Read Online Lying Eyes by Toni Noel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Toni Noel
Tags: Serial Killers, Cops
Ads: Link
when a light knock sounded. Susan stepped aside to let in a tall woman with short blonde hair.
"Allison? You can call me Sal. Harold Sands will be your other escort. He's standing right outside, wearing a red shirt and leaning against the opposite wall. Once you're seated in your next workshop he'll take the seat beside you. Relax. Smile and make small talk with him. We've got your back. Did anyone get a glimpse of the lurker?"
"Afraid not," Allison said, and used the facilities while she waited for her heart rate to slow. How does Carlo keep his cool?
After waiting while Susan and Marsha washed their hands, the threesome stepped outside and strolled back the way they'd come without a care, Sal not far behind.
On entering the Garden Room Sal hurried to Carlo's side, introduced herself and filled him in on the last few minutes, Allison supposed, while Sal pretended to check the sound system. When finished, she casually strolled to the back of the room and leaned against the far wall.
Susan, Harold, and Allison filled coffee cups and found seats together. Allison set her cup on the floor long enough to pull out her notebook, and settled back to enjoy her coffee and Carlo's introduction, although she practically knew it by heart.
He hadn't believed her when she insisted no one was interested in his birth date or the name of his first cat, but would want to know how he developed his hard body and achieved his current rank.
When the applause ended and Carlo approached the podium, Allison shoved her empty cup beneath her chair and studied him as she took notes.
He'd obviously made a lot of public appearances and soon had his audience eating out of his hand, laughing at his clumsy attempts to load a revolver and gasping when he pulled a lethal-looking stiletto out of his sleeve.
Like the other women present Allison watched his muscles ripple and admired the deep cleft in Carlo's chin. She wished he'd smile more often and for longer.
His shining eyes held his audience intrigued.
Allison sympathized with the attendees.
I know the feeling well.
All too soon he began replacing the seven holstered weapons he'd secreted on his person while answering questions flung at him by a bevy of women vying for his attention.
The room host finally called time and thanked Carlo again.
As the audience filed out of the room he made a beeline to her. "Why the hell didn't the officers take you straight to your room instead of letting you sit out in the open, exposed to some dangerous perp's whim?" he ranted, a muscle pulsing in his smooth jaw.
"No one even suggested I go to my room. The security team has accepted I'm here to attend the conference and is hell bent on keeping me safe. Just like you."
"And if they can't?"
"What's next on your schedule?" Susan asked.
"The—"
"Forget it," Carlo growled. "She's going to the room."
Allison wanted to argue, but thought better of it. "Relaxing in my room for an hour sounds like a great idea."
"Hang around here if you want, Marsha," he said into his radio. "Then, if you decide it's safe, save six seats for all of us at a luncheon table as far away from the exits as possible."
"Thank you," Allison said meekly.
He studied her closely. "Are you all right? You seem uncharacteristically willing to go to your room."
"I'll be fine as soon as I kick off these shoes."
*****
C arlo had no interest in the luncheon speaker's keynote address, but every time he glanced across the table at Allison he could tell she was clinging to every word of "The Writer's Journey to Publication."
Does it always take years for an author to get published?
His respect for Allison shot up a notch.
In some occupations female employees slept their way to the top.
Not Allison. She didn't have a conniving thought in her pretty head.
Maybe she had been one of the lucky ones the speaker mentioned who sold her first completed novel to a big New York Publisher.
What other kind is there? A little New York Publisher?
His
"Allison? You can call me Sal. Harold Sands will be your other escort. He's standing right outside, wearing a red shirt and leaning against the opposite wall. Once you're seated in your next workshop he'll take the seat beside you. Relax. Smile and make small talk with him. We've got your back. Did anyone get a glimpse of the lurker?"
"Afraid not," Allison said, and used the facilities while she waited for her heart rate to slow. How does Carlo keep his cool?
After waiting while Susan and Marsha washed their hands, the threesome stepped outside and strolled back the way they'd come without a care, Sal not far behind.
On entering the Garden Room Sal hurried to Carlo's side, introduced herself and filled him in on the last few minutes, Allison supposed, while Sal pretended to check the sound system. When finished, she casually strolled to the back of the room and leaned against the far wall.
Susan, Harold, and Allison filled coffee cups and found seats together. Allison set her cup on the floor long enough to pull out her notebook, and settled back to enjoy her coffee and Carlo's introduction, although she practically knew it by heart.
He hadn't believed her when she insisted no one was interested in his birth date or the name of his first cat, but would want to know how he developed his hard body and achieved his current rank.
When the applause ended and Carlo approached the podium, Allison shoved her empty cup beneath her chair and studied him as she took notes.
He'd obviously made a lot of public appearances and soon had his audience eating out of his hand, laughing at his clumsy attempts to load a revolver and gasping when he pulled a lethal-looking stiletto out of his sleeve.
Like the other women present Allison watched his muscles ripple and admired the deep cleft in Carlo's chin. She wished he'd smile more often and for longer.
His shining eyes held his audience intrigued.
Allison sympathized with the attendees.
I know the feeling well.
All too soon he began replacing the seven holstered weapons he'd secreted on his person while answering questions flung at him by a bevy of women vying for his attention.
The room host finally called time and thanked Carlo again.
As the audience filed out of the room he made a beeline to her. "Why the hell didn't the officers take you straight to your room instead of letting you sit out in the open, exposed to some dangerous perp's whim?" he ranted, a muscle pulsing in his smooth jaw.
"No one even suggested I go to my room. The security team has accepted I'm here to attend the conference and is hell bent on keeping me safe. Just like you."
"And if they can't?"
"What's next on your schedule?" Susan asked.
"The—"
"Forget it," Carlo growled. "She's going to the room."
Allison wanted to argue, but thought better of it. "Relaxing in my room for an hour sounds like a great idea."
"Hang around here if you want, Marsha," he said into his radio. "Then, if you decide it's safe, save six seats for all of us at a luncheon table as far away from the exits as possible."
"Thank you," Allison said meekly.
He studied her closely. "Are you all right? You seem uncharacteristically willing to go to your room."
"I'll be fine as soon as I kick off these shoes."
*****
C arlo had no interest in the luncheon speaker's keynote address, but every time he glanced across the table at Allison he could tell she was clinging to every word of "The Writer's Journey to Publication."
Does it always take years for an author to get published?
His respect for Allison shot up a notch.
In some occupations female employees slept their way to the top.
Not Allison. She didn't have a conniving thought in her pretty head.
Maybe she had been one of the lucky ones the speaker mentioned who sold her first completed novel to a big New York Publisher.
What other kind is there? A little New York Publisher?
His
Similar Books
