and left, the plush carpeting swallowing the sound of his footsteps.
As he waited for the elevator, John wondered just what in the hell he was doing there, anyway. When he’d picked up the phone at his desk earlier that day to call information for Elizabeth’s work number, he’d half hoped they wouldn’t have a listing. They did, however, and then he’d called the number to get the address. He didn’t know exactly what she did, but she had the look of someone who would want columns to add up properly. Putting the matter aside, he’d worked a little longer, then headed home for a quick bite, intending to return to the station. Marsha had succeeded in screwing up his time with Lisa, after all, so he’d decided to work all evening and catch up on the mountain of papers hiding his desk. It’d tame his anger a bit. Somewhere between Central and his place, though, he’d aimed the truck west.
And here he was.
The elevator dinged, the doors opened and he walked out. For whatever reason, Elizabeth had made it more than clear she didn’t want his help, even though, he sensed, she really wanted it.
Turning a corner in the basement a few minutes later, John found the gym. He’d been in executive workout clubs before and knew what to expect. White carpet, polished chrome, a juice bar in one corner. There was usually a babe at the front desk who knocked your eyes to the back of your head, too. A man in a navy warm-up suit exited just as John approached, holding the door open for him. John nodded his thanks and entered. Not what he’d expected.
The gym was one large bare room with a concrete floor and mirrors lining the walls. Four or five people were using the various machines and free weights. John’s gaze swept the room until he saw Elizabeth. She was stretched out on a climbing machine, her arms straining high above her head, her legs—her very long legs—pumping beneath her.
He watched her for a moment. She didn’t have on fancy workout gear or two-hundred-dollar running shoes. She wore sneakers that were scuffed and well-worn, an old pair of black shorts and a ragged T-shirt with missing arms, leaving gaping holes. Beneath the cut-outs, he could see the outline of a no-nonsense jogging bra. A faded sweatband was pushed up on her forehead, holding back the straggling strands of hair that had escaped the rubber band at the back.
She was the sexiest woman in the room.
Their gazes collided in the mirror, and he watched her expression go from blank to annoyed. She obviously wasn’t happy to see him. She stepped off the machine, grabbed her towel and crossed to him.
“Detective Mallory. Are you here to see me or did you come to join our club?”
He looked around a bit before meeting her gaze again. He needed the extra time to get his pulse back to where it belonged, preferably somewhere below 150. Beneath those suits she wore, she had a body that matched her legs. He took a deep breath, focused on her eyes and smiled easily.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s not much better than the police gym.”
“The building owner spends his money where it shows—in the offices.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. This gets the job done.”
“I can see that.”
She didn’t react to what he’d said, though he could tell his compliment had registered. Apparently, she didn’t know how to respond. “How did you find me?”
“There was no one in your office. The receptionist told me you might be down here.”
“And how did you know where I worked?”
She was a careful one, that was for sure. He held out his hands palms up—a gesture meant to show no threat. “I’m a cop, remember? It’s my job to find out things.” He smiled. “Actually I noticed the report you had in your hands when we were talking at the mailboxes. It had the name of your company on it.”
She seemed to relax just a fraction, but the watchful air didn’t leave her. She reminded him of a cat that used to hang around the station. Sleek black hair, cagey eyes, a tense body that always looked as if it was about to spring the other way.
For a long moment they looked at each other, then suddenly her wariness changed to fear, her fingers going to her throat. “Oh, God—this isn’t about April, is it? You aren’t here to tell me they found her…her body or anything?”
He felt a rush of empathy and shook his head immediately. “No, no. She hasn’t been found, nothing like that.”
She exhaled and visibly relaxed.
“The reason I’m here is your sister, though.”
The guarded look came back.
“I did a little checking after we spoke—”
“After I told you your help wasn’t necessary?”
He inclined his head, an admission of guilt. “Yes. After that.”
If he expected angry words, he was disappointed. She simply looked at him with a level gaze he couldn’t read. “And?”
He looked directly into her bottomless eyes and said, “I couldn’t help but wonder—why didn’t you tell me your sister’s a stripper?”
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