Blood Red Dawn by Karen E. Taylor Page A

little pout.
    Sam smiled then and kissed her. “I can’t resist you when you do that. Really, go and have some fun. Just come back to me when you’re ready.”
    Viv tucked her hand into his arm. “Perhaps I do not wish fun after all.” She turned to me, “Mitch, do you want to ride up on the elevator with us?”
    I shook my head, “No, I think I’ll wait here for Lily and Claude, I saw them pull up just a second ago. And then maybe I’ll stop in the bar for a quick drink. Anyway, I doubt either of you need or want a chaperone.”
    They chatted quietly on the way to the elevator. I heard Sam laugh again, “Oh, I see,” he said, his voice low and tender, “you don’t have fun with me?”
    The elevator door closed then, cutting off Viv’s response. Lily and Claude walked into the lobby and came to the desk where I was waiting. Claude looked around expectantly. “Did Vivienne and Sam go out?”
    â€œNo,” I said, “Sam was tired so they just went to their room.”
    â€œOh,” Claude said, failing to hide his disappointment. “I was looking forward to seeing a little of London. Are you up for some sightseeing, Mitch?”
    â€œNot me,” I said, “The only sight I want to see for the rest of the night is a dark bar and a bottle of scotch.”
    He turned to Lily who’d picked up their keys at the desk. “How about you?”
    â€œNope, not me either.” She handed him the little envelope that held his key card. “Aren’t we a sorry bunch of party poopers tonight?” She laughed and my heart ached, she looked so much like Deirdre it hurt. “All I want now is a nice hot bath and a soft bed.”
    Claude threw up his arms in mock dismay. “And you dare to call yourselves night people? Okay, I’ll go by myself then, if I have to.”
    â€œTake the express, Claude,” I said, “and have fun.” I kissed the top of Lily’s head. “Night, kiddo, have a good one.”

Chapter 9
    T he bar was dark, and the scotch came in the form of a twenty-year-old single malt. I charged it to my room, hoping Vivienne had enough credit to cover it. After that it was a simple matter, all I had to do was keep the ice from melting.
    Three glasses in, the hunger hit. Should have gone to London with Claude, I thought, eyeing the emptiness of the bar, it would have been quicker and easier. As I got up to leave, though, a woman walked in. She was about the same height as Deirdre and the same weight, but the similarity ended there. Her straight dark hair shone in the light from the doorway, giving her the appearance of purple streaks throughout the black. She walked slowly, almost a saunter, and she had a lovely smile.
    â€œDrinking alone,” she said, as she slid onto the barstool next to me, “is no good. Didn’t your momma teach you better than that?”
    Her drawl oozed with pure southern charm and I smiled in spite of myself, extending my hand. “The name’s Mitch,” I said. “New York.”
    Her eyes laughed at me as she returned the handshake. “Diane,” she said. “North Carolina. Leave it to me to find the only Yankee in the bar.”
    I looked around us at the empty seats. “Yankee or not, I’m practically the only other person in here.”
    â€œTrue.” She picked up the bottle and examined it. “Nice,” she said, “but a little too much for me after a flight.”
    â€œMay I get you something?” I asked, motioning to the bartender.
    â€œWhite zinfandel, thank you.” She sipped the wine he brought. “Not bad,” she said, “better than the swill they were serving on the plane.”
    â€œHere on vacation?”
    â€œNo, business. I write for travel magazines, freelance. But it gets old real fast, you know? The planes, the cabs, the empty hotel rooms. How about you? You here for business