Silbie Luna just wanted to pass her classes and become the first undergrad co-captain for her derby team. She never thought shooting a promo for the athletic department would lead to a coveted role in a highly anticipated movie series. But not only...
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Other than a strand of hair, there was no proof she existed. Dante had decided someone had played a cruel joke. His brother hadn't won the most popular guest award at the hotel.
Room service left food at the door. Maids were only allowed to clean his room once a week. Then there was the altercation in the bar. No, he'd become known as the crazy guy in Room 302. From the amount of whiskey he ordered, the employees probably had a pretty good idea of his state of mind. Anyone could have easily planted the evidence just to drive him nuts. And if that was the case, too bad the culprit wasn't around to see his success.
"How long do you intend to play detective?"
"Until I find out why I was targeted."
"Targeted?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we'd been over this. Nothing was stolen, so why do you think it was some kind of conspiracy?"
Owen slammed his laptop shut. Dash came to attention and nudged Owen's knee. "I've said from the beginning something wasn't right. I feel it in my gut. I won't stop until I find out why it happened."
"Even professionals know they can't solve every investigation. That's why they have cold cases. Maybe if you stepped away from it for a while—you might see something you're missing."
"I wish you'd back me on this," Owen said.
Dante leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. The last thing he wanted to do was add to his problems. "I do, but have you considered someone in the hotel might have played a prank?"
"So we're back to the whole thing being my imagination? Let's say you're right. What are the chances I'd hallucinate a woman who happened to have the same color hair as those planted on my pillow? A trillion to one?"
Dante should have known better than to bring it up. What did it matter if Owen spent every free minute chasing ghosts? "You're right. I shouldn't have said anything. Your nightmares are better. You're getting out more. The anger episodes are less. I suppose improvements in those areas are a good tradeoff for an obsession for some girl you don't know."
"Getting out more hasn't been a choice. You need me, and I want to help because you've been here for me. So, where are we headed? You said to check on another boutique hotel Bea started, but you didn't say where."
"Change of plans. We're headed home. I need a few days to recoup." That wasn't a total lie. He needed a break. It'd been almost three weeks since Bea's death, and he'd been traveling non-stop. When the board received the news of his inheritance, they'd not been the happiest campers. But he'd sat in on enough meetings before her death, for them to know he wasn't some money grabbing hustler out to take his wife for everything she was worth. No, he was serious about maintaining her company's success, and since he now owned controlling interest, there wasn't much anyone could do but accept him.
"I have a couple of local projects I want to discuss. If you're up to it, maybe put you in charge."
