She still wasn’t straight on all the details, but Claude had been cleared.

The telephone on the front desk rang and Philippe picked it up.

“Josie, it’s for you.”

She was about to take it when Akela asked, “Do you have a few minutes?” Her demeanor was calm and cool, but her eyes held shadows of worry.

Josie regarded her, then looked toward the front desk. “Take a message, Philippe. And can you fix some coffee for the three of us?”

DREW STOPPED PACING the length of his hotel room and slowly closed his cell phone. At least he’d finally gotten an answer.

This morning, he’d sat at that bar for over three hours waiting for Josie to return. He’d finally given up and had returned to the Marriott where he’d called the Josephine every ten minutes or so. He eyed the papers strewn across the king-size bed. But why wouldn’t she take the call? Since Philippe had asked for a message-that Drew hadn’t left-he assumed the guy hadn’t known who Drew was, so he had no reason to believe she just didn’t want to talk to him.

He hated that he hadn’t been able to speak with her but he did feel better knowing she was back at the hotel.

Gathering up the documents, he put them in order then dropped them into his briefcase before snapping it closed.

Since he knew she was at the hotel, then he could go see her.

JOSIE SAT BY HERSELF in the courtyard long after Claude and Akela had left with promises to check back later and see how Josie was doing.

Claude had been released from custody and all charges against him dropped. Physical evidence had been found that didn’t belong to him or the victim, namely a hair inside the neck wound itself, as if purposely placed there.

Why hadn’t she been told about this evidence?

She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to recall seeing anyone else on that fateful morning.

Then there was the fact that the police suspected Frederique’s murder had been a copycat killing. It had been determined that she had been brutally raped before being killed, a detail not in line with the first murder.

Philippe took the empty chair opposite Josie.

“You ready to tell me what’s going on?”

She blinked at him, taking a moment to attach his words to their meaning.

Seeing him made her recall what she had been about to do before her visitors had arrived. She got to her feet, gathering up the papers on the table in front of her.

“Nothing’s going on, Philippe,” she said quietly, her mind already on the tasks she needed to see to. “At least nothing I can share right now.”

He got up, as well. “Then that means there is something going on.”

She started toward the lobby, heading for the stairs beyond, and was startled when Philippe grasped her arm.

She stared at him.

“Come on, Josie, don’t you think I deserve to know what’s going on? I mean, my job’s on the line here.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you know the minute I think it’s something you should know.”

She couldn’t really explain why, but he was beginning to irritate her. She looked down at where he still held her arm.

“Everything all right, Miss Villefranche?”

Josie glanced at Detective Chevalier standing in the garden doorway wearing his requisite wrinkled overcoat and holding his hat. While he’d spoken to her, his gaze was very obviously on Philippe.

Philippe released her abruptly, looking abashed. “I’m sorry. I’m just really worked up about everything going on here lately,” he said quietly.

Josie smiled at him softly. “I know. I am, too.” She glanced at the detective. “Everything’s fine.”

Philippe disappeared into the kitchen and she turned to face Chevalier, crossing her arms over her chest. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

He fiddled with the brim of his hat, turning it in a circle. “Could you have Mr. Morrison come down, please?”

Josie straightened the papers she still held in her hands. “Mr. Morrison isn’t here.”

“Do you know where I might find him?”

“At the convention is my guess.” She brushed past him on her way toward the front desk.

“Ah, that’s right. He’s in town on business, isn’t he?”

There was a touch of unmistakable irony to his voice that caught Josie’s attention. “Has there been any progress on solving either of the murders that occurred in my establishment, Detective?”

He squinted at her. “I don’t know. It all depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On what Mr. Morrison has to say.”

She leaned against the front desk. “I’ve already told you, he was with me the night of the murder.”

“Yes, but you also told me he was in town for a convention.”

“You just said yourself he was here for business.”

“Yes, but apparently an auto-parts convention doesn’t factor into that business. It’s my guess that Mr. Morrison wouldn’t know a gasket from an air filter.”

Josie didn’t like where this was heading. Her skin felt suddenly cold. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

She carefully placed her papers on the desk. Getting anything from Chevalier was like pulling teeth and up until now she hadn’t made the effort. Although, given the information Claude and Akela had shared, maybe she should have.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Detective?” she asked, crossing her arms again so tightly that she cut off circulation. “Or are we going to play more word games?”

He stepped to the other side of the desk and put his hat down. “How well do you know Mr. Morrison?”

Josie felt her cheeks flush. She’d already answered that question and didn’t care to have to repeat herself.

“Oh, wait.” He took his notepad out of his overcoat pocket and thumbed through its battered item. “You and he are engaged in a sexual relationship. Temporary.”

She glanced toward the courtyard, unable to meet his gaze. She’d been the one to add the word temporary. Because at the time, that’s what she’d believed it to be. The problem was she was coming to see that there wasn’t anything temporary about her growing feelings for Drew.

“That’s right.”

“So is it over?”

She recalled Drew standing outside on the street late last night and her chest gave a none-too-subtle squeeze. “Seeing as Mr. Morrison has checked out, I’d chance a yes.”

Chevalier smiled as he put his notepad back into his pocket.

“Oh, I have it on good authority that he’ll be back,” he said, placing his hat on his head.

Her heart gave a hopeful lilt even as dread spread in her stomach. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because he hasn’t done what he came here to accomplish yet.”

She didn’t say anything as he walked toward the door.

He turned before stepping outside. “He hasn’t gotten you to sell the hotel.”

HE WAS TOO LATE.

Drew knew that the moment he entered the hotel and the assistant manager, Philippe, considered him with barely concealed contempt.

He’d had a bad inkling all morning. Actually, since last night he’d had the strange suspicion that somehow, some way, Josie had learned the truth about him. And that had bothered him beyond his capacity to deal with it just then.

He looked around the lobby and courtyard and didn’t spot the person he was looking for, the only one who mattered in this entire situation.

“Where’s Josie?”

Philippe crossed his arms. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

There it was. What Drew had been dreading: she knew.

He turned toward the stairs.

Philippe moved faster than Drew would have thought possible, blocking his progress. “Whoa. Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find her.”

“I told you she doesn’t want to see you.”

Drew stared down the younger man, suppressing the urge to remove him physically from his path. He was surprised by the primal desire. For the past decade he’d used words to make his point, to wage his business war. He hadn’t resorted to physical confrontation since his stint in the military.