A Fare To Remember_ Just Whistle_Driven - Vicki Lewis Thompson [67]
The shower had stopped minutes ago and now the bathroom door opened. She heard his light footsteps approaching and braced herself, willing her muscles to remain relaxed, which wasn’t all that hard after a night of delicious, bone-melting sex. He kissed her softly on the forehead, gently combed her hair away from her face, murmured something, and then left the hotel room.
The soft click was like a starter’s pistol. Rachel bolted out of the bed, flipped her arms into her bra and threw on a shirt. She leaned against the door for a moment and, hearing nothing, exited the room.
She didn’t know everything about him, but she did know he hated elevators. Six flights of stairs would take him a few minutes. If she hurried, she could beat him to the lobby.
She dashed down the hall and jabbed the elevator button, squelching a triumphant squeal when the mechanism dinged almost immediately. Luck was on her side this time.
She was going to follow Roman. She didn’t know what she was going to do once he reached his destination, but maybe if she knew more about his life, more about how to contact him if the need arose, she wouldn’t have such a hard time letting go. At least, that was the logic that had driven her this far. She’d always been spontaneous in her travels, so applying that instinct now wasn’t such a stretch.
The elevator swallowed up the space between the sixth floor and the lobby in seconds. Gingerly, Rachel leaned out of the doors, watching for any sign of Roman. Seeing no one except a housekeeper running a vacuum cleaner and a pair of uniformed clerks behind the desk, she walked out briskly, making her way toward the staircase exit. If she could just get behind the potted ficus before Roman emerged, she’d have a clear shot at following him.
She dashed behind the thick, glossy green leaves—right into Roman’s chest.
CHAPTER TEN
“ROMAN!”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Rachel.” His tone held a lilt of amusement. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She stamped her foot in frustration. Okay, maybe watching episodes of Alias and Veronica Mars did not qualify her to be either a spy or a private investigator, but she’d given it the college try. She just hadn’t expected to get caught so easily.
“Duh, I’m following you,” she said.
“Why?”
She skewed her face, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. She hadn’t really had much time to think. “I didn’t want you to leave.”
He slipped his hands around her waist. “I didn’t want to leave.”
“But you did.”
“Rachel, I have a job to do. Maybe once…”
His voice trailed away. Just like him not to make any promises he couldn’t keep. She opened her mouth to assure him that he didn’t have to placate her when he clamped his hand over her lips and pulled her flush against the wall.
Her heart slammed against her chest when she saw fear skitter across his face. Not fear for himself. Fear for her.
Seconds later, a man in dark clothing with the collar of his jacket pulled up high against cold that didn’t exist in New York in June disappeared into the stairwell.
After a long, torturous moment, Roman released her, but he ensured her continued quiet with a barely audible shush.
He pressed her tight against the wall, told her with his intense eyes to stay put, then stepped out from their cover to see if the coast was clear. The move ended up unwise. A shout from the other end of the lobby spurred Roman to grab her by the wrist and yank her out of hiding as they made a mad dash for the back exit.
They stumbled into the alley, dark and rank and glossy with the kind of dew that only steamed up from the dank New York City streets. Rachel felt her boots slip beneath her, but Roman counterbalanced her and kept her from falling.
“Run!”
She complied, wishing as her lungs began to burn that she’d been a little more regular with the workouts. As