“I like my food.”
I jumped when a knock sounded. I looked at Frank in alarm. He grinned wider as he walked to answer the door. “I like my food too.”
“Room service,” announced the young man in the café uniform of surfer shorts and a lei. The smell of bacon wafted in and I was afraid I would cry with joy.
As the waiter rolled the table in, Frank signed the ticket. He tipped him and dragged two chairs over. “You know, most women I know would be suffering from a case of the vapors, unable to eat for worry over their brother,” Frank teased.
“Then you hang out with the wrong kind of women,” I said as I shoved my napkin in my lap. “Besides, Ben’s seen me hungry enough times to know I shouldn’t be out in public when I’m in this state, much less trying to find him. You know, food is a number one priority for him too, which makes me wonder why he wasn’t wanting to take me to one of Vegas’ famous restaurants last night. He must have been really distracted.”
Frank nodded as he uncovered eggs Florentine, croissants, a heaping platter of bacon, sliced mango and chunked pineapple. “The more little things like that you remember, you need to tell me. The better I know Ben, I can piece this thing together better.”
We ate in famished silence for a while. Then, after I’d had seconds of everything, I pushed back my chair. “I’ll shower and then we can go.”
Frank nodded. I noticed for the first time he was still wearing what he’d had on at dawn when I collapsed. “You didn’t go to sleep, did you?”
He shook his head but waited to answer until he pushed the table out into the hall. Once the door was closed, he spoke. “I wanted to do some research on Stan. On this tournament. On some other things.”
From his cryptic tone I knew Frank wouldn’t tell me more. I was beginning to read him pretty well. Still, I tried, “What things?”
He just smiled absently and returned to his laptop. I disappeared into my bedroom, showered quickly, thinking with a bit of regret about the cozy Jacuzzi in our room downstairs. Since Frank’s suite was much nicer, I was betting he had a pretty awesome setup in his bathroom. Hmm.
I blow-dried my hair, but having no patience to wait for the wavy mop to be totally dry, tied it in a bun at the base of my neck. I brushed on some mascara (to hide any bags, you know) and some peach Dior lip gloss. The clothes, now that was a problem. I was again regretting my mass raping of my closet at home. I hung pieces up in a closet so big it seemed wasteful in a hotel and didn’t get to anything I was willing to wear to the morgue until I came to the end. I’d forgotten I’d thrown in a Christopher Deane sundress with a swingy calf-length skirt in stripes of deep burgundy, dark gray and light pink. Since I was a bit sensitive about all the call girl misunderstandings, I covered its strapless top with a white cotton long sleeve button down I left open, tying the tails around my waist. The Kate Spade strappy sandals with lover heels and silver braid and black pearl earrings I had at home matched the ensemble (a Houston boutique, Rouche Jovan, had given me the entire outfit as a thank you for a successful spring ad campaign), but I didn’t pack those, of course. Reviewing my slim options, I decided on some oversized plain silver hoops and flat silver jeweled slip ons that would be better than heels when fleeing down stairwells from bad guys.
Frank looked up from his laptop when I opened my door. He shook his head. Damn, those bags were probably showing again.
“How has Conner seen your hair? It was up like this when I saw you at the bar.”
“I pulled it down when he saw me with Felix to hide my face. I don’t think he saw me in the stairwell, but I guess he could’ve caught a glimpse. I had it in a bun then.”
“Then you need to wear it differently. Anything that might trigger a memory enough for him to suspect you is risking danger.”
“I just wear it two
I jumped when a knock sounded. I looked at Frank in alarm. He grinned wider as he walked to answer the door. “I like my food too.”
“Room service,” announced the young man in the café uniform of surfer shorts and a lei. The smell of bacon wafted in and I was afraid I would cry with joy.
As the waiter rolled the table in, Frank signed the ticket. He tipped him and dragged two chairs over. “You know, most women I know would be suffering from a case of the vapors, unable to eat for worry over their brother,” Frank teased.
“Then you hang out with the wrong kind of women,” I said as I shoved my napkin in my lap. “Besides, Ben’s seen me hungry enough times to know I shouldn’t be out in public when I’m in this state, much less trying to find him. You know, food is a number one priority for him too, which makes me wonder why he wasn’t wanting to take me to one of Vegas’ famous restaurants last night. He must have been really distracted.”
Frank nodded as he uncovered eggs Florentine, croissants, a heaping platter of bacon, sliced mango and chunked pineapple. “The more little things like that you remember, you need to tell me. The better I know Ben, I can piece this thing together better.”
We ate in famished silence for a while. Then, after I’d had seconds of everything, I pushed back my chair. “I’ll shower and then we can go.”
Frank nodded. I noticed for the first time he was still wearing what he’d had on at dawn when I collapsed. “You didn’t go to sleep, did you?”
He shook his head but waited to answer until he pushed the table out into the hall. Once the door was closed, he spoke. “I wanted to do some research on Stan. On this tournament. On some other things.”
From his cryptic tone I knew Frank wouldn’t tell me more. I was beginning to read him pretty well. Still, I tried, “What things?”
He just smiled absently and returned to his laptop. I disappeared into my bedroom, showered quickly, thinking with a bit of regret about the cozy Jacuzzi in our room downstairs. Since Frank’s suite was much nicer, I was betting he had a pretty awesome setup in his bathroom. Hmm.
I blow-dried my hair, but having no patience to wait for the wavy mop to be totally dry, tied it in a bun at the base of my neck. I brushed on some mascara (to hide any bags, you know) and some peach Dior lip gloss. The clothes, now that was a problem. I was again regretting my mass raping of my closet at home. I hung pieces up in a closet so big it seemed wasteful in a hotel and didn’t get to anything I was willing to wear to the morgue until I came to the end. I’d forgotten I’d thrown in a Christopher Deane sundress with a swingy calf-length skirt in stripes of deep burgundy, dark gray and light pink. Since I was a bit sensitive about all the call girl misunderstandings, I covered its strapless top with a white cotton long sleeve button down I left open, tying the tails around my waist. The Kate Spade strappy sandals with lover heels and silver braid and black pearl earrings I had at home matched the ensemble (a Houston boutique, Rouche Jovan, had given me the entire outfit as a thank you for a successful spring ad campaign), but I didn’t pack those, of course. Reviewing my slim options, I decided on some oversized plain silver hoops and flat silver jeweled slip ons that would be better than heels when fleeing down stairwells from bad guys.
Frank looked up from his laptop when I opened my door. He shook his head. Damn, those bags were probably showing again.
“How has Conner seen your hair? It was up like this when I saw you at the bar.”
“I pulled it down when he saw me with Felix to hide my face. I don’t think he saw me in the stairwell, but I guess he could’ve caught a glimpse. I had it in a bun then.”
“Then you need to wear it differently. Anything that might trigger a memory enough for him to suspect you is risking danger.”
“I just wear it two
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