When Michael began to laugh, she realized she was the one getting all worked up now.
“Okay, no more lecturing,” Michael conceded. “I’ll even change the subject. Are you planning to stay at the hotel tonight, or will you pack your things and drive back with me?”
“I’m staying at the hotel.”
“Then you’ll check out in the morning.” It was a statement, not a question, and he expected her to agree.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know yet? You came to Boston to have some fun, didn’t you? And then you’re going to Scotland, right?”
Isabel’s cell phone rang, halting the conversation. She saw who the caller was and pushed the decline button. Then she answered his question. “Plans have a way of changing, Michael.”
Her cell phone rang again. It was the same caller and she once again declined.
She said, “He’s very persistent.”
“Who?” Michael asked.
“James Reid. He was calling me nonstop for a while, but I haven’t heard from him for several days, so I was hoping he had given up. He’s with a company called the Patterson Group, and they want to purchase Glen MacKenna. That’s the name of the land I’ll own soon,” she explained. “Or have I already told you that? They offered what they insist is a good and fair amount. Those were
Reid’s words in the multiple messages he left. He even suggested that their attorney would be happy to get the papers ready for my signature.”
“And?” He was determined not to tell her what to do. She should make up her own mind. Still, he wasn’t going to let her do anything crazy.
“And I’m going to get my own attorney.”
“Good girl.”
“My great-uncle, Compton MacKenna, was a very peculiar man. He wrote a letter to me. It’s in a sealed envelope, and I’m not supposed to open it until my birthday, not a day before, in the solicitor’s office.”
“Before you sign anything, you’ll want your attorney to go over all of it, too. Right?”
“Of course.”
She waited, and when he remained silent, she asked, “Aren’t you going to say ‘good girl’ again?”
“No, you only get one of those a night. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Feigning surprise, she said, “Why, Michael Buchanan, I think you might have a sense of humor.”
“But I’m still a pompous jerk?”
“A pompous, arrogant, obnoxious jerk,” she corrected, “. . . with a sense of humor.”
“Don’t forget dumbass.”
“I won’t,” she assured him with a grin.
When they arrived, the Hamilton was teeming with people. On one side of the lobby a dozen or so women, surrounding another woman decked out in a pink boa and a plastic crown, were headed toward the bar. On the other side a group of men in business attire were shaking hands and exchanging business cards. And at the front desk a team of college-age athletes stood in a cluster waiting to check in. From the size of them, one would conclude they played rugby or football.
Michael waited until they had made their way through the noise and hubbub and were in the elevator to ask Isabel to explain why she wanted to stay at the hotel.
“The house is already crowded,” Isabel explained. “There won’t be room for me.”
“There’s room.”
“I’m not fit company.”
“Sure you are.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
She wasn’t sure how to say what was at the top of her list and so she settled on what Michael had called it. “My bad experience.”
“What about it?”
“I want to find out the name of the man I killed. Did he have a family? Did he shoot people for a living? Was that his occupation?”
“You want his résumé?” he asked, trying not to laugh. “You can’t interview him. You killed him.”
Isabel’s whole demeanor withered, and Michael immediately regretted his words.
“I’m sorry, Isabel,” he said. “That wasn’t funny.”
“I’m just saying . . .”
“That Detective Samuel has the information you’re looking for but won’t share it?”
“Exactly so. Detective Walsh is still in critical condition.”
“How many times did you call to check on him today?”
“Just a couple of times.” In the last two hours, she silently added. In all, she’d pestered the nurses at least six or seven times. “I’d like to go see him.”
He didn’t know what a visit to the hospital would accomplish, but Michael could see how important it was to her, so he didn’t argue. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“You will? Thank you. I don’t know anything about Detective Walsh except that he came to Boston from Miami. Why was he here and what was he doing on that street? He had a reason, and by now Detective Samuel should know what it was.”
“You shouldn’t worry about this. You aren’t part of the investigation now. You just happened to be on the street when the gunman tried to kill Walsh. You saved his life, Isabel, and you should be proud of that.”
“I did stroll right into the middle of it, didn’t I?” she asked, and before he could respond she said,
“Aren’t you at all curious to know what Detective Walsh was up to?”
“Eventually we’ll find out. After Samuel finishes his investigation, he’ll tell us.”
“You think?”
“Yes.”
“I know Walsh is still unconscious. I just wish I could grab him by his shoulders and shake him until he wakes up.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” he said. Then he asked, “What else is on your mind?”
“A couple of things. I won’t bore you with the details.”
“Go ahead. Bore me.” He took the room card she handed him and opened the door.
Isabel walked in ahead of him, and as the door closed behind them they stood facing each other in the alcove. It was dark, but neither one of them reached to turn on the lights. Her back was against the wall, and he was close enough for her to feel his heat.
“Isabel?”
She realized she’d zoned out and said the first thing that popped into her head before he could tell her to focus on the task at hand. That seemed to be one of his favorite expressions. “I wish I weren’t a video on YouTube.”
“The singing or the shooting video?”
Startled, she asked, “What did you say? The video of me shooting that man is on YouTube for everyone to see?” She felt a sudden chill down her spine.
“Yes, but—”
“Oh my God . . . People see me killing a man . . . and with all that blood . . .”
“Your name isn’t attached. No one knows who you are.”
“Yet,” she said. “They’ll find out.”
She took a shaky breath, and when she tried to take her room card from him, Michael saw her hands were trembling again. He reached for her and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight. Isabel put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him.
Intense sensations began to course through Michael’s body. He knew he needed to put a stop to them before things got out of hand and it was too late to turn back. Gently letting go of her, he lifted her chin to look at him.
“Nick is getting it taken down,” he promised.