Other People's Baggage Read Online Free PDF Page A

like me, and that might work to my advantage.
    I changed into a clean pair of panties and pulled the swing dress over my head. It was pretty in a sundress kind of way. Repeated washings would soften the fabric, but like the bandana skirt, this dress had tags on it, too. I imagined Elliott shopping for this weekend with the same care with which he had packed his toiletries. I imagined, for a second, the stranger’s reaction when he opened my suitcase and saw my polyester dresses and four tubes of sunscreen. I was sure it would be a letdown.
    I fished the elastic bandage out of the bag from the drug store and wound it around my knee, tight enough to minimize the swelling but not so tight I cut off my circulation. I swallowed four anti-inflammatories with a glass of water from the sink and looked at my reflection.
    Exhaustion painted the two dark circles under my eyes. I needed to sleep tonight. The time change, going from the east coast to the west coast, had left me feeling like it was going on midnight, not nine. And being a morning person, I wasn’t used to being up until midnight. I’d make my meeting with Mr. Jordan brief. I’d tell him what was going on and I’d retire.
    I ran cool water into my hands and ran my hands through my hair, then massaged a dollop of complimentary hotel moisturizer into it and combed it straight back. My lips were rosy, as were my cheeks. As the clock approached nine, I thrust my room key into my handbag, grabbed the crutches, and headed down to the bar.
    I took a seat along the wall next to the fireplace and looked for familiar faces. I saw none. A cocktail waitress approached me and I ordered a glass of white wine. As she left to fill my order, I saw my worst nightmare, standing in the entranceway. The two men from the elevator, engrossed in a heated conversation with Harrison the Concierge. With them was a fourth person, and there was no mistaking his identity.
    It was my Ex, Brad Turlington.

MIDNIGHT ICE: FIVE

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    Brad had followed me from Pennsylvania. My paranoia had been on target.
    I slouched down in my chair and watched the scene. From my vantage point, which was across a crowded room where people and pets mingled over wine and cheese, I knew I wouldn’t hear their conversation, so I listened to their body language. From what it was telling me, these four men were arguing.
    Harrison was doing the talking and the other men were listening. His gestures, though kept close to his body, were emphatic.
    Louis was red in the face. He didn’t like what he was being told.
    And then there was Brad. He wore a straw Hamburg tipped down low over his forehead. His wavy black hair peeked out in the back. He stood inches over the other men, his white zip front GE nylon windbreaker open over an orange and white checkered shirt. His hands were in the pockets of his khaki trousers, and the sunlight gleamed off of the face of his 1960’s Rolex Submariner watch. I knew the watch. I’d given it to him for Christmas less than a year ago.
    I felt sick. My heart raced and I shifted to the side, to remain in the shadow of the fireplace. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be! I was trapped in a nightmare of past and present. I wanted to leave but standing up and fussing with the crutches would only draw attention to me, attention I couldn’t afford.
    The fourth man, the one in the suit, had his arms crossed over his chest. His attention was so focused on Harrison’s face he didn’t notice the small dog sniffing his shoe. Suddenly, as if startled, he kicked his foot out with a jerk. The dog jumped backward. A woman in a navy blue dress scooped up the dog and glared at the man. After he apologized to her, his eyes swept the room. I lowered my head and slunk down further.
    A cocktail waitress came around to check on different tables and, when she got close enough to block my view of the men, I waved her over.
    â€œHi, I’m supposed to be meeting