IN ROOM 33 (38 page)

"I see. And was he dead? Can you tell me that?"

Gordy looked puzzled. "I don't think so, because his face wasn't covered. They always cover it on TV."

"And everyone else is fine?"

Gordy nodded. "Wade's girlfriend was kinda hurt. And her nose was bleedin' real bad."

Rupert's stomach clenched painfully, and he came near to falling before reaching out to brace himself with a hand on the wall. He was dizzy from standing so close to the window, and his heart jumped behind his ribs, ready to burst through them at any minute. He teetered back to his chair and settled into it.

David had failed. And, damn him, he'd lived through it. It was the only possible explanation. He rested his head, closed his eyes, considered his options.

They would come for him. Strangers in uniforms with papers giving them the right to his home. They would want him to go with them. Outside.

He could not allow it to happen. He put his hand down beside the cushion, stroked the smooth metal of his protector. He would not go gently into the night... or anywhere else.

The Philip!
His home. His property by right and by endless heartache. The Cole girl would keep it and there was nothing he could do. She would keep his hotel and through her it would, inevitably, once again belong to an Emerson. Joe's grandson would see to that. And Joe? He would laugh at Rupert from his grave.

Never!
If it was the end for him, it was the end for Wade Emerson.

"Gordy, would you do something for me?"

"Sure, Mr. Rupert."

"Take Melly with you." He stroked the dog's soft head, left his thin hand to rest there. "And take good care of her, won't you? She's a very good dog."

Gordy nodded gravely. "Yes, sir. I'll bring her back right after her morning walk."

Rupert didn't answer. "And would you please tell Mr. Emerson I want to see him as soon as possible."

Rupert watched the boy turn, called him back. "Get your money from my purse, Gordy." He paused. "Take all you want."

* * *

Wade sat beside Joy on her bed, held her hand. She looked brutally pale, but otherwise okay. The paramedics had bandaged her hand and given her painkillers.

Hell, but he'd be glad when this night was over.

The police were finally wrapping up. They'd been all over the place, but all the statements jelled, so their job was straightforward. Joy agreed to be at the station tomorrow to go over her statement and answer any other questions. Wade thought of Lana Cole, shook his head. What a piece of work.

In the last couple of hours, he'd swallowed a lot of his distaste for her. Even had a grudging admiration at the woman's bottomless self-possession. More again when he thought of her saving Joy's life. The cops said it was doubtful, given the circumstances, she'd be charged. David—facing an attempted murder rap—wouldn't be so lucky. Wade's gut churned at the thought of the bastard.

Neither Wade nor Joy mentioned—by tacit agreement—his rant about bodies in the penthouse.

It was well after one before Room 33 was empty.

Except for its quota of blood.

Joy left Wade's side to go and pick up her papers and her laptop.

"You okay?" he asked, and got up to help.

She rubbed her throat where the bruises were beginning to show, raw and in full force. "It hurts to swallow, but I'm okay."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here." He stood, said again what he'd said a dozen times already. "I should have been." The bare truth of it was he'd never forgive himself for being such a dumb ass and falling for that bogus hospital call. He could have lost her, and the thought froze his bones.

"Does this mean you owe me one?" She walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and leaned her head on his shoulder. Felt right to him. "That if I knit you a hair shirt, you'll wear it?" she asked.

"I like blue," he said, relieved to hear the humor in her voice—the forgiveness. He pulled her close, kissed her hair, and breathed her in, pulling the scent of her to the deepest part of his lungs. He'd almost lost her... He hugged her tighter, not wanting to ever let her go.

The knock on the door made them jerk apart. Still way too many nerves jangling in this room.

"Probably the police. Maybe they forgot something," he said.

"Yeah." Joy wrapped her arms around herself and took a couple of steps back while Wade opened it.

"Gordy? What the hell are you doing up at this hour?"

"When we got home from the movie, Mom saw all the police and stuff. She sent me to check on Mr. Rupert."

Wade glanced at Joy; she'd relaxed a little and was looking interested. "And did you," he asked, "check on Mr. Rupert?"

"Yeah, he's okay. He said he wants you to come up as soon as you can."

Wade glanced at Joy. She raised her eyebrows. He'd figured he'd had his share of shocks tonight—and here was another. An invitation to Rupert's lair was the last thing he expected. Not that he planned on looking the old gift horse in his toothless mouth. "Thanks, Gordy. Now go home. Get some sleep."

Wade closed the door, turned to Joy. "I'm going up there."

A brief arc of fear crossed her pale features, but she stepped toward him. "I'm going with you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." And he sure as hell wasn't leaving her here. He'd had enough of this damn room to last a lifetime. Rupert was the last piece in the Hotel Philip puzzle, and he knew neither of them would rest until it slipped into place. And until all this bloody business was over, Joy wasn't going to be out of his sight.

"Let's go."

Chapter 19

The new bulbs Wade had put in the hall cast a garish white light, but at least it was light.

They walked in silence to the stairwell, then up to seven. Wade knocked, knocked again. "Rupert, it's Wade Emerson, open the door."

His voice came from deep inside the room. "Come in. The door's open."

Wade touched the door with one finger; it opened stiffly. He put the flat of his hand on it and pushed it aside.

The penthouse was black as a cave, and even though the light in the hall was faint, their eyes needed to adjust.

Joy groped for a light switch.

"I've turned off most lights," Rupert called out."All that gas in the bulb is quite dangerous when it heats up, you know."

Joy's useless clicking of the switch confirmed the lights weren't working.

"Follow my voice. I've lit a candle. It should be enough for our purpose."

Wade whispered to Joy. "I don't like this. Stay here."

"No."

Wade sucked up his temper. "Okay, then take my hand."

Hands clasped, they made their way along the murky hallway. After a turn, they saw the candle, its narrow flame licking uselessly against the black in the cavernous room. It was on the table beside Rupert's chair.

Rupert looked in their direction, but Wade was certain he couldn't see them outside the circle of candlelight. Not clearly, at least. Wade decided, for now, to keep it that way. He stopped abruptly, and Joy bumped into his back.

"Come in, please. Join me in a late night brandy."

Wade held Joy behind him, heard the clink of glass on glass.
"I
'll pass, thanks."

"I understand he's not dead. My David." The tone was mild, matter-of-fact.

"No."

"Unfortunate, given his failure to perform."

Wade, eyes now more accustomed to the poor light, saw him take a sip of brandy, then sit stone-still.

"I must speak to him about that," he said.

"Won't happen anytime soon, Rupert. 'Your' David will be going from a hospital bed to a prison cot in record time. And he'll be there a long time."

"Where, no doubt in an effort to make life easier for himself, he will—how do they say it—spill the beans?"

"He already has," Joy said.

Wade saw the old man straighten, set his glass on the table beside the lit candle. "You have the girl with you." His sharp intake of breath was audible in the dense quiet of the room.

"I haven't been a 'girl' for a very long time, but thanks for the compliment."

Rupert turned his head toward them. "You're impertinent and you're not welcome here." His voice was shrill, agitated. "Please go. My business is with Emerson."

"And what business is that?" Wade asked.

Rupert put his head back, and Wade could hear his stark breathing; when he spoke, he sounded calmer. "Instruct your whore to leave and I'll tell you."

Joy gasped. "Just a minute—"

Wade tightened his grip on her hand. "Why don't you go, Joy. Let Rupert and me talk man-to-man."

"You're kidding."

He whispered in her ear. "Don't go far."

"Oh," she whispered back. "Got ya." Then, in a louder voice, added, "Fine, I know when I'm not wanted. I'll wait for you downstairs." She took a couple of steps backward. In the dark recess of Rupert's hall, she made a show of closing the door.

"Good," Rupert said, sounding pleased. "A man should always control his lovers."

"How do you know we're lovers?"

"Mike had his uses."

"And that makes you what? A pervert by proxy."

Rupert ignored his comment. "Step into the light where I can see you." He waved a hand. "There's a chair, directly in front of me."

"No, thanks. I like to stand." But Wade did move deeper into the gloomy room, edged his way to the terrace doors. "And speaking of Mike, David tells us he's a resident here, that you've been doing a little burial work out on the terrace."

"David should know." He raised his glass. "He's quite expert in 'burial work.'"

Suddenly impatient, Wade said, "What the hell's going on here? Are you going to tell me, or do I go out there and dig up the answers for myself."

Rupert sniggered. "My, my, and aren't you just like your grandfather, full of piss and vinegar."

"I can't see this has anything to do with my grandfather."

"Oh, but it does. It has everything to do with him. Dear Joe." He let the name out on a wistful note. "Like you, he was always up and ready to get the job done, no matter the cost." He snickered. "I suspect you have no idea how up and ready he could be."

"Cost? What cost is there in exposing you for the avaricious, murderous son of a bitch you are?"

"Ah, now there's the question. There's always a cost, young Emerson. Your granddad taught me that. And if you'll be good enough to take the seat in front of me—where I can see you properly, I'll show you exactly what
you're
going to pay—and throw in a rather risqué story about your much-revered grandfather as a small bonus."

Silence pervaded the cavernous room, and for a few moments, Wade let it lie.

But he was curious.

He ambled over to the brandy bottle sitting on the liquor cabinet a few feet from Rupert and poured himself a drink. "I'm listening," he said.

"Sit, for goodness sake!" Rupert kicked lightly at the footstool in front of him. "It hurts this old neck, craning to look up at you."

Wade decided to humor the bastard and carried his brandy across the room to sit in front of him. And, God knows, he was curious about his relationship with Joe—or his version of it. He raised his glass to his lips, waited.

"Let's start in the middle, shall we? It's the best part, really." In the flickering light, his face cratered by shadows, Rupert's smile was wavy, grotesque. "It's when your grandfather became my lover."

Wade's hand jerked and his throat opened and closed reflexively over an inward rush of burning alcohol. "You're lying." He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Now, why would I do that?" Rupert's milky gaze settled on him like seepage. He was enjoying himself. He raised a white brow as if waiting for an answer.

Wade didn't have one, so he got to his feet and walked to the terrace. He pulled back a heavy curtain and gray city light slithered into the room. Joe and Rupert, lovers. He repeated it in his mind. Couldn't make it stick.