Free Nocturnal by Nathan Field Page A

slowed the car to a crawl. “That’s downtown,” I said patiently.
    “So? We’ll drive right up to the entrance and use the valet. No one will see us.”
    I frowned, struggling to work out her game. Previously, Lucy had refused to go anywhere near downtown. She’d even vetoed my apartment on the city fringe, where the chances of bumping into someone she knew were negligible. Yet now she was saying the Park Royal was okay? You couldn’t get a more conspicuous location.
    There was also the small matter of the Park Royal being decidedly more expensive than your average Super 8 or Motel 6. It was one of Sacramento’s premier hotels, a place where high-price lobbyists and visiting NBA teams stayed. I was pretty sure they didn’t rent rooms by the hour….
    And that was it , I realized. Lucy was looking for a reason to bail on our date, and she thought a five-star hotel would be too rich for me.
    I decided to call her bluff. “No problem, the Park Royal it is.”
    Lucy looked up, surprised. “You know how to get there?”
    “Of course,” I said, not mentioning that I’d only been there for a press conference.
    She dropped her gaze, smoothing her skirt again. “Let’s go then,” she said in a quiet voice.
    As we drove to the hotel, I could see Lucy studying me from the corner of her eye, waiting for me to buckle. But I kept a straight face, determined to see the charade through to the end.
    I pulled up outside the front entrance. After leaving the keys to my Corolla with a sneering valet, I grabbed Lucy’s hand and led her through the white-pillared reception to the front desk. She squeezed my hand urgently just as one of the young clerks looked up to greet us.
    For a moment I thought she was going to back out, afraid of being recognized by one of the businessman milling around reception. But instead she asked: “Can we get a room with a balcony? I want to watch the sunset.”
    I hesitated, suddenly freaking out over the cost of a balcony room.
    Lucy was quick to pounce. “Look, it’s no big deal,” she whispered. “If you can’t afford it, just drive me back to the mall.”
    Her condescension strengthened my resolve. I spun around to face the desk clerk, who’d been waiting patiently for our attention. “Good afternoon,” I greeted formally, knowing it would annoy the hell out of Lucy. “Are there any standard rooms with balconies available tonight?”
    After a flurry of keystrokes, the desk clerk said the only available room with a balcony was a junior suite. Lucy squeezed my hand again, but I ignored her, confirming the booking without bothering to check the price.
    Three hundred and twenty bucks later we were riding a glass elevator to our suite on a private-access floor. Lucy stared at her shoes while I held my calm, beatific smile in place, determined not to show any hint of aggravation even though I was silently fuming over the hit to my credit card.
    The two-room suite was suitably spacious, far bigger than my studio apartment, and I managed to forget my money worries as I eyed up the sumptuous king-sized bed, the fluffy white robes in the closet, and the complimentary fruit platter on the coffee table. Maybe it was worth the eye-popping expense – to treat Lucy to a night of pure indulgence, to make love in a bed with six pillows and Egyptian cotton sheets.
    “They call this a suite?” Lucy said, instantly killing my enthusiasm. “You should ask for your money back.”
    I cast a critical eye over the room, but I couldn’t see what she was complaining about. It was certainly the nicest hotel room I’d ever been in. “What’s wrong with it?” I said.
    “It’s ugly,” Lucy said with a dismissive wave. “They should fire the decorator.” She grabbed the television remote and perched herself on the edge of the bed. She flicked through the channels until she found a talk show, and then turned the volume up as far as it would go.
    I let her sulk, moving to the window where the late