Here Comes Trouble Page 0,4

single. Top floor if you have it. Doesn’t have to be fancy.”

She nodded and snagged a key from the hook under the counter. “One key will be okay?”

He nodded and palmed the key off the polished wood countertop. His hands were broad, tanned, and surprisingly well maintained. In fact, the brief flash she’d had of his long fingers, she’d have sworn he had a manicure. That…so didn’t seem to go with the rest of the persona. “How many nights?” She glanced up to find him looking at her, but she didn’t think he was actually seeing her. Hard to say. He was still wearing his sunglasses.

“Not sure. Is that a problem?”

So many things about this guy weren’t adding up. She could lie and tell him she was booked solid starting the coming weekend, but given the fact that he’d seen just how busy she’d been over the past month…or three, she didn’t think she could pull that off with the sincerity required. “No, that’s fine. How will you be paying? I take all major credit cards—”

“Cash,” he said.

She tried—and was certain she failed spectacularly—not to gape when he pulled out a wad of bills being held together with a wide paper band. The kind of band that looked like a bank band. What the hell did that mean?

He peeled off several bills and laid them on the counter. “That should take care of the next few days.” He wasn’t trying to flaunt it, nor was he coming off with any braggadocio or arrogance. In fact, he tucked the wad away as swiftly as he’d pulled it out.

“I—um, yeah, I mean yes,” she said, taking the bills—the one-hundred-dollar bills—off the counter. He hadn’t even asked her rates. “That will be fine. Wine, cheese, crackers will be available in the front parlor at five and I can direct you to several local restaurants for lunch, dinner, depending on—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, sliding the strap of his gear back over his shoulder. “And don’t go to any trouble for me with the wine. I doubt I’ll be back down tonight.”

“Okay,” she said. Despite the mane of curly, wind-tossed hair, the beard stubble, and beat-up leather jacket, he seemed a rather decent sort. Quiet, mannerly. Then there was the wad of bills and salon-maintained hands. And the fact that she still hadn’t seen his eyes yet. Eyes said a lot about a person. She tried to pull her thoughts together. After sliding the bills into the cash drawer under the counter, she stepped out from behind the desk. “Let me show you to your room.”

He glanced at the key. “Number seven?” Then his lips curled briefly and he muttered something like “Lucky seven,” under his breath.

“Yes, top floor, back corner, nice view down the valley and the front range from your window.”

He curled the key into his palm and shifted his gear bag up farther on his shoulder. “I’m sure it will be fine. Thanks.” He gave her a nod, then started up the stairs.

She watched as he turned at the first landing and kept climbing, his heavy tread on the steps at odds with his otherwise quiet demeanor. She briefly thought that perhaps she should follow him up for security reasons, but it wasn’t like he wouldn’t have ample time to explore the place, and she couldn’t be everywhere at once. There were cameras installed discreetly in the top corner molding at the ends of each hallway, but they weren’t hooked up to anything yet. The guests didn’t have to know that, however.

As soon as she heard the creaking floorboards up overhead, she slid the paper from the copier and turned it over. “Brett Hennessey,” she read, then skimmed the rest of the information. He was from Las Vegas. And, noting he’d just turned thirty right before the holidays, he was ten years younger than she was. She smiled at herself and all her fluttery little hormones. So he was a little older than she’d thought, but the only other surprise was that he hadn’t ma’am’d her. If he’d noticed her reaction to him at all, he’d probably thought she was having a hot flash.

She penned a quick note on a small sticky pad, peeled it off and stuck it on the paper copy of his license, and then slid it in the fax machine and sent it off to Thad. Not that she was truly concerned, not really. Still, Las Vegas, long way from home, big wad of cash, dusty