“Sir,” Torie said firmly, “you don’t want your family to worry.” She refused to look at Melvin Jr. “And,” she lowered her voice, “if you let them give you oxygen now, you’ll probably be able to walk back into the building. If you don’t, they’ll insist you go to the hospital.”
The old man harrumphed and muttered, but he talked to the EMTs and allowed them to fit an oxygen mask over his face. His color cleared immediately and he began to breathe easily.
The older man gave Torie an appraising glance, and then, to her surprise, winked.
She smiled at him and looked away so she wouldn’t laugh. It felt good to laugh. Heaven knew she hadn’t had much reason for humor over the last few weeks.
“It’s clear, gentlemen.” A fire captain came over to give them the news. “We found where the alarm had been pulled.”
“Damn pranksters,” Pratt Sr. declared, pulling off the oxygen mask and carefully standing up. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said to the EMTs as he passed the mask back to them. One of the EMTs spoke quietly to him and he nodded, shooting a glance at Torie as he did. “I’ll do that. Thank you,” she heard him say.
“Now, let’s get back in the building and use the elevator this time.”
On their way into the building, Torie and Paul exchanged glances. “Are you going to call Tibbet?” she asked.
“Of course.”
In Paul’s area, the officer asked him to look around, without touching anything, to assess if anything was missing. “Officer, you may want to contact Detective Tibbet. My client,” he said as he indicated Torie, “has had considerable difficulties in the last few weeks, and this might be another attempt to scare or intimidate her.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll contact the detective.”
Torie was watching Paul. He was a good poker player, she was sure. Nothing showed on his face as he scanned the desk, the table where they’d been working, and the credenza behind his desk.
“Everything seems to be here,” he said finally.
“But not at my desk,” Martha said, coming in from the assistant’s area. “My PDA is missing.”
“Could you have taken it with you, or knocked it over in your haste to leave?” the officer asked.
Martha froze him with a look. “Absolutely not, young man. It was in a locked desk drawer, hooked to the charging station. It was deliberate.”
The young officer blushed, but got busy calling Tibbet. Once done with that, he also summoned the crime scene techs, at Tibbet’s request.
Martha’s phone rang and she picked it up. Her eyebrows rose as she looked at both Torie and Paul, but she concluded the call quickly. “Mister Jameson, if we could speak in private for a moment?”
“Certainly. If you’ll excuse us?”
Torie watched them, but could discern nothing from their body language. Although she’d slept well, she was beginning to fade. It was lunchtime, and she’d not eaten anything.
“Let’s go,” Paul said, taking her arm to ease her around the arriving officers. “Tibbet can come over to O’Briens if he wants to see us.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re getting lunch. You’re too pale, your hands are shaking, and I’m starving.”
“Wait a sec,” Torie said, remembering her shopping. “Missus Prinz,” she said to Martha, “would you mind checking the items I left with you?”
Martha’s lips tightened, but she turned to the nearly invisible closet door in the paneling. Opening it up, she gasped.
“No. No argument,” Paul insisted as they left the building at the end of the day. They’d spent the afternoon with the police going over what had happened to Torie’s things. The shredded garments from Martha’s closet were now in Tibbet’s hands. They’d been notified that they could pick up the few undamaged clothes from the Suites, since they were ready to release the room as a crime scene. According to Tibbet, there wasn’t much left, so Torie would have to go shopping again.
“Until we can find you a new bodyguard, you aren’t going anywhere alone, much less staying alone. I’d rather have you in my guest room than have both of us staying at some characterless hotel. We’ll pick up your remaining things and head to my place.”
“Paul, I don’t want to stay with you. I can call Pam,” Torie began. “And what about the bodyguard from this morning?”
Paul glared at her. “I thought Pam was your best friend.”
“She is.” Torie’s whole body bespoke insult.
“Then don’t get her hurt, dead, her house burned down, or anything else. The same reasons you had when you insisted on staying at the Hilton still apply.”
“I don’t think…” she stopped, and Paul nodded.
“Yes, you do. You think the same thing I do. Whoever this is, whatever it’s about, it’s directed at you.” Paul ushered her into his car. Once he got in, he continued the thought. “Better to be with me, someone who knows what’s up and can, hopefully help. Besides, the bodyguard from this morning could only work today. He has another gig, but he was able to cover you while you were out of my sight.”
Torie frowned into the darkening day. She spoke very little until they had picked up her meager things at the hotel and were driving toward his house.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, either, Paul.”
