The chauffeur, walking behind Bruxton and Bonnie, carried a lap top computer and a clothes bag into the hotel lobby. A bellhop hurried to relieve him.
Bruxton looked at his watch. “6:15. Jim, be ready to pick us up at 8:00. I’ll phone you when we’re ready. Park the car and grab a bite in the coffee shop.” Bruxton, escorting Bonnie through the spacious lobby, was openly possessive. With his arm around her waist, he strutted for all to see. She was his trophy—a youthful beauty, arrayed in a couturier’s black silk skirt and white ruffled silk blouse made more striking by the contrasting tone of her café-au-lait skin. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 15”