Page 114 of Devil in Disguise

* * *

When he reachedher hotel and knocked at the door of her room, there was no answer. His heart gave a sort of sideways lurch, and he knocked again, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted her,Where are you? OK?If that was bothering her, he was bothering.

Heknewhe should’ve gone after her. She’d left them well over an hour ago, Miami wasn’t one bit safe to begin with, and every predator in town would be out and about on Super Bowl weekend, with all those oblivious visitors wandering around. For that matter, what about the visitors themselves, most of them guys and half of them drunk? Any way you sliced it, adorable little five-foot-two Dyma walking around for an hour after dark in her skimpy little black dress was not a good thing.

He waited, and then he waited some more. He wanted to text her again, but what good would it do? Finally, he called. If it bothered her, too bad.

Two rings. Three. Then her voice. “Hi.”

He may have sagged against the door some. It’s possible. “You OK?”

“Yeah. I told you. I just needed some time.”

He couldn’t tell anything from her voice. She still sounded shut down, but she wasn’t crying, at least. “Where are you?”

“In a taxi. Almost back to the hotel, at least I hope so. We’ve been driving quite a while.”

Oh, boy. There went his heart rate again. “Text me the license.”

“What? Owen …”

“Just text me, OK? And check where you are on your maps app. If anything seems off, text me again. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

He didn’t know what he was feeling. He couldn’t have said if it was rational or not. All he knew was, he was taking the elevator thirty-two floors down, it seemed like it was stopping at half of them, and Dyma wasn’t texting anymore. Which meant she was OK. He hoped.

The hotel was exactly like the rest of Miami this weekend—jam-packed with excited people. Lots of them stared at him on the elevator, and he ignored them. Until a family got on, Mom, Dad, and two boys about the age of his two oldest nephews, dressed for the pool. The little one asked, “Are you a football player?”

“Dante,” the mom said, “don’t bother the man.”

“It’s OK,” he said, since they were only on about floor fifteen, the doors were opening again, and, no, Dyma still hadn’t texted. “Yeah. I am. Your name’s Dante, huh? Cool name. Mine’s Owen.”

“Are you, like, areallyfootball player?” the boy asked. “Like in the Super Bowl?”

“Nah,” his brother told him. “If he was, he wouldn’t be in this hotel. This is just for regular people. He’s just saying that.”

“Oh,” Dante said.

“Well, yeah, I am,” Owen said. Perversely, because he had exactly zero desire to sign autographs or pose for selfies right now. Maybe because he’d been the little brother himself once, battling ferociously to keep up, to be included, to be better. Possibly why he was the pro and Dane wasn’t, if you thought about it. He’d learned to fight for it. “You like football? You watching tomorrow?”

“Yes,”Dante said. “Except we can’t go to the real game, because it costs too much money. But my dad says we can watch on TV and have snacks.”

“Which team you rooting for?” Owen asked.

“The Buccaneers,” the big brother said. “We’re from Georgia, so we have to go for them.”

“We do not,” Dante said. “Itoldyou, I want the Devils!”

“The Devils are going to lose,” the big brother informed him.

“No, they’renot,”Dante said. “They’re not either!”

“You know what, Dante?” Owen said. “I think you’re right. Who’s your favorite Devil?”

“Malik Jefferson,” the big brother answered. “The quarterback’s always the best. Or maybe Andre Fontaine or Harlan Kristiansen. He’s on TV other times, too, so you can tell he’s cool.”

“They’re all pretty cool guys, all right,” Owen said.

“But they’re not thebiggest,”Dante said. “Your favorite has to be the biggest!”