Read Online McGrave's Hotel by Steve Bryant - Free Book Online

side. If she were to be … snatched— the right word, yes? There are those who might believe kidnapping her would give them leverage with her father, that they could influence him to postpone the inevitable.
    “Tonight, she wishes me to stay here, in this beautiful set of rooms, while she dines in your lovely restaurant. With you. It is a danger we seldom allow, my being so far from her. Yet, we consider the risk minimal. The restaurant seems secure, and you know all one might wish to know about the building. Mr. Nash has the highest confidence.
    “So this we must ask. You must keep her safe. You must allow her to face no danger whatsoever. Take your time, do not rush. But immediately when dinner is concluded, you will return her here. Agreed?”
    James bubbled over with assurances.
    “Then, as I understand your chef is French, I say to you, bon appétit .”
    Mr. Wu gestured toward the bedchambers, and that was Fawn’s cue.
    Across the greatest skyline in the world, a million lights were gleaming.
    Against the fairy-tale view, the girl seemed to walk in slow motion, and James would have sworn he heard music heralding her entrance. She wore black patent leather shoes and a dark blue dress with a bow on one shoulder. Her bangs stirred lightly against her forehead as she walked, and on her face she wore a confident smile. A clip shaped like a bejeweled spider clung to her hair just above a dreamy ear.
    She paused briefly at the door. “Did you want to meet Dad?” she said.
    James’s eyes bulged. His heart was in his throat even before she said that.
    “Nope,” he barely whispered.
    “They never do,” she said. “Later, Mr. Wu.”
    And so the young couple stepped out on their own into the uncharted night.
    In the restaurant, Maurice could not have been more attentive. James and Fawn occupied the best table, with an excellent view of Count Otis Monroe and his musicians, yet not so close that the music would interfere with conversation. From this viewpoint, James could see that attendance had revived to its usual all-night level. Miss Charles dispensed word of the future from table to table, and an occasional burst of light coincided with the silent Miss Hollingworth taking another souvenir photo. The Beaumonts had returned to the dance floor with renewed visibility, while across the room Mohammed Bey and his associates dined with two additional gentlemen. James hoped the museum plans were going well.
    He removed his cap, placed it to the side on the black tablecloth, and gave Fawn his undivided attention. He could not remember having ever been happier. At a loss for a conversation starter, James asked the first thing he could think of that didn’t sound totally idiotic: how old are you?
    Fawn owned up to being eleven.
    “ Really eleven? Or eleven lately ?”
    Fawn didn’t understand the question.
    “We get certain guests, vampires for example, who might say they are eleven, but they may have been eleven for a hundred years. They are sort of stuck at eleven.”
    Fawn laughed. “No, really eleven. Dad met Mom a dozen or so years ago, a romance developed, and now there is me. We’re your average all-American family.”
    James pressed her about her mom.
    “She’s a journalist,” Fawn said. “That’s how it happened. She was covering an earthquake that killed a lot of people, and she stumbled upon Dad when he wasn’t supposed to be seen. She was terrified at first, but they started talking, and one thing led to another. The romance surprised them both.”
    How, James wanted to know, does it work? Lines were being crossed here.
    “I’m afraid it’s been hard on Dad,” Fawn said. “A kink in his normal operation. He has to worry about me. He worries about Mom too. It wouldn’t do if word got around that we existed.”
    “Your dad is scary,” James said.
    “All dads are scary.”
    Maurice arrived to take their order. After a brief study of the menu, Fawn requested the salade de betterave au chèvre , a