Part 15 (2/2)

At least he wasn't going to do her any physical harm.

She'd made a nice move by announcing on worldwide TV that she'd given Jeffy-boy's phone to the FBI.

Smart girl.

He wasn't sure it was enough.

His driving fear was that somebody else might start to wonder about what secrets she was keeping.

To that end, he'd made arrangements for a pair of undercover cops to be in the parking lot when she got off work at 2 a.m. Keeping discreetly out of sight, they would watch her walk from the door of the Palm Room to her car, then follow her home where the squad car was already in her driveway keeping tabs on everything that was happening in Margaret's house.

The good news was, somebody placing a bomb in Riley's car probably wasn't going to happen. No point in killing the secret keeper until you knew the secret.

Letting himself into his hotel room-quietly so as not to disturb Bax next door-Finn headed straight for the bathroom, stripping his clothes off as he went.

What he needed was a long cold shower, followed by a few hours' sleep.

AFTER SNAPPING at a customer who'd come up to her to complain that his drinks were watered (they weren't), and being terse with a limo driver who tried to insist on parking right outside the front door as he waited for his VIP client, and threatening to call the police on a table of big drinkers who tried to sneak out without paying their tab, Riley was forced to face it: she was something less than her usual even-tempered self. And that would be because she was both worried sick and mad as h.e.l.l at Finn. Ordinarily she would have fixed all those typical Friday night problems with her typical poise and finesse, but since she'd walked away from him on the dance floor and he'd subsequently (color her surprised) left the club, she'd been edgy and irritable and a whole lot quicker to jump than she normally would have been.

Fortunately, Don had left the club. Also fortunately, it was getting on toward one thirty. The club shut down at two. Closing up would keep her another half an hour after that, and then she would be free to go home.

Until ten o'clock Sat.u.r.day morning, when she was due at her first job again.

At the thought, she barely swallowed a groan.

She hadn't slept much last night, and she'd put in a full day's work at the car dealers.h.i.+p before coming in to the club tonight. She was bruised, thoroughly traumatized, and a little sore. The thought of calling in sick to both jobs had been tempting, but with the economy like it was, jobs were hard to come by. For her, with her baggage and especially with the fact that she'd been all over last night's 11 p.m. news and, for all she knew, the news today, jobs were especially hard to come by. She hadn't wanted to push it with either employer.

Of course, if she'd known Finn was going to stop by the club, she would have called in sick in a heartbeat.

I was glad to see him. That was the really galling part.

I must be insane.

He was an FBI agent, an investigator. He wasn't hanging around her because he was smitten with her big green-hazel eyes.

He was doing his fricking job.

He probably thought of making out with her as a nice perk, like dental insurance.

That thought made her mad all over again.

So get over him already.

He knew way too much about what she'd been doing. He was suspicious of her, nosing around, and she was as sure as it was possible to be of anything that he wasn't going to just go away.

Unless he was psychic, though, she didn't see any way he could find out about George's notebook, or discover what she and Margaret had done.

Didn't keep her from being scared to death anyway. Not of Finn, but of being found out.

To say nothing of whatever murderous characters might be lurking around as they hunted the money.

The knot her stomach had wrapped itself into after last night's conversation with Margaret kept twisting tighter.

Cissy Barry, the head waitress from the Star Lounge, came hurrying up to Riley. Maybe thirty-five, with short blond hair, she was still able to rock the club's body-baring uniform, which only the two female a.s.sistant managers and the hostesses were exempted from wearing. ”The ice machine in the Star Lounge is on the fritz. I've scooped all the ice out, but it's going to need to be fixed before tomorrow night.”

Riley nodded. ”I'll leave a note for Stephan”-the handyman who worked days to keep the club functional at night-”to check it out.” Maude Clemons, one of the hostesses, was beckoning to her as she finished speaking. With a quick smile for Cissy, Riley headed toward the hostess' station, threading her way among a crowd of rowdy Astros fans (she could tell by their T-s.h.i.+rts) heading for the dance floor.

The hostess station was twenty feet back from the second set of doors that const.i.tuted the entry. Paneled in bronzed mirrors, with a carefully tended live palm tree in one corner and a black leather hostess stand as the central feature, it was where the club's four hostesses took turns greeting guests and showing them to tables, among other duties.

Maude, a beautiful twenty-something brunette who worked days as a model, said, ”Phone for you,” and nodded toward the landline on the credenza behind the podium. Riley waved her thanks as Maude stepped away to greet a pair of just-arriving businessmen.

Walking over to the credenza, she saw the flas.h.i.+ng light that indicated a call on line one, picked up the receiver, and pushed the b.u.t.ton.

”Riley Cowan,” she said into the phone.

”Can you come and get me?” It was Emma. Her voice sounded small and thin and shaky.

- CHAPTER -

SIXTEEN.

Less than twenty minutes later, Riley drove through the dozen or so four-story brick buildings that made up the Heywood Plaza apartment complex, jittery with nerves, taking in the relatively late-model cars all lined up in the parking areas, the green s.p.a.ce complete with playground and swimming pool between the buildings, the dim and yellowish, but present, security lighting that kept these wee hours of the morning from being overwhelmingly dark. The complex was not particularly upscale, but it didn't scream danger, either. The area of town was decent, not too far from River Oaks.

The surroundings weren't the reason she was feeling so anxious.

It was the fact that Emma might be out here alone at this time of night that was giving her a spasm. Coupled with the fact that she definitely was out here alone. After last night, to borrow a phrase from Disney's The Little Mermaid, which Emma had watched so often years ago that the songs were permanently implanted in the family consciousness, Riley wanted to be where the people are. Although she thought (hoped) she'd headed off any more attacks on her by telling the world that she no longer had Jeff's phone, she couldn't be sure that she wouldn't be attacked for some other reason. Or that Emma wouldn't be attacked.

Simply speculating about the possibilities was enough to make her blood run cold.

That old adage about there being safety in numbers had never been more true.

Em, what were you thinking?

The complex was laid out in a square with a single entrance off Willowick Road. Despite the lateness of the hour, a few people were outside-heading to or from their cars, walking leashed dogs, carrying out trash-but there was no sign of Emma. As Riley scanned the shadowy sidewalks and parking lots and front-yard s.p.a.ce and vestibules, the ever-present knot in her stomach was joined by a tightness in her chest.

<script>