“That sounds fun but my packing just got more complicated.”
“We have some nice shops nearby. I’ll get you anything you’re missing.”
“You will not get me anything. I can pay my own way.” She doesn’t look at me and takes it one step further—she walks away and enters her closet.
Obviously, money is a sore spot for her and based on her father’s will, a weapon he used against her. A weapon I will never use against her. I follow her to the closet and find her staring down at the floor, no eyes on her clothing. “Emma,” I say softly.
She jerks around to face me, looking like a doe caught in headlights. “Sorry. I’m fighting a headache. I need food.”
I step into the closet with her and catch the fingers of both her hands with mine, the touch, like every touch with Emma, necessary in ways a touch has never been with another woman. I lean in close and whisper, “Money is power. I get that, but it’s only a weapon when used that way.” I lean back to look at her and risk the closet being one of the only safe places to talk. “I’ve used it that way. I’ll use it that way again, but that’s business. We are not business. It will never be that way between us and I’ll say more about that later when we have privacy.” I kiss her hand and because I don’t want her to feel as if she owes me anything, even a response, I exit the closet. As it is, I’m asking too much by asking her to help me, when helping me works against her family, but I have no choice. I have to find out what leverage her father had over my brother. Because he had some, and for all I know, her family has that leverage now, ready to use it against me or my other brother.
I walk to the chair where we’d slept last night and sit down, waiting in case she needs help with her bag. Emma exits the closet with an armful of clothes, her gaze reaching across the room to find mine, warmth in her stare. She’s pleased and this pleases me. More proof that I’m swimming in deep waters with this woman when I usually never even get in the damn water.
A few minutes later, she’s packed up and we head for the door. Once we’re outside in the hallway and she’s locking up, I realize that I haven’t called a locksmith. I’ll have Savage handle this if I hire him. I hope like hell I feel good enough about him to payroll him and his team.
My gut says that my presence here in the city, more specifically my presence here in the city with Emma, is someone’s trigger. And that’s a problem since I don’t know who’s holding the proverbial gun.
We reach the lobby quickly, each rolling a bag past security, and Jeff is back behind the counter, motioning to Emma. “Ms. Knight,” he calls out, rushing to catch us at the exit. “Has my supervisor contacted you?”
“Not yet,” Emma says. “You talked to him?”
“I did,” he replies. “That’s odd that he hasn’t contacted you. I’ll follow up. Again, I’m sorry for what happened. That’s unacceptable.”
“Who was the man behind the counter about half an hour ago?” I ask. “Was that your supervisor?”
Jeff’s brows dip. “I’m not sure I know who you’re referring to. I’m the only one on duty today.”
“How do you take breaks?” I ask before I go down the rabbit hole of trouble this is taking me down. “Do you have back-up?”
“Not today,” he says. “I’m only on shift for five hours.”
Emma chimes in then. “But there was a man in uniform behind the desk when we got here half an hour ago.”
“Yes,” Emma insists. “There was.”
“Maybe my supervisor is in the building and I don’t know it.” He grabs his walkie talkie and makes a call while Emma casts me a concerned look. I nod to confirm my like mind as Jeff returns his attention to us. “He’s not here. No one is on duty. Maybe it’s my relief man. Can you describe him?”
“I can,” I say, giving him the rundown.
He frowns. “I don’t know. I’ll find out who that was. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Maybe that’s the person who let York into my apartment,” Emma says. “We need to know who that was. Please. Get your supervisor to call me as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll call him on the priority phone.” He hurries away.
Emma turns to me. “Your hotel is sounding better by the minute.”
She’s right. It is. And I can’t get her out of this building fast enough.
The ride to the hotel is short and Emma and I don’t speak outside of ordering our pizza and dealing with the delivery we won’t be at her apartment to accept. Once we’re at the hotel, rolling our bags toward the door, Emma whispers, “What the hell is going on, Jax?”