Motor Mouth - Janet Evanovich [84]
“Insurance agents,” I said to Hooker.
After a couple minutes, the three men from Zurich emerged from the main salon and left the boat without a backward glance, two crew members trailing behind them carrying luggage.
“Dollars to doughnuts they’re going to be coming our way,” Hooker said. “I’m guessing they’re heading for the parking lot. We need to make ourselves disappear.”
We stepped off the walkway and were immediately swallowed up by the birds-of-paradise bushes and dwarf date palms that provided a greenbelt between the walkway and the parking lot. We snaked around the palms, skirted the lot, and hid behind the SUV.
The men from Zurich and the luggage toters weren’t far behind us. They crossed the lot to the black BMW, went to the trunk, and stared at the gouges we’d just made. They looked around. They did some disgusted head shaking. They tried to open the trunk. It was jammed. They loaded the suitcases into the backseat and got into the car.
“They’re leaving,” Hooker whispered. “They’re going home. What does that mean?”
“They aren’t going home. Home is Zurich, and it’s cold in Zurich now. They’d have their suits back on if they were going home. These guys are all in short-sleeved shirts. I think they’re just getting off the boat. Probably everything smells like smoke.”
We waited until the BMW left the lot, and then we hopped into the SUV and tailed them to Collins. Easier this time. No lights. Less traffic. They drove up to a small boutique hotel where they valet-parked the car, gave their luggage over to the bell captain, and followed him into the lobby.
“I’d really like to know who these guys are,” Hooker said. “Maybe one of us could go talk to the guy at the desk and be incredibly charming and get some information out of him.”
I did an eye roll. “I can’t just walk up to the desk and start asking questions.”
“You could if you hiked your T-shirt up so the desk clerk could see some skin.”
“You’re pimping me out,” I said.
“And?”
I reached for the door handle. “If I’m not out in ten minutes, come in guns blazing and rescue me.”
I pulled my T-shirt out of my jeans and tied the hem into a knot so it sat just below my boobs, leaving a lot of skin exposed. I sashayed across the street and swung my ass Suzanne style into the lobby.
It was a pretty little lobby with black and white marble floor tiles and potted palms and an elaborate gold-trimmed art deco reception desk. An immaculately tailored and turned-out man stood behind the desk. His nails were buffed, his hair was perfectly cut, his skin was flawless. He wore a tiny rainbow pin in his lapel. I untied my shirt and tucked it back into my jeans. It was going to take more than a bare stomach to entice this guy. The bare stomach was going to have to be attached to equipment I didn’t possess.
“Oh, sweetie,” he said to me. “You’re too perfect to cover up. This is South Beach. You work out, right?”
“Sometimes.”
“What can I do for you? If you’re looking to make rent money, I might have something for you.”
Okay, so I came in half naked and swinging my hips…it was still sort of upsetting that I was instantly sized up as a hooker. “I’m not cheap,” I said to him.
“Of course not! Although, a manicure might not be a bad idea. And you are showing some roots.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Three men just checked in. Would one of them be looking for a…lady? The one with the blue shirt and touch of gray at the temples?”
“He didn’t request one. Although, Mr. Miranda has stayed here before, and in the past has used our ser vices to obtain female companionship.”
“I thought I recognized him. I did him last year. He was here for the Orange Bowl, right? I remember