He looked at his watch. “Lilah, your life’s in danger.”
“Stop saying that,” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest.
He stalked back into the lounge area and unlocked one of the sliding doors. “Leave this unlocked. I’m going to come up this way.”
“What?” She blinked at him as though he were absolutely mad. “There’s no way …”
“There’s a way,” he responded grimly. “Just leave it open. Once I’m back inside, I’ll give you further instructions.”
Lilah shook her head. “What am I meant to do in the meantime?”
“What you would normally do.”
“Oh, sure, right,” she laughed sarcastically, but fear had formed beads of sweat on her brow. “What is it? Can you tell me?”
“No. Just … trust me.”
Lilah wanted to scream at him. She wanted to demand an explanation. But between Will’s exaltations that she trust him and Ki’s encouragement to do just that, she found herself acquiescing to the madness.
The door to the apartment opened. Will was relieved to see a different guard moving towards Lilah. But was he under the same faction as the other man? A protective anger burst through him and he loathed leaving her in that moment. “Thanks for the interview, madam,” he said with an encouraging smile.
A beat of silence passed. “You’re welcome.” She transferred her attention to the guard. “Yes?”
“The prime minister’s wife.”
“Of course.” She flicked her gaze to Will. “I look forward to our next meeting, sir.”
He nodded, wishing he could say something more to comfort her. “As do I.”
He collected his bag and flung it over his shoulder, then scooped up his recorder and notepad. With a growing sense of urgency he walked with the appearance of relaxed calm from the hotel suite.
The rebel guard was stationed outside her room. Will walked past with a simple nod in his direction, though how he’d have liked to thump him across his face!
Her penthouse was on the forty second floor. It took almost a minute to reach the lobby of the exclusive hotel, and then he had to suffer several long minutes of waiting behind a disorganized family arguing over their room configuration. He stared blankly ahead, mentally calculating what he had in his car.
“Sir, may I help you?” A woman smiled at him from further down the lobby.
He flashed a look of welcome at her and sauntered over. “Thanks. Just checking in. Room four one nine three.”
“Of course, sir.” She tapped at her computer and predictably frowned when her screen disputed his information.
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t have …”
“It might be under The New York Times, rather than my name?”
“The Times?” She shook her head. “I don’t see it.”
“What?” He winced and then leaned a little closer, aware of the precise moment when she began to look at him with a sort of speculation. Will was not immune to the effect he had on women; he simply didn’t particularly care for it. “My secretary’s son has been sick lately. She’s been with me for years, so I try not to let her know when she stuffs up like this. Worry about her job is the last thing she needs at the moment.”
“That’s so kind of you,” the women murmured approvingly, staring at his flop of dark blonde hair.
“The thing is, I’m interviewing someone … I can’t say who. A celebrity. She’s very fussy about things and insisted on that particular room. I can’t imagine why. But if she cancels the interview, Jan’s going to be in huge trouble with my editor …”
“It’s reserved in our system,” she said shaking her head, turning her gaze back to the screen. “But let me see what I can do.”
Will fought the temptation to br
eathe a sigh of relief. “I’m grateful,” he read the woman’s name from her tag before adding silkily, “Belinda.”