“Chris, tell me you're with Beth and she's okay.” His lungs ached from holding his breath. Nothing in the world mattered as much as the answer.
“Well, she's stuck listening to a mini-lecture about the history of maps from Sam, so she's in danger of falling asleep, but other than that, everything's hunky-dory.”
The news should have eased the flow of adrenaline through his veins, but it had the opposite effect. What if she hadn't been with his brothers? What if the asshole with the scar had found her and managed to drag her out of the hotel? He'd sure done a shitty job of keeping her safe.
“Where are you?”
“No need to get all growly. We're just leaving the buffet.”
“Meet me at the front doors.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hank hung up without bothering to say goodbye. Anger rippled through him, mainly at himself for thinking Beth would be safe surrounded by a bunch of hungover lawyers at a convention. So concerned with making a score, he'd failed to protect the football. Rookie mistake. Well, it wouldn't happen again. He'd be damned before Beth left his line of sight.
Each minute seemed like hours as he waited, jumpy and nervous. He'd almost convinced himself that something had gone wrong, and then he saw her. Sandwiched between his haggard-looking brothers, her caramel skin glowing with a special light.
Hank felt it the moment their gazes met, all the way deep into the marrow of his bones, like the answer to a question he didn't know he'd asked.
His.
She sealed herself to his side. “We have to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Right now.” They paused by the roulette table while Chris and Sam moved forward to watch craps.
“Spill.”
“It’s Sarah Jane.”
That threw him for a loop. By the time she’d outlined what she’d learned from Glenda, her own experiences and from her chat with Phil, he was convinced.
“So what do we do now?”
“There is no ‘we’. From now on, it’s me. You’re staying locked up in my hotel room with Chris and Sam until this is all over.”
“Bullshit.” She shoved a finger into his chest. “You wouldn’t even know it was Sarah Jane if it wasn’t for me.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re not in charge of this. I am. You can’t control every aspect of everything. Why don’t you just stop trying to?”
“Don’t try to pull that crap with me, Hank Layton. It’s my life. Not yours.”
He couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t only arguing about Sarah Jane. Taking in Beth’s flushed cheeks, the way her small tits heaved against that black dress and the desperation in her eyes, he surrendered. “Fine. Let’s find out what room she’s in.”
Signaling to Chris and Sam to wait, he and Beth approached the hotel registration desk.
“How may I help you, sir?” The clerk stood at attention.
“We need Sarah Jane Hunihan’s room number.”
“I’m so sorry, sir, but we can’t give out that information.”
Hank flashed his badge. “Room number, please.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No.”