The Darkest Midnight. R. A. Finley

doors opened. Murphy stood waiting. For the elevator? No, Thia decided. For them.

      Taking advantage of their surprise, he stepped inside, reached past a furious-looking Abby to push the button for the top floor.

      She closed what little distance remained to get in his face. “Hey, we’re not—”

      He put his back to her to speak with Kendra. “Security told me you’ve taken a particular interest in one of our guests.”

      “We have,” she agreed. “Who is he?”

      “An acquaintance.”

      She crossed her arms. Glared. “I can get his name from registration.”

      Murphy’s expression hardened. “You can.”

      With Abby seething behind him, he and Kendra engaged in a furious staring contest that had Thia easing herself toward the back corner, as far from them as space allowed.

      Abruptly, Kendra’s shoulders sagged. “I could, but it won’t do me any good. It’s a fake?”

      Murphy merely lifted a brow.

      “Dammit, this is important.” She crowded in, pulled the emergency-stop button on the control panel to bring about an abrupt halt. “A matter of Thia’s safety beats whatever deal you’ve made with—”

      At the mention of her name, he turned, found her there in the corner. He nodded in greeting. “Thia.”

      Nonplussed, she nodded in return. “Mr. Murphy.”

      “Ah, such formality.” In a playfully theatrical gesture, he pressed a hand over his heart. His smile flashed with surprising charm. “Wound me, you do.”

      Abby inserted herself between them. “For goddess sake, is everything a joke to you?”

      The energy level in the small space shot up so fast that Thia’s head swam. Lights flickered as the car began to shake, and she recalled some of the words used to describe what tended to happen when those two got together. Words like volatile, explosive.

      Really, really not good words.

      “Hold it down, Abs,” Kendra said softly.

      “About this guest now, Thia,” Murphy said as if nothing of interest was going on around him. “Are you thinking he’s a threat to you and yours?”

      Considering, she looked from one friend to the other. She knew what they thought she should say, how they thought she should feel. But she couldn’t lie.

      “No,” she said. “I’m not.”

      “Thia.” Abby sounded like she was chewing nails.

      But at least the elevator stopped shaking.

      “What did he do that should worry me?” Thia asked. “He reminded me of someone, that’s all. Someone who has no reason to mean me any harm. Someone, remember, who saved my life—several times over.”

      “And if he isn’t Cormac, what then?” Abby asked. “He’s someone who is hiding who or what he is. Why? Maybe he’s a harmless spy the Brigantium sent to check up on you, but he might just as well be working with that bitch Cassie to—”

      “What he is,” Murphy said smoothly, “is a guest in this fine establishment. A guest, mind, who is entitled through very explicit and legally binding terms to privacy as well as anonymity.” He honed in on Kendra, his veneer of charm slipping to reveal something cold and fierce.

      “Should one such guest,” he went on, “be run down by a high-ranking hotel employee and her friends, for example, or perhaps accosted at his or her room and subjected to questions and accusations without tenable cause, then the consequences of that hotel employee’s actions—and those of her friends—would be dire. Disastrous, in fact, to that employee’s career. And quite out of my hands.”

      By the time he’d finished, Kendra had gone white. “Oh, God. I didn’t—”

      “—think. Aye, so I’d figured.” Murphy reset the button, and the elevator resumed its upward journey.

      “If you hadn’t....” Kendra closed her eyes. When they opened a second later, she seemed calmer. More composed. “Did security call you because of us—me—and what I was doing, or because they already had orders where he was concerned?”

      He smiled. “Yes.”

      “So we weren’t the first to take a ‘particular interest?’”

      “Safe to say.”

      Abby stepped forward again, thrust an accusing finger at his chest. “And you didn’t want us messing up whatever it is you’ve got going, right? Whatever deal you’ve made is more important than—”

      Kendra laid a hand on Abby’s arm. “Stop. I screwed up, Abs. He’s right, what he said. We enter a contractual bargain with every guest. What I was doing—what I would have gone on to do would have been in breach of that.”

      The elevator arrived at the roof. The doors opened.

      “Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies.” Murphy shifted so as to allow them to pass.

      “What? You expect us to just—”

      “Time to go.” Thia snagged Abby’s arm on the way out, and with Kendra taking hold of the other, they moved their friend along.

      Kendra gave her boss a backward glance. “Particular interest, you said?”

      The door began to close. He blocked it with a firm hand, exposing the leather cuff around his wrist. “Were I you, I’d focus my concern elsewhere. Should our man on Seven do anything tenable, shall we say, it will not escape notice.”

      Abby tugged free, turned. “And you’ll tell us?”

      Murphy removed his hand from the door, inclined his head. “As you wish. Abigail.”

      The door closed on what might have been a smirk.

      “Boss? Is everything alright?”

      They turned as Danny hurried out from the restaurant.

      “Yes, thank you. It’s fine.” Kendra sounded as stricken as she looked.

      The waiter, no fool he, didn’t seem reassured. “I didn’t know—that is, I had your food taken back to the kitchen to be kept warm. Should I bring it to your table?”

      Thia couldn’t imagine sitting down to dinner after all that. Not here, anyway.

      Nor, apparently, could the others.

      “My place?” Abby suggested.

      It would mean a bit of a drive, but maybe that was a good thing. Put some distance between them and whoever that man was.

      “Sure,” Thia said. “Sounds good.”

      Kendra made the decision unanimous. “Box it all up, please, Danny—and put it on my account. Thank you.” Her smile was shaky but wry. “I think you’ll be pleased with the tip.”

      

      Moments Earlier

       “Meriwether here.”

      The cellular connection was not the best. Slowing her pace, Edith wove together a clarity spell in her mind, then snapped her fingers beside the phone held to her ear. The static cleared. “Bea, it’s Edith Wilkinson.”

      “I know, dear. Caller I. D.”

      Edith cringed. “Of course.”

      She