Page 67 of One Secret

Lana Caruso stands less than a foot away from us, a sparkle in her eye and a reproaching hand on her hip. The smile on her lips is painted a deep crimson.

'Now now...' She speaks with the prim tone of a Catholic schoolmistress. 'I'd hate to have to ban my cousin's honored guests from the hotel for indecent displays.'

'Kissing's a crime now?' Darcy demands teasingly. I can't squash the smug satisfaction I feel over how breathless she sounds.

So much for external validation being unnecessary.

'Oh please,' Lana jokes before fanning herself dramatically. Her nails are the same intense burgundy as her lips. 'That wasn't kissing, that was sex avec clothing.'

Darcy quickly checks that her shirt is still hanging in place and tucks her hair back behind her ear.

Lana's smile warms with sincerity.

'I was just on my way in,' she says, gesturing to the Lexington. 'You two ready?'

'That depends,' Darcy says, building yet more abutments under the bridge that is female bonding. 'How scary is your cousin?'

Lana rolls her eyes. Taking her arm like they're long-time friends, she steers Darcy towards the suite, leaving me to follow in their wake.

'Honestly?' She leans close, a stage-whisper in Darcy's ear. 'My cousin's a court jester sitting on a throne. You treat him like the king he thinks he is... and you'll be fine.'

I frown.

Lana's pitch is wisecracking and her smile blithe. But there's something... Something in her word choice or maybe her eyes... Something that makes me wonder if her comedy is all just familial ribbing at the expense of her loved ones or if there's a grain of real hostility beneath it all...?

'Welcome to the Lexington...' Lana says, falling naturally into her role as the hotel manager and opening the suite door with a flourish.

Inside, my years of experience have me assess the room in two sweeps. First, to quantify the basic parameters. Second, for the details.

A cursory glance sets the scene of an expansive dining room, complete with a large and ultra-heavy table set with high-backed seating for twelve. Four of the chairs are occupied: three men and one woman. Each is as lavishly dressed and displayed as the suite itself which could have been a set from the damn Godfather movies. Deep reds and golds are the predominant color theme, with all wood grains stained to the darkest mahogany. In contrast, the sconces on the walls are hyper-modern. Little squares of glass behind which flicker light effects reminiscent of candles. An ivory glow is cast over the cream ceramics arranged at each place setting and the glass tumblers and wine glasses glint and sparkle.

There are no windows.

Old-fashioned wooden paneling runs the length of each wall and the carpet beneath my soles is dense and deep. Both are excellent sound suppressors. I spy a small, white cube hidden in the shadow of one of the sconces, warning me that signals are just as choked out here. Had I been foolish enough to wear a wire or piece, the thing would have shorted out in my ear the second I stepped inside.

Whatever was, is, or might ever be discussed in the Lexington Suite... stays in the Lexington Suite. There is no eavesdropping to be had on this place.

Classy, expensive, and surprisingly effective.

It should be the Caruso family motto.

The people already at the table look up when we enter. It's clear from their body language that two of the men had been in quiet consultation with one another on the right-hand side of the table. The man sitting at its head had been playing with his companion's hair. Her long, strawberry-blonde curls are still tumbling from between his fingers.

'Finally...' Felix Caruso sighs with drama, eyes quickly locating Lana to my left. 'I was beginning to think we'd have to send out a search party.'

Rising from his patriarchal post at the head of the table, Felix comes to greet us in person. Nearly a foot shorter than her cousin, Lana has to look up at his approach, all simpering smiles and worshipful eyes...

As he nears, Felix extends me a formal hand but his gaze is decidedly informal as he leers over the front of Darcy's halter top. I try to keep my annoyance out of my grip as I make his acquaintance.

'Worried our guest had run away, Felix?' Lana teases.

'Of course not,' Felix laughs the idea aside before focusing on me. His grip is hard and unyielding. The flashing light of threat in his eyes turns their emerald green to a sickly tone of nausea.

His lips curl around his threatening introduction:

'No one,' he vows, 'ever runs from me...'

9

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