Night Edge by Jessica Hawkins Page A

couldn’t help cursing the timing. “Make sure Larry’s there,” Beau said. “I’m not sure I’ll make it in time.”
    “I already looked at flights,” she said. “Getting you into LAX by tomorrow morning shouldn’t be an issue.”
    Beau looked up from the road. Small, white-bellied birds flapped across the sky in formation. Once Bolt Ventures had put the finishing touches on the paperwork, it would only be days before Beau could go to George Wright with an offer—a laughable one, but one Wright couldn’t afford to turn down. But that would mean getting on a plane tonight and missing another chance to find Lola.
    “I’m the one who wanted this,” Beau said. “I should be there.”
    “Probably, but…”
    “But what?”
    His assistant didn’t respond. He knew where she was headed, but he’d bitten her head off enough times when she’d suggested unloading his work to others.
    Beau uncurled his fingers from the steering wheel, splaying them, an invitation. “You think they can manage without me.”
    “You can’t be everywhere all the time, Mr. Olivier.”
    “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