by his name blasting over the PA.
“Dr. Garza wanted in the ER.”
We stepped out of each other’s way.
“I have work to do,” he said.
Chapter 77
LAUREN MCKENNA took a quick breath, then knocked on the door. She waited anxiously in the carpeted hallway of the hotel, her stomach churning, thinking she was out of her mind to do this. Absolutely nuts.
She stared down at her gold pumps, the fake croc shoes a witty touch with the silk chiffon skirt, wondering if he’d notice—and then, a split second later, going the other way again, thinking it wasn’t too late to change her mind and get the hell out of there.
If she didn’t like him, she was going to say, “Sorry, I’ve got the wrong room.”
And then the door opened.
Her “date” smiled. He looked Asian American, maybe thirty or so, slim, hair gelled into spikes. He was dressed okay in a blue cotton shirt and tan dress slacks, but handsome, causing her a moment’s doubt—was she pretty enough for this guy? He reached out his hand and clasped hers.
“I’m Ken,” he said warmly. “You’re gorgeous, Lauren. I love what you’re wearing. You exceed all my expectations. Please come in.”
Lauren thanked him, stepped inside the plush hotel room, her heart banging in her chest.
Ken was saying, “Let me see your face. Do you mind?”
He reached out, moved her bangs away from her eyes.
“Can you smile?” he said, then smiled himself.
Lauren clamped her jaw shut, clutched her handbag to her chest, looked around. She was trying to take in everything at once. Fear Factor on the TV, the bottle of champagne on ice, the man himself—a total stranger.
How had she thought she could go through with something like this?
“Come on,” he said. “Give me a little smile.”
She did it then, baring her teeth in a clenched grin, Ken saying, “Braces? How old are you, Lauren?”
“Nineteen. I’m a sophomore. In college.”
“You don’t look it,” he said, smiling at her again, his teeth extremely white, that gorgeous skin, not too old, but still, this was nothing like a blind date.
She was in a hotel room with a stranger, one who wanted to pay her money—for God only knew what.
Lauren started flashing back, thinking about all of the little humiliations of the past week—dodging the landlord, her bounced check taped next to the register at the campus bookstore, all the money she’d borrowed from friends.
Her roommate saying, “Call this number. Margot can help you with an easy-breezy debt-consolidation plan.”
Easy-breezy? This was insane!
Now Ken was helping her out of her camel-hair coat. She encouraged herself: hang in there, Lulu. Be brave. Try to have fun. Anyway, think of all that money.
She saw Ken’s eyes on her long legs, checking out her clingy, see-through blouse, her bra straps peeking out on top. So she put her hands on her hips, striking a pose like a runway model, laughing nervously when Ken looked amused.
Lauren heard herself say what she’d heard call girls say in movies.
“Mind if we get the business part out of the way?”
“Not at all.” Ken took several bills out of his back pocket. He stacked ten crisp hundreds in her open hand.