I cleared my throat and, with my head high, stepped around them and off the elevator. Beside me, Tyler chuckled. “Shocking to think that they must know where we’re going and what we’re planning to do.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “They couldn’t possibly,” I said. “I don’t even know what we’re planning to do.”

He laughed. “You make a good point. But isn’t the anticipation delicious?”

I kept my mouth shut, deciding that silence was the wiser course, and followed him down the narrow ninth floor hallway. I’d never been on the guest level of such a fancy hotel, and I was just as impressed by this simple space as I had been by the Palm Court downstairs.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, letting my fingers stroke the molding and cream-colored wallpaper as we walked past door after door.

“It was built in 1920, and no dollar was spared. Did you know that Peter Ustinov once said that walking in The Drake was like walking on diamonds?”

“The actor?”

“Mmm. The list of people who have stayed here would make a gossip rag drool. Actors, royalty, even criminals.”

“Oh, really?” I said, working hard not to sound too amused. “Like who?”

“You ever heard of Francesco Nitto?”

“The Enforcer?”

He lifted his brows, then nodded with approval. “You know Chicago history.”

“I know about the Outfit,” I said, referring to Chicago’s infamous organized crime ring, the most famous leader of which was probably Al Capone. “Nitto stayed here?”

“Lived here,” Tyler said. “Kept his office and a suite of rooms. That was in the ’30s and ’40s. Later—” He cut himself off with a laugh. “Sorry. The Outfit is one of my obsessions.”

“It’s interesting stuff,” I said, filing that tidbit away for future reference. Not that it was very telling. All you had to do was look at Hollywood to know that most of the population was fascinated with organized crime.

“Architecture and real estate are my other obsessions,” he continued. “Put them together and I’m known to get carried away. The Drake is like a perfect storm. But that’s also one of the reasons I decided to stay here. This way,” he added, pushing open a door and revealing a hidden set of stairs. I eyed him curiously, but didn’t ask. And when he headed up the stairs, I obediently followed.

We emerged onto a landing for the next floor. As I followed him down the hall, I was going to ask why the elevator didn’t go this far, but he’d already unlocked the door to our destination and pushed it open. The moment I got a look inside that room—although the word “room” didn’t do it justice—all other thoughts left my head.

“Good god,” I said.

“Spectacular, isn’t it,” Tyler said, the appreciation clear in his voice.

“That pretty much sums it up.” The suite was decorated in shades of white and cream. The furniture looked old, and I assumed it had been selected to complement the hotel’s heritage. Or, for all I knew, maybe it was original. If so, it had been incredibly well-maintained.

Fresh flowers dotted all the surfaces. Artwork—mostly portraits and landscapes—hung in decorative groupings on the walls. Everything seemed rich and opulent, yet nothing seemed overdone.

“Wow,” I said.

Tyler nodded. “To be honest, it’s not my style. The architecture, yes. But my taste in furniture and interior design is more contemporary. But I can’t deny this works.”

“Yeah. It really does.” I stepped farther into the living area, trying not to be overwhelmed. Growing up, my dad’s idea of a fancy hotel for vacation was the Holiday Inn. And although my stepfather had money, I felt lucky if he remembered to give my mom cash for groceries.

Now I earned my own money, but I rarely had a reason to stay in a hotel, and when I did, I usually defaulted to the Holiday Inn. I was Daddy’s little girl, after all. And considering my skimpy cop paycheck, the price was right.

That’s not to say I hadn’t been in some pretty fancy apartments and hotel rooms. I worked homicide, and murder wasn’t picky about the price tag. But this room was beyond anything I’d ever seen. As far as I was concerned, I wasn’t standing in a hotel room at all. Instead, I’d been transported to an alternate universe.

I allowed myself one long, low whistle before turning to Tyler. “Let me guess. You’re really a foreign prince traveling incognito.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Nor would I want to be. I made my own way in the world. Family had very little to do with it.”

I heard the hard edge in his voice. “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to push a button.” I knew better than anyone that discussions of family could spiral down into unpleasant and unwanted territory.

I saw his chest rise and fall. “No, I’m sorry. My childhood should have been idyllic. It wasn’t.”

I nodded. I knew the feeling.

“It’s taken me a long time to cut loose from all those threads. But that has nothing to do with you and nothing to do with this room.” He took an appreciative look around. “It really is over the top, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit.”

He gestured toward a pristine white sofa that I realized was upholstered in silk. “Would you believe me if I told you that a prince really did live here once?”

I let my gaze linger on the various small treasures. Vases. Paintings. Fancy bric-a-brac. “I think he left behind some of the royal treasure. Wait, you’re serious?” I added, seeing the smug expression on his face.

“Cross my heart. A prince and a princess. They had a long-term lease, but decided not to renew when it came due about a year ago. The rumor is they’re going to spend a few years in a similar property in Paris.”

“So you decided that you needed to crash here after the engagement party? Soak up a little of that regal buzz?”

“Oh, it’s much worse than that,” he said. “I live here.”

I gaped at him. “Come again?”

“I needed a place to stay. And this was available. I love the convenience of living in a hotel. I love The Drake. And you have to admit, it’s got a stunning view.”

I glanced toward the window where Michigan Avenue’s lights twinkled like Peter Ustinov’s diamonds. “Yeah. It does.”

“Besides,” he added with a boyish grin, “it was too fucking cool to pass up.”

I laughed. “Can’t argue with that. But I thought you ran more contemporary. You don’t strike me as the kind of man who compromises on what he wants.”

“No,” he said, looking at me so intently I wasn’t sure if we were still talking about the room. Then his face cleared and he smiled. “But I’m only leasing the place for another six months.”

“And then?”

“Then I’ll see where the wind blows.”

“Away from Chicago?”

“No. I love it here. I grew up here.”

“Then surely you already have a house?” From my research, I knew he owned several properties across the city, and his current residence was listed in Old Irving Park. I was curious, though, what he was going to say.

“I did,” he said. “An awesome Victorian that I refurbished.”

“Did?” I repeated. “You sold it? Like a flip?”

“I still own it. But I won’t be moving back in.”

“No?” I moved to the couch and sat down. I leaned back, feeling more comfortable and at ease than I’d anticipated, all things considered.

“Sounds like there’s a story there. Care to share?”

“Let’s just say that I’m a sucker for a woman in need.”

“I’m intrigued. Tell me the rest.”

For a moment, I thought he would. Then he slowly shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think so. I rather enjoy being the dark and brooding man of mystery.”

“You don’t seem dark to me,” I said, and I meant it. Oh, I had no doubt he had his hands in a number of illicit pies. And he definitely had an edge. I’d seen it myself when he’d rescued me from Reggie. But Tyler Sharp was a charmer at the core. Sophisticated. Smart. A hustler, not a thug.

“Everyone has a dark side,” he said. “Some people just hide it better than others.”