White Hot by Carla Neggers Page B

He thought she was being needlessly, even recklessly, stubborn about driving herself back to Leonardo’s. Certainly she needed to reassert normalcy into her life, but she could do it tomorrow, after she’d had a chance to rest from her ordeal. But she wanted to do it now.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeremiah making his way across the lobby. If possible, he looked even more devastating, more darkly unpredictable than he had upstairs. It was the combination of elegance and irreverence, she decided, feeling giddy from champagne and adrenaline. He moved with such ease no matter where he was—or with whom. He wasn’t fazed by the Atwood and Tiernay crowd, and he’d seemed right in his element with a crime committed, a woman crumpled at his feet, police and security people swarming.
    “I’m a friend,” he told the manager with unsurpassed gall. “I’ll drive Mollie home.”
    The manager looked relieved. “Wonderful. Ms. Lavender, if there’s anything else I can do, please don’t hesitate. You can reach me anytime, night or day.”
    She mumbled her thanks, and he retreated back up the escalator, leaving her alone with Jeremiah. “The hotel can send your car,” he said, taking charge.
    “I’m fine. There’s no need for you to drive me home—”
    “Mollie, you’re not getting behind a wheel.”
    “I look worse than I feel.” She knew she was white-faced, her eyes sunken, her mascara smudged. With her low-cut dress, there was no hiding the marks on her neck. Why couldn’t the thief have stolen her handbag? She could feel rage roaring to the surface, but banked it back down.
    “This isn’t about you, it’s about me and everyone else who doesn’t want you on the road right now. Indulge us.”
    “You just want to grill me about the thief,” she said, not willing to give in no matter how much she knew he and the manager both made sense.
    “Believe whatever you need to believe. It just doesn’t make sense to drive, not when there’s an alternative.”
    “I know,” she said reluctantly. “But I’ll be back up to snuff in the morning.”
    “Of course you will.”
    She shot him a look, but immediately saw he wasn’t being patronizing, just simply stating his belief. She’d be okay in the morning. She could drive, she could make her own decisions without the influence of adrenaline, a touch of alcohol, not enough food. To her surprise, Jeremiah’s quiet confidence helped ease some of the tension that still had her in its grip.
    They went outside—the air warm, cooler gusts coming in off the water. Limousines and expensive cars rolled up in long lines, depositing ball-goers in their elegant clothes and glittering jewels. Mollie didn’t regret her decision not to stay. She wanted to be alone, sitting out on her deck listening to the crickets and the palm trees in the evening breeze.
    They spoke little on the short drive to Leonardo’s house. Mollie just sank into the ratty truck seat, staring at the lizard food Post-it on the glove compartment. She really knew nothing about this man. Nothing at all. Except she was glad he was driving her home, not some nameless security guard from the hotel.
    “I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said, stopping at her driveway. “Griffen left before you were attacked. If you know where she and Deegan are, maybe she can come stay with you.”
    She nodded, suddenly exhausted, and climbed down out of the truck, her legs wobbly. She tapped in the code on the keypad outside the gates, grateful for Leonardo’s elaborate security system. It was dark now, the truck headlights on. As the gates opened, she went to Jeremiah’s open window. Her throat was tight, her head spinning. “It was no accident I was the victim tonight, was it? Even if I hadn’t been wearing that necklace, the thief was gunning for me. I think—” She swallowed, trying to make sense out of the flashes of memory, the bits and pieces of information all vying for attention. “I think the