Devil Without a Cause (7 page)

Chapter Nine

H
e looked boyish when he slept, younger than thirty-six. His hair was wild from her fingers, and Faith was sure hers was no better. The curtains were open, Atlanta’s nightscape casting a soft glow over the darkened room. She’d been lying there, watching the glitter of skyscrapers over his bare shoulder, for well over an hour. It would be dawn soon, and she couldn’t wait much longer.

Finn had been the perfect lover; gentle, fiercely passionate. She’d given him everything she had, and he’d given it all back. Her girlhood fantasies had been far exceeded by the reality; his body, lean and fit, his fingertips, hard with guitar calluses, tracing every inch of her skin.

She wanted to touch him, one more time, but didn’t dare.
Why did she have to meet him
now
, like this?
If she’d met him a few months ago, before Nathan got sick, she could’ve just been herself; he seemed to like her.

And in the morning, no hard feelings and no regrets
, he’d said.

There would be no hard feelings on her part. Ever. But what should have been a magical interlude was forever tainted, because no matter what she did, as soon as he discovered the ring gone, he’d remember her only as the girl who stole something from him. Something valuable, and important. It was probably a priceless antique or something—no one made a deal with the Devil over costume jewelry.

Lying there in the dark, listening to Finn breathe, Faith never had any doubt that what she did for Nathan was the right thing to do, but for a moment—just for a moment—it was nice to imagine a different scenario. One where she and Finn and Nathan could all three be together, without the shadow of darkness hovering over their heads. He said he liked kids, maybe he could be happy with a normal life . . .

Dream on, girl
, she told herself.

Yes, Finn Payne was every woman’s dream.

And now it was time for the dream to be over.

Slowly, so she didn’t wake him, Faith slipped from the bed and gathered her clothes, finding most of them in the living room. She dressed quietly, then put her shoes by the door and crept barefoot back into the bedroom, where Finn still slept.

His breathing was slow and deep. She eased into the bathroom, touching the fingers of her left hand to the soap dispenser. Then she came back into the bedroom and waited, gathering her nerve. She already knew what she’d do if he woke up; squeeze his hand, claim a good-bye kiss, and urge him back to sleep, hopefully slipping the ring off in the process.

And if she got caught . . . well, she didn’t know what she’d do if she got caught.

Reminding herself that failure was not an option, Faith took one last look at the glitter of Atlanta’s skyline, then one last look at the gorgeous man in the bed. When they were both imprinted on her mind’s eye, she went to him and gently smoothed the warm, soapy tip of a finger across his knuckle.

He didn’t stir, so she did it again. Then she used her other hand to slowly take hold of the ring. It was chunky, very solid, and slid from Finn’s finger far more easily than she’d imagined it would.

She had it, clenched within her palm so hard it hurt.

Backing soundlessly from the bed, Faith turned and fled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath until she reached the front door. Taking only a moment to slip on her shoes, she carefully unlocked the dead bolt, cringing at the slight
snick.
Hearing nothing from the bedroom, she gave a silent sigh of relief, and opened the door.

That, of course, was when all hell broke loose.

T
he blare of a siren jerked Finn from a sound sleep, and for a moment he had no idea what was going on. Another anonymous hotel room in an anonymous city, one with glittering skyscrapers just outside the window. His head cleared quickly, however, and he rose from the bed; the hotel’s fire alarm was going off. He was naked, and his jeans were on the floor; as he pulled them on he remembered the girl—where was she?

“Hello?” he called out. Snagging his T-shirt, he pulled it on as he checked the bathroom, which was empty. Grabbing his boots, he headed toward the living room, and found it empty, too. “Hello?” he called again, disappointed to find her gone—he hadn’t gotten her phone number.

The fire alarm was still blaring, and his cell phone began to ring. He ducked back into the bedroom to answer it, not overly concerned just yet about the possibility of fire—he’d been in a lot of hotel rooms through the years, and through many false alarms. His phone was on the bedside table; it was John, his security guy.

“You okay, Finn? Larry’s checking with the front desk to see if this is for real, but you should grab your stuff, just in case.” John was slightly out of breath, and Finn knew it was because he was already on his way. His team took their job very seriously, and their room was always next door or just down the hall.

“Let’s give it a minute,” Finn answered wearily. His mood had taken a downturn, the siren annoying as hell, and he didn’t relish the idea of charging out the door.

“Excuse me, miss?” John called out. “Is this a drill?”

“Who’s that?” Finn asked sharply.

“It’s the girl from the hotel,” John said into the phone. “Right by the stairs.”

The sirens stopped.

Finn greeted the silence with relief, glad he hadn’t missed the girl. “Grab her, would you?” he asked John casually. “I wanted to ask her something.”

“Sure thing,” John said, and hung up.

Finn strode to the front door of the suite, which opened as he reached it. There was Amy, her face pale and set, ushered in by John, who’d let himself in with his key.

“We meet again,” Finn said, giving her an intimate smile.

She didn’t smile back.

“There’s no need to rush off,” he said, stepping closer. Her auburn hair was slightly rumpled—he remembered how soft it was, like silk beneath his hands. “How about an early breakfast?”

“I have to get home,” she answered stiffly, with none of the warmth she’d shown him earlier.

Finn frowned, wondering what was up. He drew her aside to murmur, “I know what I said about having just one night together, but I had a great time, and I’d love to see you again.”

She stared at the floor, blankly.

“I’m going to be in town a couple of days,” he urged. “Let’s get together again before I go. Give me your cell number.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry—I can’t do that.”

Finn blinked, caught off guard. He saw the look of amusement Larry shot John, and didn’t appreciate it, but he’d deal with them later.

“Is something wrong?” he murmured. He thought they’d had a great time together, shared some chemistry.

She pulled away, turning to go as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. “I’m sorry,” she said again, over her shoulder, “it was fun, but I have a boyfriend.”

And then she was gone, leaving him with two grown men who—if they didn’t stop smirking—were about to be unemployed.

He glared at Larry, whose smirk died, and then turned to John, who shrugged and turned away as if seeing his rock-star boss dissed at the door was an everyday occurrence. “Hey, man”—Larry shook his head, making light of an awkward moment—“you win some, you lose some.”

Right
, Finn thought, darkly.
Except I always win.

Not bothering to speak, he went into the bedroom and shut the door very quietly, leaving them to stay or go as they chose. The room seemed bigger, and emptier, than it had earlier. He stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, and stared moodily up at the ceiling, which looked exactly like thousands of other ceilings he’d stared at over the years.

Too many ceilings.

Too many girls.

How could he possibly have imagined this one might be different?

He rolled over, staring at the glittering skyline, and caught the faint scent of her on the pillow. He’d bought so easily into her good-girl routine. Should’ve known when she proved to be so hot in bed that she was no innocent.

The sheets were bunched in his fist, and Finn forced his hand to relax.
She was no one, and nothing.
It was then, as his palm lay flat, that he noticed his bare finger—the Ring of Chaos was gone.

Ice-cold fear gripped him, but not for long. He leapt from the bed and searched through the sheets, throwing the pillows aside in his haste. Finding nothing, he stripped the bed and shook the bedding out thoroughly, piece by piece, then got down on his hands and knees and checked under the bed.

“John!” he shouted. “Larry!”

He’d never taken the ring off, ever. The one time he’d tried—years ago, in a fit of drunken anger—it had refused to budge, sticking to his finger as though part of him.

“What is it?” John came bursting into the room, Larry hot on his heels. “What’s going on?”

“My ring,” Finn said, flat on his belly now, sweeping his arm beneath the bed. “It’s missing. I can’t find it.”

There was a silence. He looked up to see his security team sharing a puzzled glance. “It’s a black and silver ring,” he snapped, “round, with a starburst of arrows.”

“You’ve got lots of rings, man,” Larry said, with a shrug.

“This one I never take it off,” he insisted. “My father gave it to me.” That was a lie, of course, one he’d used before. His father had never given him anything but an unhappy childhood, then left before he could ask him why.

“Oh.”

“So help me find it!” Finn hated to admit to himself how close he was to panic. “Check the living room, the couch, the minibar.” Since he rarely raised his voice except onstage, John and Larry got the message, and jumped to do just that.

Together they began to slowly and methodically search every inch of the suite, including the carpet. Finn took charge of the bedroom, checking both side tables, the dresser, the entertainment armoire, all the drawers and cabinets, then went into the bathroom and did the same.

Ten minutes later, the entire suite had been thoroughly searched, and none of them had found the ring. Finn sank down on the arm of the couch, mind reeling.

“You’re sure you didn’t take it off?” Larry asked, for the third time.

Finn sent him a dark look in reply, not trusting himself to speak. What if he didn’t find it? What if it was all over, here, now, tonight . . .

“Okay, so you never take it off,” John said, repeating what Finn had told them earlier, “but what if it slipped off? It could be in the limo, or back at the auditorium.”

“I had it on when I went to bed,” Finn said tightly, thinking furiously. Had the Devil figured out a way to double-cross him after all these years? That unpleasant visit in the back of the limo earlier could
not
have been a coincidence.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“What about the girl?” John said. “Maybe she took it as a souvenir or something.”

Finn shook his head, impatient. “No,” he said shortly, but then thought about it—she’d mentioned the ring, asked him to take it off. He remembered, because he’d been surprised at her claim that it hurt her; the ring had no sharp edges.

Unlike the girl, who’d gone from hot to cold in an instant.

He got up from the couch, heading toward the door.

“Where you going?” Larry asked.

“To find the girl.”

“Think she stole it?”

“Maybe,” Finn said, shooting him a look, “but we won’t know until we ask her, now will we?” His hand looked strangely bare on the doorknob. “Let’s go talk to someone at the front desk, find out how to reach her.”

R
eaching Amy Smith, however, proved easier said than done.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Payne,” the prim little man behind the desk said. He wore a name tag that read “Herve Morales.” “We have no one working here by the name of Amy Smith, and even if we did, we don’t give out personal information regarding our employees.”

“We just want to talk to her,” John growled, backing Finn up. “What’s the problem?”

The little man regarded John coldly. “As I said, we have no one working here by the name of Amy Smith,” he repeated.

John sighed, reaching into his pocket. “Okay, man, how much?”

Herve looked insulted, his nose rising a shade higher.

“Look,” Finn said, impatient with the delay. “One of your female staff members saw me to my room last night—young, pretty, reddish-brown hair.”

“Was there a problem with your service, sir?” Herve asked, arching a brow.

“No,” he said shortly. “I just need to talk to her.”

“Enough of this bullshit.” Larry stepped up, flanking Finn. “Do you know who this is? This is Finn-Fucking-Payne, man! If he wants your girl’s number, you give him your girl’s number!”

Herve Morales, however, was not to be intimidated. “This is the Ritz-Carlton, sir, not a dating service.”

Finn held up a hand, signaling Larry to tone down the tough-guy routine. It was John and Larry’s usual method; good cop, bad cop.

He’d met people like Herve Morales before, and recognized a petty dictator when he saw one. As eager as he was to track down Amy and find his ring, he wasn’t out to get her fired just yet.

Single mom to a four-year-old boy
.

He had no proof she’d stolen the ring, and even more importantly, he didn’t like bullies.

“There was no problem with the service, and I’m not looking for a date,” he told the man smoothly. “She dropped something in the hallway outside my suite, and I was just hoping to give it to her.”

The little creep behind the desk knew he was lying. “I’m not entirely certain which of our employees escorted you to your room last night, Mr. Payne, but I’ll be happy to find out. In the meantime, if you have something you’d like returned to one of our staff members, please feel free to leave it with me.” Herve gave him an oily smile. “I’ll be sure she gets it.”

I’ll bet you will, you little weasel.

Over the weasel’s shoulder, one of the other desk clerks was doing his best to unobtrusively get their attention. As soon as Finn made eye contact, the guy gave a subtle tip of his head toward the end of the counter. He left the counter and headed toward the elevators, glancing over his shoulder to see if they followed.