Leaving Annalise (Katie & Annalise Book 2) by Pamela Fagan Hutchins Page B

then I realized I had forgotten to ask about Nick’s sister and nephew. He was going to think I was completely self-absorbed. Make that still completely self-absorbed. I hoped I’d come a long way since the days of shopping Neiman Marcus at lunch and drinking my free time away, but even the thought of that old Katie brought back feelings of deep humiliation. I would not be her.
    I put my hand on his chest. “How’s your sister?” I asked. “Are she and the baby OK?”
    He put his hand over mine and curled his fingers around it. “She’s at the police department and a buddy of mine is helping her with a protective order.”
    “Did they get Derek?”
    “No, he was gone by the time the cops arrived. My friend is taking her to stay in a hotel until I get home.”
    “I’m glad. Derek sounds scary.”
    “He is. He really is.”
    “Do you need to be there, Nick?” I said it because I needed to. I tried to sound sincere.
    He shook his head vigorously. “No, my friend has it under control. I need to be here.” He held up his phone and turned it off. “With a Do Not Disturb sign on the door.”
    Meow. Time for lucky number seven.

Chapter Eleven
    By the next morning, I was at the point where Nick could practically just look at me and I’d have to add one to my running total, and I’d completely lost count of what number we were on.
    We ordered room service early—for some reason I was ravenously hungry, God knows why—and then dressed for the day. Three cheers for the just-in-case bag. We brushed our teeth side by side in the bathroom and Nick retrieved a bottle of Estee Lauder moisturizer from the depths of his shaving kit. I took it from him and raised my eyebrows.
    He shrugged. “Years of surfing with no sunscreen.”
    “Kind of a girly brand, isn’t it?”
    “Show me where it says ‘for women only.’” He held it out for my inspection. “Just because I’m a man shouldn’t mean I can’t use the good stuff. And you weren’t calling me girly an hour ago.”
    Good point. “Here, let me put it on for you.”
    I stood nose to nose with him and massaged the lotion into his face. His eyes closed. I kissed each temple, his nose, his chin, his forehead.
    “You are the perfect woman, you know.”
    “And it only took you this long to notice.”
    He swiped his nose against mine Eskimo-style, then grabbed a hibiscus blossom from the bowl on the bathroom counter. He smoothed my hair behind my ear with one hand and slipped the hibiscus behind it with the other. My heart thudded in my ears. I didn’t ever want to leave that room, but we had to check out soon. Our plan was to visit Annalise in the daylight before grabbing lunch at the must-see Pig Bar, where Local swine guzzled nonalcoholic beer. Then we’d head to the airport at the last possible second to make it in time for his midafternoon flight. After that, there was no plan, and I didn’t want to think about it.
    Nick walked back into the room and packed his bag while I unfolded the St. Marcos Source that had come with our breakfast. The headline read “Police Rule Fortuna’s Death Bad Luck.” Apparently, they theorized, Tarah Gant had slipped and hit her head in some freak-accident way when she was closing things up the night before she was found. I cringed and read further. “Ms. Gant’s family expressed outrage at the quick closure of the case. ‘Something not right about how Tarah die. Her baby’s daddy fight dogs, bring the wrong kind of people dem around. Police not even questioning him. She deserve justice.’ Bart Lassiter, executive chef and one of the owners of Fortuna’s, declined to comment other than to wish the family and friends of Ms. Gant his condolences.” The overwrought “family” quote had Jackie written all over it. I was glad to disassociate from the whole scene.
    “You ready?” Nick asked.
    I dropped the paper. To leave this room, and him? Never. But I said, “I am.”
    He opened the door and I crept out into the