Simple Intent by Linda Sands

heard strains of music. A little Jimmy Buffet escaped with each pull of the heavy glass doors. The doorman tipped his hat and motioned with a white-gloved hand to enter. Reilly hung back. A small group of men stood just inside the rotunda at the nearest column, their eyes on the arrivals. Whether they were waiting for someone or hoping for someone was unclear. It was obvious only that they were alone and uncomfortable. A similar group of well-dressed women gathered on the opposite side of the entrance. It was like dance night at Catholic school.
    Fast Eddie Deluca noticed Sailor, excused himself from his conversation with an older couple and approached. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d changed your mind.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
    Sailor looked for Reilly, who smiled and waved, then ran a hand through his hair and adjusted his lapel pin. 
    Deluca spoke into Sailor’s ear, steering her by the elbow toward the rotunda bar outside the ballroom. “You clean up good, Beaumont.” She felt his eyes on her. “You got something for me?”
    “Excuse me?’ Sailor jerked her head back, twisting to face him. Deluca’s blue eyes twinkled, half a smile on his full lips. 
    Sailor understood what women saw in him. His custom-tailored suit fit his body like a glove. Cufflinks on his sleeve gleamed as only real gold and diamonds do. The streaks of gray at his temples gave him just the right amount of authority and the year-round tan hinted of a life of leisure. He was a walking advertisement for success. And he smelled good, too. Sailor drew her eyes back up to his face, reminding herself she was here for information, and nothing else. 
    “Well?’ Deluca seemed amused. “Witherspoon?” 
    “Oh,” she said. “Yes, of course. I had the most interesting conversation with my father about Mr. Witherspoon and his condition.”
    Deluca raised his brow.
    “Oh yes,” Sailor nodded. “Mr. Witherspoon should have known better than to mix over-the-counter allergy tabs with his heart medication.” 
    Deluca grinned, then motioned to a strolling waiter. He selected two flutes of champagne from the waiter’s tray and handed one to Sailor. 
    “Beautiful. I knew you were the right girl for the job.” He toasted her. “To success!”
    “To success.”
    Sailor drank, toying with the long pendant that swung between her breasts, pleased to see Deluca’s eyes follow. It was like taking candy from a baby. 
    In the Grand Ballroom, Reilly found the hors d’ouevre table and would have pulled up a chair if he hadn’t heard the guy next to him say, “Berger looks the same, don’t he?”
    “Yeah,” the other guy said. “Still looks a like an asshole.” They laughed. 
    Reilly followed their gaze to a table near the stage. A loud group of cops clinked mugs with a guy in a Hawaiian shirt. Berger. Reilly watched him move off, thinking he looked familiar, but it was too far away to get a good look. The guys went back to drinking and punching each other on the arm, while at their table three buxom, bored redheads waited. 
    Reilly saw his in. He bought a pitcher of beer from the bar and headed over to the table. “Refill, boys?”
    The cops looked at him, then the full pitcher and shrugged.
    Across the room, Sailor watched Reilly. The guy worked fast. He had the redheads smiling and the cops drinking. A few feet to her right, Deluca had been pulled into a conversation with an up-and-comer in the hotel business. She pretended to be interested in the architecture and decor of the room, as she worked the hidden purse camera. Detective Berger was easy to find, with everybody buying him shots and toasting him. Sailor took pictures of anyone he talked to. 
    She saw Reilly snaking through the crowd with two empty beer pitchers held overhead. He saw Sailor and headed her way.
    “How’s it going?” 
    Sailor tipped her head in Deluca’s direction, “It’s going.”
    “I know what you mean. I swear, if I