SEAL’s Redemption by Leslie North
5
The next day, Logan went with Hope to the Lord Baltimore hotel where Diana Lauren had disappeared two decades earlier. They were still waiting on the all-clear from the police about the Slayer situation, and until he knew for certain Hope was out of danger there, he wasn’t leaving her side.
He opened the door for her to the swanky lobby then followed her inside, the murmur of conversation between guests battling the low strains of piped in music over the speaker system surrounding him. As they traversed the marble and steel expanse, he took note of all the exits and service entrances as his SEAL training demanded.
“What are we here for again?” he asked, scanning the people for any signs of a threat. “Clues? Wouldn’t everything have been cleared away years ago?”
“No, not clues.” She gave him a look. “I just want to get a feel for the place. Helps me better describe it in my book. With this place, we’re in luck—they haven’t had a major remodel in years.”
Hope was thorough, he’d give her that. They walked around, checking every nook and cranny. Even the bathrooms. By the time they reached the bar, Logan had had enough. He didn’t like her parading around out in public in broad daylight with what had happened to her car.
“Ready to go?” he asked her for the umpteenth time.
“No.” She looked back at him over her shoulder as she surveyed the bar, snapping pictures with the camera on her phone. The place was closed for business, since it was only ten in the morning, and Hope was examining each inch of the place, it seemed. Her expression brimmed with annoyance. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway? Am I keeping you from something? You chose to come with me; I didn’t ask you.”
Huffing out a breath, Logan called on his fraying patience and glanced at the roped-off entrance to the bar again before answering. “I don’t like you being out here like this. All exposed and everything. It’s dangerous.”
She scoffed. “Listen, this is a five-star hotel. I doubt some rogue gang members are lurking around here. And isn’t that the whole point of you being here? To guard me against attacks?”
“Yes,” he ground out, heat prickling up from beneath the collar of his black T-shirt. “But part of protecting you means keeping you away from exposed situations unless it’s absolutely necessary. And I don’t see why we need this. You’re not even investigating anything. You could’ve researched this on the internet and saved us both a lot of trouble.”
“Trouble? You want to talk about trouble?” Hope started then stopped abruptly, taking in a deep breath. “Look, arguing won’t help us right now. Being here is good. It keeps the events of the disappearance fresh in my mind.”
Shoulders sagging, Logan relented, for now. “Fine. Talk me through it, then. At least that will keep us both busy, and it will fill me in on the details. Maybe I’ll even be able to help. I’m good at spotting things.”
With a nod, Hope turned around again to take more photos, this time of the bar itself. “Diana was last seen here at this bar. She was captured on security footage with Desmond Jones, and the bartender said that their conversation seemed friendly. After they left here, she booked a room at the reservation desk using Desmond’s credit card.” Hope moved closer to snap a few pics of the area behind the bar. “A witness told police she saw a woman matching Diana’s description go into the room Diana booked. But that witness was drunk and couldn’t remember many details—just the hair color of the woman she saw go into the room. There are no sightings after that. No one saw Desmond go into the room—in fact, the security footage makes it look like he left the hotel, though that may have been a ruse. There are ways around security cameras, if you’re willing to make the effort. Diana must have put in the work, because no one ever saw her leave. A few days later, she was reported missing.”
“You think they hooked up?” Logan asked, frowning.
“Maybe,” Hope said, pocketing her phone at last and swiveling to face him. “But like I said, I can’t prove it. The footage really does make it look like he left. Why would he do that? I mean, sure, he’s married, but why bother sneaking out and sneaking back in when he didn’t mind the security cameras catching him having a drink with her—or the computer system showing that he paid for her room? If he was looking for a one-night stand, why was the room reserved for an entire week? And why would he pay for Diana’s scholarship before she’d even met him?”
“Hmm. Good questions.” Logan worked over those facts in his head. “It’s interesting. I’ll give you that. But I doubt you’ll find any new evidence here, after all these years.”
“Maybe not, but I want to go over the photos I took anyway.” They started to walk out of the bar when Hope stopped and grinned, grabbing Logan’s arm. “Wait a second. I see someone I know and want to say hi. Come on.”
Before Logan could respond, Hope dragged him over to a short, perky, middle-aged brunette wearing a bright pink dress. Beside her was a woman who looked to be around the same age with a sleek, shoulder-length blonde bob and designer duds that looked like they cost more than Logan made in a year.
Hope hugged the woman in the bright pink dress, then turned to Logan with a smile.
“Logan Miller, I’d like you to meet Janet Reynolds, my friend and publisher.”
He shook hands with Janet, who then turned to introduce the blonde woman. “And let me introduce Clarissa Jones, a good friend of mine.”
Logan shook the blonde’s hand, unimpressed with her rather limp grip, then smiled politely while Hope did the same. Jones. Huh. He wondered if maybe the woman was connected to Desmond Jones, the man Hope had just been talking about. Jones was a common enough name, but given how she’d tensed beside him when Janet had said it, Logan thought she might have made a mental connection. If she’d looked up Desmond, then she’d probably know the name of his wife.
Hope seemed to recover quickly enough, though, focusing on Janet. “I didn’t expect to run into you here.”
“Oh, we were here for our society meeting, the Baltimore Ladies Association,” Janet said. “We’ve had our monthly meetings here for the last thirty years.”
“Wow,” Logan and Hope said in unison.
“This is the writer I told you about at last month’s book club meeting,” Janet said to Clarissa. “Hope is so amazing. In her last book, she uncovered so much new information that the police were finally able to make an arrest—after years of it being a cold case. She’s so thorough; she always finds details that everyone else missed.”
Beside him, Hope didn’t respond. She just stood there watching the blonde woman with an intent gaze.
The longer Janet went on about Hope’s investigation, Logan noticed the more pinched Clarissa’s expression became. He was sure of it now—she was definitely connected to Desmond Jones, and she seemed very unhappy with the idea of the case reopening. He supposed it could be stress around the idea of old questions being brought up again, and hurt over the reminder of her husband’s possible infidelity, but it was hard to tell since the woman’s face had been botoxed within an inch of its life.
“I’m sure as a society queen here in Baltimore your schedule is packed, but if you do have some time, Clarissa,” Hope said, adding just the right amount of deference to appeal to the obviously proud woman’s ego, “I would love a chance to speak with you and your husband about what happened. I think you both could offer some very valuable perspective on the case. It’s important to me to get your perspective, to see the full picture rather than jumping to any conclusions.”
Logan could see that Hope had meant that last bit as an inducement. There had probably been heaps of gossip and speculation back in the day, and Hope was offering this woman and her husband a chance to set the record straight. It was an olive branch—but Clarissa didn’t seem to take it that way. Something flashed in Clarissa’s eyes—cold and calculated—that sent a chill up Logan’s spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to calm down. This was a ritzy hotel lobby—not a battlefield, even if these high-society bitches and their back-stabbing ways could probably give Michael Myers a run for his money.
Perhaps he was just looking for trouble where there wasn’t any. In his line of work, it was an occupational hazard. Still, the longer they stood there, he couldn’t seem to shake the vague feeling of a threat, though, for the life of him, he couldn’t say why.
Finally, Clarissa spoke, her voice as icy as a glacier. “Miss Cabot, let me stop you right there. My husband and I have moved on from the Diana Lauren disappearance. We don’t speak to anyone about it anymore, least of all reporters.”
“But—” Hope started.
Clarissa held up a hand. “No. I’m sorry, but you won’t change my mind.”
“Come on,” Logan said, taking Hope’s arm to guide her toward the door. “It was nice meeting you ladies, but we need to go.”
“Wait!” Hope dug a business card out of her pocket and handed it to Clarissa. “If you or your husband change your minds, please contact me.”
