The Rent-A-Groom by Jennifer Blake Page B

pillow.
     
    Yet she was alone in the great black-lacquered romantic fantasy of a bed when morning came. Alone in the suite.
     
    Race was gone.
     
     
     

 
     
    :: Chapter Nine ::
     
    The doorbell pealing out its syrupy theme was the last thing Gina wanted to hear. Exclaiming under her breath, she reached for the hotel robe. She knew she should have gotten up and put on her clothes when she first heard the commotion next door. She would have, if it hadn’t seemed like more effort than it was worth.
     
    Coffee was the most that she had been able to manage so far. She knew that moping around the suite with a tissue clutched in her hand was going to get her nowhere. But what did it really matter? There was nowhere she wanted to be, nothing she wanted to do, even if she had the heart for it.
     
    As she moved to answer the door, she glanced at herself in the mirrored wall of the foyer. Her hair was a mess, her face pale, and there were lavender shadows under her eyes. Her lips, red and swollen from Race’s kisses, were a perfect match for her eyes, red and swollen from crying. She didn’t care. Anyone who objected to her appearance didn’t have to look.
     
    The two men at the door were policemen, though they were in plainclothes. One was grizzled and had bags under his eyes, the other was crew-cut, polished, and polite, but both had the indefinable edge of their kind. They presented their credentials and she took them automatically, but did not invite them across the suite’s threshold.
     
    “What is this? Why are you here?”
     
     “We understand you were the accountant for Bradley Dillman until recently, Miss Madison. Is that correct?”
     
    The chill of shock ran down her spine, and her fingers tightened on the doorknob she held onto with one hand. “The accounting firm where I work was retained by him, yes.”
     
    “But you were in charge of his books, you received his records, made the physical entries, communicated with him about them.”
     
    “That’s right.”
     
    The older policeman took out his notepad. “We would like you to tell us what you can about the flow of money through the various enterprises belonging to Mr. Dillman.”
     
    The brisk, businesslike air of the two men was calming to a degree. She could not be too surprised that they wanted to talk to her; she’d been afraid of a visit like this for some time. It even seemed appropriate for it to come now. Moistening her lips, she asked, “You are—investigating Bradley’s business activities?”
     
    “Mr. Dillman was taken into custody this morning on a charge of money laundering.”
     
    Arrested. Bradley. She had half expected it, yet it still seemed oddly providential, like wishing someone bad luck and having them fall down a well.
     
    The older man gave her a keen stare. “We should make it clear this is an informal inquiry only, Miss Madison. You have been cleared of involvement in the illegal activity. However, any information you can give us will be invaluable in obtaining a conviction. We would appreciate your cooperation.”
     
    She drew a deep breath, let it out. “I expect you had better come inside. This may take a while.”
     
    Gina led the way to the sitting room where she dropped down on the wicker sofa just as her knees threatened to give way. Her mind was made of sterner stuff, however. “Was Bradley—Mr. Dillman—the only person taken into custody?” she asked as she indicated that the men should be seated.
     
    “For the time being. I understand the woman who had been staying in his suite left the hotel at an early hour.”
     
    She wanted to ask about Race, but the words wouldn’t come. It was just as well. If the police didn’t know he might be implicated, then she would not drag him into it.
     
    “And you really don’t suspect me? I’m not under arrest?”
     
    The younger man smiled at her. “No, ma’am. We have it on good authority that you didn’t know what the guy was up to at the time