Connecting Rooms(16)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Amy smiled weakly. “That’s what I said.”

“Or a drunken transient.” Hawkins carried the cup back to his desk and lowered his considerable bulk into the chair. “Happens once in a while. Come mornin’ we’ll find the truck abandoned outside of town or in a ditch. You’ll see.”

Owen lounged against the wall near the office window and studied Hawkins with brooding speculation. “Whoever was behind the wheel aimed directly for us. If we hadn’t made it up the steps and into the alcove, we wouldn’t be here talking to you now.”

Hawkins squinted at Owen. “Which brings up an interestin’ point. Mind tellin’ me just what you two were doin’ out there behind the library at this hour of the night?”

Amy caught Owen’s eye and held her breath. She could hardly blame him if he told Hawkins the whole story, but a part of her still wanted to protect Arthur Crabshaw.

Owen shrugged. “Amy and I took a walk in the park after the band concert.”

“The park I can understand,” Hawkins said. “But what the hell were you doin’ behind the library buildin’?”

“Looking for privacy,” Owen said smoothly. “We got there just as some meeting was ending. We went around the corner to avoid the crowd.”

Hawkins gave him a man-to-man look. “You two want privacy, you better leave Villantry. This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business here.”

“Is that a fact?” Owen asked politely.

“It’s a fact, all right.”

Owen straightened away from the wall. “Then it shouldn’t take too long to find out who was behind the wheel of that city truck, should it? If and when you do find out who nearly ran us down tonight you can reach us at the Villantry Inn.”

Hawkins glowered at him. “I know where you’re stayin’.”

Owen smiled coldly. “Right. This is a small town. You know everything.”

“Yep. I also know you two got connectin’ rooms at the Villantry Inn. Try usin’ them next time, instead of takin’ a walk in the park.”

• • •

“What a rude man,” Amy said as they walked into the Inn lobby a short while later.

“Hawkins is a cop,” Owen said with a surprisingly philosophical air. “Rudeness is a job requirement.”

“I fail to see why.”

“You wouldn’t if you ever took a job as a cop.”

The front desk clerk, a thin young man with thick glasses, smiled tentatively at Owen. “Mr. Sweet, there’s a message for you. From Arthur Crabshaw. He wants you to call him.”

“Thanks.” Owen paused at the front desk to collect the slip of paper.

Amy was aware of the tension in his hand as he guided her toward the stairs. She said nothing as they walked up the one flight to their rooms. When they started down the hall, she slanted a questioning glance at Owen’s set face.

“What is it?”

“I won’t know for sure until I return Crabshaw’s call. But I can make a guess.”

“Oh, my God, you don’t think—”

“Shush.” Owen opened the door of her room and ushered her inside.

Amy turned, expecting him to go next door to his own room. Instead, he stepped through her door and closed it behind him. She raised her brows.

Owen smiled faintly as he switched on a light. “No point being coy, is there? We’re supposed to be engaged. Hell, even the local chief of police knows we’ve got connecting rooms.”

Amy flushed. “Yes, I know, but—”

“When you go undercover, you’ve got to make it look real or it won’t work.”

“I keep forgetting you’re the professional here,” Amy muttered.

“I’ve noticed.” He went to the table, picked up the phone, and dialed the number on the slip of paper.

“Arthur? This is Owen Sweet. Yeah, I got your message. What’s up?” Owen fell silent, listening for a moment. “I hear you. Calm down.”

Amy watched anxiously.

“Right. Tomorrow night,” Owen said. “Just as I thought. Follow instructions exactly. We’re going to nail the bastard this time. I’m not in the mood to give him any more rope. He just tried to run us down. No, I’m not joking. Amy could have been killed.” Owen paused. “Yes, I’m sure it was him. A kid? That’s what Amy thinks, too, but I’m not a great believer in coincidences.”

Amy waited until he had hung up the phone. “Another blackmail note?”

Owen nodded. “Arthur says it arrived earlier this evening. He’s to leave the money in the library restroom tomorrow night.”

“Just as you suspected.” Amy was impressed. “But why would the blackmailer use the same location over and over again?”

“He probably can’t think of a safer place. The restroom is still the one spot where any man in town can be seen with no questions asked. And as I told you, it will be busier than usual tomorrow night because of the crowd.”

Amy nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. “If the blackmailer suspects that you know about the payoffs, he’ll be nervous when he sees you at the dedication ceremonies tomorrow evening.”

“Not necessarily. He realizes that although he knows who I am, I don’t know who he is. He can go in and out of the men’s room just as freely as I or any other man in the crowd can. But he won’t take any chances this time. He’ll make it a point to get in there right after Crabshaw. He won’t know that I know about the drop-off. He’ll think it’s safe to go in as soon as he can.”

“Before you have a chance to grab the money?”

“Right.”

• • •

Amy listened to the silence from the adjoining room for a long time before she couldn’t stand it any longer. She could almost hear Owen’s brain grinding away in solitude.

It struck her that he had probably spent a lot of his life alone. The very nature of his chosen profession indicated that he was accustomed to relying solely on himself. There was a core of strength in Owen Sweet that rarely developed in those who relied on other people.

He possessed an old-fashioned, Wild West sort of character, she thought. He was the kind of man who, a century earlier, would have ridden into town alone, cleaned out the bad guys, and then left without a backward glance.

She pushed aside the covers, got out of bed, and padded to the closed door that linked the two rooms. She put her ear against the wooden panel and listened. Still no sound. But she was certain that he was not asleep.