“So, this guy . . . does he have a name, or was this just some random, anonymous hookup? Because these things matter.”
She leans closer, taking a sip of her drink, her eyes twinkling with glee over the rim of her glass. I feel lighter now, having confessed this to her, and the specter of my dead relationship is too impotent to hurt me any longer. It shouldn’t be this easy to get over someone, should it?
I frown when her question sinks in. “I actually did meet him before, but only just this morning. It’s such a crazy coincidence,” I muse, then go on to explain my early morning encounter with the stranger in Mrs. Santos’ room. “Nina, I felt like I knew him already, from before that first meeting even. It didn’t feel like a random hookup at all. Is that crazy?”
“Well, if he has family in LA, there’s still a chance for you to look him up, which I am ordering you to do once you get back. At least assuming the stars don’t align and you happen to run into him while you’re in Denver.”
“As nice as that would be, I’m not going to hold my breath.”
11 Mason
“Jesus motherfucking Christ, Booth. You could’ve warned me to pack a warmer coat,” I gripe as I reluctantly step out of the car outside a swanky hotel. It’s fucking cold in downtown Denver. I’m not sure what I was expecting. “Cold” in Los Angeles wasn’t enough to prepare me for arriving to a deep-freeze.
Booth laughs at the continuous string of curses I let out as I zip up my coat, which does nothing to block out the chill. “This is actually mild for late December. It’s not even cold enough to snow.”
The mere mention of the word “snow” causes a cascade of shivers throughout my limbs. I hoist my bag over my shoulder and book it into the hotel lobby, and thank fuck that it’s warm.
The place is probably the fanciest hotel I’ve ever been inside, with a soaring central atrium that looks up at least nine stories to a stained glass ceiling high above. Balconies rise around the outside, lined with intricately detailed railings, all lit up beautifully with garlands and lights. The enormous Christmas tree takes up much of the central area, but is dwarfed by a massive chandelier.
“Do we have the budget for a room at a place like this?” I ask, recalling the less than comfortable accommodations Booth had to settle for in Mexico City, since his bosses wouldn’t clear a budget for someplace nicer.
“Your new best friend in Los Angeles is covering our stay. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. But I suppose it’s incentive to get this done right.”
He leads the way to the check-in counter, where the front desk clerk greets us with a bright smile. I chuckle when Booth requests not just one double, but two king rooms, adjoining if possible.
The woman frowns and eyes us both. Booth is in a suit and trench coat, looking the part of the clean-cut G-man as always, aside from his five o’clock shadow. I probably resemble a serial killer by comparison.
The clerk’s face flushes and her wary look at me shifts to true regret when she looks at him. “I’m sorry, but with the senator’s party this weekend, the suites are all booked. I have several doubles available.”
Booth dips his hand into his inside pocket and pulls out a pair of envelopes, smoothly sliding the two cards out of them to show her. My eyebrows shoot up when I read the fancy script engraved on the heavy paper. There are actual invitations to this shindig.
“We’re guests, invited by Senator Longo herself. If you have rooms in reserve for guests of the senator, I’d like to claim two. We need them for official business as well as rest.” With that, he slips one more thing from his pocket.
A flash of gold catches my eye from within the small black wallet. It’s an effort not to roll my eyes when I recognize his DEA badge where he holds it just out of sight of the clerk, ready to draw the big guns if he gets more resistance.
He doesn’t flash it at her right away. Instead he turns up the wattage on his smile as the woman inspects both invitations, then gives us an apologetic look.
“I see . . . Please just give me a moment.” She types madly on her keyboard, staring at the screen in front of her.
Booth leans over the counter slightly, checking the woman’s tag. His voice is rough and honey-sweet when he says, “Tonya, my partner and I have been traveling hard for the past twenty-four hours. This is the first real rest we’ve had in even longer. If you can help us out, I’d be in your debt.”
“I’ll do my best, sir. I just need to see some identification. Security for the party is very strict, and we’ve been asked to limit access to certain floors where the higher-profile guests are staying. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” He nods at me and I sigh, reaching for my passport and handing it to him.
He sets both IDs in front of her, the gold of his badge flashing beneath the twinkling Christmas lights. She does a double-take, but recovers quickly, a mask of professionalism slipping back into place. Still I catch her gaze slide surreptitiously to him, taking in his broad shoulders and the open neck of his white button-down shirt. He probably boarded his flight in a tie, but has since dispensed with it.
I’m not one to check out other men, but Booth is no slouch when it comes to staying fit. Not to mention his blond-haired, blue-eyed, all-American-hero looks don’t hurt when it comes to getting what he wants.
Had circumstances been different, I could have probably turned on enough charm myself to give him
