The Twin Switch. Barbara DunlopЧитать онлайн книгу.
I have the waiter bring you your usual?” Bernard asked Max.
“Please,” Max said to Bernard.
To me, he said, “It’s a classic martini with a lemon twist.”
“Sounds good.” It did.
I hoped the drink would take the edge off my worry. Fretting over Brooklyn wasn’t going to help me find her any faster. When she showed up, she showed up.
“The drinks will be out right away,” Bernard said. “Please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“They really do know you,” I said to Max as I took yet another scan of the lobby.
“They do. But they treat all their customers well.”
That had certainly been my experience so far.
“This isn’t the kind of place where I usually eat,” I said.
He moved the glass-encased candle so we had an unobstructed view of each other. “What’s the kind of a place where you usually eat?”
“The Rock a Beach,” I said. “It’s a funky little seafood place on Moiler Bay. They have picnic tables on a covered deck. There’s great local beer on tap. You can get fish and chips served on newspaper or a wooden hammer to crack your crab. In the winter, they close it in with plastic sheeting and light a central fireplace. My family loves it.”
“It sounds great.”
“You wouldn’t need a suit.”
“It sounds like I’d need a bib.”
“Recommended.”
We both smiled.
“I’d like to take you there sometime,” he said.
I could see it. I could picture that. And it was great. The image was so compelling that it took me a second to realize what he was doing.
He was good. And I was a fool for following along like a little puppy dog.
I wasn’t usually swayed by emotion like this. I’m usually nothing but rational. I pride myself on it. I drew back, forcibly pulling myself from his spell. “Wow.”
“Wow what?”
“That was fast, and not particularly believable.”
“I—”
“You’re a smooth talker, Max Kendrick. But here’s a heads-up for you—what you’re after is not what’s going to happen.”
“That’s not where I was going.”
“Sure it wasn’t.” Logic and reason told me that much.
“You’re a skeptic, Layla Gillen. I’m simply enjoying our conversation.”
I wasn’t about to believe that. Guys often took a shot and backed off when you called them out on it.
Then again, he’d vaguely mentioned a second date. He hadn’t suggested skinny-dipping in his hot tub or checking out his hotel suite. Maybe I was too quick to judge.
“Okay,” I said. “My mistake.”
“No. It was my mistake for letting it come out wrong. Can I back up a couple of minutes and take a do-over?”
He could. I wasn’t about to say no when he put it so reasonably. But just in case I really did have his number, I was keeping up my guard.
Just as the chocolate soufflé arrived with Devonshire cream and a whole lot of pomp and circumstance, I spotted Brooklyn. She was crossing the lobby, her long blond hair swinging in a high ponytail. I couldn’t see her face, but I recognized her walk, the slant of her shoulders and the oversize green-and-gold earrings she’d bought from a funky little stand at Pier 54.
The soufflé looked magnificent—a molten center, topped with the Devonshire cream, powdered sugar and plump raspberries. I’d gone with a seafood salad for dinner, saving space for an indulgent dessert. But I couldn’t let Brooklyn get away.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Max, grabbing my purse and shopping bag as I slid from the booth.
The pastry chef and the waitress looked baffled.
“Is something wrong?” Max asked.
I kept my gaze on Brooklyn. She disappeared behind a pillar.
“I’ll settle up later,” I called back to him, tossing the words over my shoulder as I hurried away.
I felt terrible sticking Max with the bill. I told myself I could drop off some cash at the front desk. They might be sticky about confirming someone was a guest, but surely they’d take an envelope for them.
I also hated to waste the chef’s hard work. He’d clearly taken pride in the chocolate soufflé. I also selfishly hated to miss eating it.
That was twice today.
Indulgence karma was not on my side.
I could see now that Brooklyn was alone. Perfect.
The lobby was octagonal with four passageways leading off the four corners. She headed down one of them. I thought it led to the pool, an outdoor restaurant and an atrium garden.
I wanted to call out, but I didn’t think she’d hear me. And I was half-afraid she might try to escape. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to stay away from me.
I knew why she’d done that.
I knew that she knew that I knew she didn’t really want to do this. And she knew I’d talk her out of it without half trying.
I saw the paradox in my thinking. If she knew all that, she wouldn’t be hiding from me. She’d simply admit she was wrong, and I was right, and she’d made a big mistake. But I was always the rational one between us. Brooklyn was emotional, and she could talk herself into peculiar things.
She was still a hundred feet ahead of me when she turned again, disappearing from my sight.
I broke into a trot, then discovered she’d taken a doorway that led to the garden.
I followed on polished brick pathway that wound through lighted shrubbery and towering palm trees. I hurried, but I couldn’t see her in front of me. Then the pathway forked.
I stopped to consider my next move.
I could hear voices in one direction, and music and laughter. I could see the lights of a restaurant or a patio lounge.
The other way was quiet, no sound but a burbling brook beneath an arched footbridge.
Brooklyn liked to be where the action was, so I followed the music.
I came to a café called the Triple Palm. It was fresh and lively, with a breeze blowing through. Beech-wood tables and chairs were surrounded by greenery and decorated with lights and candles. A trio of musicians played in one corner, and a few couples danced on the raised floor. This was Brooklyn’s kind of place.
I did a methodical search of the tables. Then I checked the bar area. Then I repositioned to see the entire dance floor.
No Brooklyn.
I couldn’t believe I’d guessed wrong.
I didn’t have any time to waste.
I trotted again. It was hard to trot in the heeled boots, but they were better than pumps or spiked heels. That was for sure.
I made it to the fork and over the footbridge. Things got quieter around me. The music faded into the distance. The lights were fewer and farther between.
I listened hard, but I didn’t hear anything. My best guess was that