Free Bait by Karen Robards

minutes.” She frowned at him. “Look, if all you want to do is make small talk, I don’t have time.”
    â€œPresentation for what? What do you do?” Folding his arms across his chest, he looked prepared to stay where he was all day. Feeling as if she were about to jump out of her skin with the urgency of her desire to get this over with and get away from him, Maddie registered his posture and stewed.
    â€œI own an advertising agency. We’re small, we’re struggling. The account I’m about to make a pitch to is huge. Landing it would change everything for us.”
    â€œI see.” His gaze met hers, and suddenly his manner became all business. “What’s the name of your agency? For the record.”
    â€œCreative Partners.”
    â€œAnd you’re the owner?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSole owner?”
    â€œYes.”
    His gaze swept her. “Kind of young to own an advertising agency, aren’t you?”
    Maddie bristled. “As far as I know, there’s no minimum age for owning a business.”
    â€œAll right.” His gaze swept her again, as though trying to guess the age she had deliberately not told him. He did not, however, ask her outright. Not that he needed to: Her date of birth was in the police report, which she had little doubt he would obtain in due course. “Your advertising agency is headquartered where?”
    â€œSt. Louis.” That was in the police report, too. Damn Jon anyway for making her go to the hospital! She should have guessed that the hospital would call the police. Not that she could blame the whole sorry debacle on Jon. Shocked or not, she was the one who knew the score, and she should have had more sense than to go.
    â€œAnd that’s where you live?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou’re here in New Orleans because ...?”
    She shifted impatiently. “I told you, to pitch this account. We—my associate and I—flew in from St. Louis yesterday.”
    â€œWhat’s your associate’s name?”
    â€œJon Carter.”
    â€œWere you meeting anyone at the hotel? A relative, maybe, who was staying there, too? Someone with a name similar to yours?”
    Maddie frowned. “No.”
    â€œOkay. What time did your flight get in?”
    â€œAbout four-fifteen.”
    â€œWhat did you do after the plane landed? Did you go directly to the hotel?”
    â€œYes. Jon and I checked in, walked over to the French Quarter, grabbed some dinner, came back, worked on our presentation, and went to bed.”
    â€œSeparate rooms?”
    â€œYes. Look, is this actually leading somewhere?” Maddie glanced ostentatiously at her watch again. A faint ding behind her heralded the arrival of another elevator. She wanted to turn tail and board it in the worst way. Footsteps and the faint rustle of clothing announced the sudden influx of more people, most of whom seemed to be making for the tables in front of the conference rooms.
    Play the hand out.
    â€œYou never know.” McCabe made a gesture at someone behind her. Maddie glanced around to see a waiter headed their way. He was carrying a tray laden with a coffeepot, cups and saucers, and dessert plates holding tiny pastries in fluted white paper doilies. “I need coffee. Sure you don’t want any?”
    Before she could answer, the waiter reached them. He was young and African-American with close-cropped hair and a thin build, dressed in the traditional tux.
    â€œYes, sir?” The waiter was looking past her at McCabe.
    â€œCould I get some coffee, please?” McCabe asked. The fact that the coffee was obviously intended for the attendees at the conference didn’t seem to bother him.
    â€œCream or sugar?” The waiter, having set the tray down on the round glass table beside the nearest couch, poured out a cup and handed it to McCabe, who had shaken his head in answer to the query. McCabe took the cup, and the