for a calm she didn’t possess, she allowed Hank to usher her inside a small room in the back corner of the hotel.
Dupree entered a few steps behind them and shut the door with a resounding click.
The moment Hank released her arm Laney pivoted around and took a step forward. Dupree shifted directly in her path, an ironic twist of his lips.
Out of ideas but not out dignity, she opened her mouth to express her outrage over his behavior. Unfortunately, words eluded her.
Eyebrows raised, Dupree stared at her, waiting, taking her measure, silently challenging her to defend herself.
The noisy din from the hotel lobby pervaded the cold mood in the room.
Laney ignored the racing of her pulse, putting it down to sheer desperation, and returned Dupree’s glare with equal intensity.
The handsome, chiseled features and square jaw created a deceptively appealing picture, as did the thick black hair against his smooth, olive skin. In contrast to his severe good looks, the crisp white shirt he wore, red silk vest, and matching neck cloth added a refined dignity not often seen in the West.
For a brief moment, as she continued holding his stare, Laney detected a familiar restlessness in his blue-blue eyes, the kind garnered from a painful past much like her own. A kindred spirit?
Hardly.
This might be her first face-to-face meeting with Marc Dupree, but she’d heard all the rumors. His reputation as a ruthless businessman was legendary around town. Known for demanding unreasonably high standards from his employees—as well as everyone else around him—she doubted he had an ounce of mercy in his heart.
Such a man would never understand what had brought Laney here tonight. She would be wise to consider him no different from the heartless banker who’d called in her loan six months early.
Apparently finished with his silent scrutiny, Dupree turned to Hank and handed over Laney’s reticule. “You know what to do with this.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Pretending to misunderstand, Laney reached out as Hank swept past her. “Oh, how kind of you to walk that over to me.”
Hank paused midstep.
“Ignore her,” Dupree ordered.
Cocking his head, the big man eyed her cautiously. She thought she detected a note of sympathy in his eyes but then he shook his head and continued on his errand.
As if bored with the whole affair, Dupree leaned against the shut door and crossed his arms over his chest. His casual stance was an illusion, of course. Laney easily detected the concentrated focus behind that bland manner of his.
Recognizing the sensation in her stomach as fear, she forced herself to speak as though nothing was amiss. “Come now, Mr. Dupree. Considering the late hour, perhaps you would be so kind as to return my reticule now. I’m sure we can have our little discussion some other time.”
His expression never changed, but his gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “Not a chance, honey.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Laney caught Hank reaching out to a small, metal safe situated on the floor next to a sturdy-looking desk.
Renewed panic reared, abrupt and violent, stealing her ability to think logically.
Knowing Dupree watched her as closely as she eyed Hank, Laney inched slowly into a new position, lowered her lashes and focused covertly on Hank’s fingers working the dial.
The melodic tick, tick, tick, of the spinning lock filled the room, diminishing her chances of an easy escape with each turn. Another few clicks and Hank pulled opened the safe. He shoved her reticule deep inside then closed the door with a hard snap. Another twist of his wrist and the lock went spinning again.
As the tumblers cleared, her composure snapped.
She whipped around to glare at Dupree. “You can’t do this.” Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. “It’s...it’s stealing.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Dupree waved his hand at her in a careless gesture. “I have no plans to keep your reticule indefinitely, nor its valuable contents.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“No? What if I told you I plan to return the large sum of money to its rightful owner at once?”
Her throat tightened at the very idea. “You... Mr. Dupree, you can’t do that.”
“Can’t I?”
“But you...” Her mind raced for a solution to this new, awful threat of his. “You promised to give me a chance to explain.”
“Indeed, I did.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do proceed with your explanation, Miss O’Connor.”
Her gaze automatically tracked toward Hank. Standing partly in the shadows the big man appeared deeply enthralled with his thumbnail.
Laney sighed. “Very well. The gentleman gave me that money for—”
She cut off her own the words, remembering Judge Greene’s adamant request. Never reveal who gave you this money, Miss O’Connor. Or why.
She’d given her word. Yet, due to no fault of her own, she’d already violated a portion of her promise. She could not reveal the rest.
“Joshua Greene gave you the money for...” Dupree prompted.
Laney pressed her lips tightly shut. How to respond?
Think, Laney. Think.
In the ensuing silence, Dupree motioned to Hank. The other man dropped his hand and strode out of the room without a single glance in her direction.
With only the two of them left, a thick blanket of tension fell over the room. Laney prayed for divine intervention.
Please, Lord, show me a way out of this quandary.
No quick solution came to mind. She spun in a slow circle, taking in the room from the perspective of a captive—searching for a route of escape. There was no back door, only a small window high above the floor just to the left of the large desk.
Tossing a smile in Dupree’s direction, Laney sidled in the direction of the window as nonchalantly as possible.
The size was right, but she’d never make it through the tiny opening in her borrowed dress. Perhaps there was still hope. Having eyed an armoire before setting out, she moved back to the other side of the room, and then threw open the cabinet doors.
“What’s this? Several sets of trousers and shirts?” She slanted Dupree a look over her shoulder. “Don’t you keep a room for yourself here in the hotel?”
He didn’t answer her question directly. “As I’m sure you’ve already concluded, Miss O’Connor, there are no additional exits in this room.”
“I don’t have any idea what you mean.”
A patronizing grin slid onto his lips. “Naturally.”
How she hated his condescension. The sneering attitude reminded Laney of Thurston P. Prescott III, the banker who’d refused to give her more time on the remaining portion of her loan. All because of a cold, judgmental heart.
Suppressing a scowl, she closed the cabinet doors and twirled in another slow circle. “Oh, my. You have a fireplace. I say, Dupree, your office is exceedingly well furnished.”
“I like nice things.”
“Of course you do.”
She doubted a wealthy man like him knew what it meant to be penniless and scared, never knowing when the next meal would come. But Laney did. As did the children whose mothers had sent them to her orphanage for safekeeping.
Laney had pledged to those women that she would provide every