The hotel was just off Jackson Square.
We caught a cab instead of using my dad’s driver. Maintaining anonymity was a bitch. The rain had cleared out, and the sun was shining. The cabbie dropped us off on the corner of Orleans and Bourbon so we could walk to the main entrance from the side street.
“I brought my computer,” Dune said, lifting up his backpack. “Did you look at the file I sent you? If we have time, we could go over it.”
I had a vision of us sitting, our heads bent close together, staring at his laptop screen. It progressed to our hands touching accidentally, and then our shoulders, and then …
He was looking at me, and I was standing on Bourbon with my mouth hanging open.
“Sure. If we have time.” I’d only skimmed it. I pushed my sunglasses up on my head so I could see his eyes. “We’ll check in first. I need you to scout the case the crystal ball is in. Make sure it’s movable, see if there’s a lock, that kind of thing. It’s in front of the check-in desk. We’ll do some observing, and later, I’ll create a diversion in the lobby while you take the crystal.”
“If that doesn’t work?” he asked.
“Then we’ll apply stealth.”
“Maybe we should apply it from the get-go.” He put his hand at the small of my back, and the valet and the doorman held the double doors open for us. The lobby was full of grandiose furniture, fine art, and huge bouquets of flowers in crystal vases. The blooms smelled absolutely divine.
I sashayed up to the check in desk and plopped down my fake ID and credit card.
“Welcome to the Bourbon Orleans. How may I assist you?”
“Check in. Christian Arnold.”
“Yes, miss.” Her name tag read OLGA, and I was pretty sure the accent was Norwegian. “Would you like to leave the room on this credit card?”
“I would. And you should have a package for me?”
She frowned. “I don’t see a note on the reservation. Just a moment, please. Excuse me.”
When she disappeared through a doorway, I pushed Dune away from the desk. “That case. Over there. Just be casual.”
I turned back just as Olga came around the corner.
“I’m sorry, Miss Arnold. We didn’t have anything for you.”
“Oh, let me check my e-mail and make sure I read it correctly.” I was trying to give Dune more time, but cut it short when I realized Olga was doing a thorough job of checking him out. “Never mind. I’ll look later.”
I stared at her for a couple of seconds before she startled and began flipping through a stack of papers.
“Certainly. And you’ll be staying in one of our signature Saint Ann balcony loft suites. I do hope you’ll enjoy it. It’s very romantic.” She shot a look of approval over my shoulder.
“Romantic?” Oh hell. When Dad’s assistant had made the original reservation over a month ago, she’d counted on me being in the hotel alone, and Poe popping in and out. No need for two rooms or for two beds. “Do you have anything else?”
“We’re booked for the weekend, but the suite is one of our nicest. I’m sure it will meet your expectations.” I turned to see that she was focusing on Dune, who was leaning intently toward the glass case and talking to a hotel employee, while
“I’m sure it will be lovely. Where’s the elevator?” I asked with forced cheer.
Olga pointed. “Right that way.”
I gave her a smile that displayed all my teeth, then spun on one high heel and approached Dune, grabbing his arms and dragging him away from the case.
“Thanks for the info,” Dune called out over his shoulder to the bellman.
“Enjoy your stay,” the bellman said back, tipping his cap.
“I’m sure I will.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I muttered, squeezing his elbow and steering him toward the elevator.
“You don’t have to squeeze so hard.” I stifled a yelp. “Or pinch.”
Hallie pinched me again, I guess for good measure. “Could you have been any more obvious?”
“There was a plaque with tiny, tiny print that covered the occult in Victorian times, and information on the
According to the plaque, the Bourbon Orleans had lived through many incarnations, starting as the home to the Orleans Ballroom in 1817. It had seen masquerades, carnival balls, and quadroon balls, and then turned into a convent and a school. In 1964, it became a hotel, with a reputation for excellent service and numerous hauntings.
From the orphan children who’d suffered through the yellow fever epidemic to a Civil War soldier to a dancer who whirled under the ballroom chandelier, there was a promising possibility of ghosts, or a terrifying rip or two.
“You didn’t need to ask questions. You were talking to an employee about the thing we are planning on stealing.”
“You said we were retrieving, not stealing.”
She pinched me again as we got on the elevator.
“You’re bossy,” I said. “Maybe a little bit mean.”
“It’s like you forgot why we were here.”
“Maybe I was a little thrown off when I overheard that we’re staying in the ‘romantic’ loft suite.” Or a lot thrown off.
The elevator doors dinged open. “It just worked out that way. Don’t worry, Saint Dune, I don’t plan on compromising your integrity.”
“No, of course not, because stealing has nothing to do with integrity.” The words were a whisper, but they echoed down the hallway.
“Retrieval,” Hallie said through gritted teeth as she pushed me inside the suite. “Here’s an idea. Try not to blow it all before we even get started. And I told you, we’re not … whoa.”
A red leather couch was backed up to an exposed brick wall. Across from it sat a small desk and a huge flat screen. The room was perfectly proportioned. French doors opened onto a private balcony, or gallery, as they are called in Lousiana. A split staircase led upstairs. To the bedroom.
Where there was one bed. One big, big bed and a bottle of champagne.
“I’ll take the couch,” I said. Or better yet, we’d finish the job today, and I would go home, lock myself in my apartment, and stand in a cold shower for two solid days.
“Don’t be passive-aggressive.” She threw her bag on the desk, unzipped it, and pulled out a sweater. “We can share the same breathing space for a day. Screw this job up and get me in trouble, and I’ll be forced to find inventive ways to injure your man parts.”
I tried to hide my smile as I sat down on the couch. Everything with Hallie was easy and complicated at the same time, in the very best way, but being alone with her in a hotel room with one bed was one complication I had no idea how to handle.
“Maybe you just want to think about my man parts.” Apparently I was going to handle it overtly.
She blinked a couple of times. Finally. I’d managed to throw her off. “Maybe I should do this myself.”
“I said I was in. I’m supposed to be helping you.”
“Right. Because you were so helpful in the lobby?”
“We both know you could do this job blindfolded in a blackout,” I argued. “Just like I know why you want to be here.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“You wanted out of your house,” I said. “You’re out. What else is there?”
Her look of frustration told me there was a lot more. “Maybe I wanted to get somewhere private and give you a chance to kiss me.”
