Someone's Watching by Sharon Potts Page A

Matilda had food and water.
    Brett was done with his call when she returned to the foyer.“Man,” he said, “I honestly don’t know what those guys would do without me. Ready to go?”
    He had probably forgotten that she’d been in the middle of telling him something. But Brett was often like that. She suspected that he had attention deficit disorder and wasn’t on meds for it. She’d tell him about her father and sister later, when he wasn’t so distracted.
    Brett leaned against the front door and ushered Robbie outside. Matilda meowed, trying to follow.
    “Not you, kitten,” Robbie said, gently coaxing the cat back into the apartment. “You keep the mice away.”
    Brett’s shiny black BMW was parked in the loading zone in front of Robbie’s building with its flashers blinking. Its windows were tinted too dark, which made it difficult to see inside. She didn’t quite get why guys thought looking “hood” was cool.
    He held open the passenger door for her and she slid in. A year ago, she never would have imagined herself with someone like Brett. But there was something so undemanding about him. And for now, that worked just fine. No pressure to think about commitments. But wasn’t that what Leonard had been criticizing her about?
    “I’m sorry I’ve been in a dead zone,” Brett said, pulling into the street. “I never thought public relations was going to be twenty-four seven.”
    “Anything particular happening?”
    “Just some screwups with a couple of guys who work for us at the clubs. Such idiots. But we’ve got it under control now.”
    He joined the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Collins. They could have just as well walked to the hotel from Robbie’s apartment and made it in less time, but Brett was like a lost boy without his car nearby. She thought about bringing up her sister again, but decided it was a bad time. She reached into her bag and made sure the ringtoneon her phone was turned to high in case someone was trying to reach her about Kate.
    Two blocks down, Brett turned into an alleyway with a valet sign. The valet handed him a ticket. Robbie got out on her side without waiting for Brett to come around.
    They walked up the steps of The Pulse Hotel past gurgling fountains, then through the lobby and into the cool, dark lounge area. Ceiling fans with blades shaped like giant lily pads spun above them. The floors were gray stone and there was a narrow, rectangular pool with flowing water.
    “There he is.” Brett grinned and strode toward the long, ebony bar with his hand outstretched.
    Robbie followed, curious who Brett was so excited to see.
    “Mister M.” Brett shook hands with a skinny, freckled, older man whose thin orange hair was combed back in a ponytail.
    Robbie recognized Brett’s boss, Mike, or Mister M, as he was known around Miami Beach. The skin around his watery gray eyes was pulled too tight, which gave him an almost Asian look and made it difficult for him to blink.
    “Here’s our girl,” Mike said in a tinny voice as he air kissed Robbie’s cheeks. Mike was wearing his usual—a short-sleeved white embroidered guayabera shirt—the traditional Cuban dress shirt. It hung loosely on his emaciated frame. He had a dazzling smile with tooperfect white teeth.
    Mike signaled the bartender, who put a couple of drinks on the bar. “Tonight’s specialty. Mojitos. Unless you’d prefer a rum punch,” Mike said to Robbie.
    “A mojito’s fine, thanks,” she said.
    Brett handed one to Robbie, then clinked his own glass against hers.
    “Well, drink up, you two,” Mike said, “and enjoy.” He walked off, waving over his shoulder without turning around.
    Brett thrummed his fingers against the bar, watching the groups of people as they came into the lounge.
    “Go ahead, Brett,” Robbie said. “Mingle. You don’t have to babysit me. I’m fine.”
    “You sure?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “I’ll be back soon,” he said, reminding her of a schoolboy who just heard the