Book of Night(61)

She frowned at her shadow, dark against the white tile, another thing that might give her away.

The cat had bitten her that afternoon. Could that have been enough blood to finish its quickening? A shadowy form coming toward Adam could chase him straight into the hall. He’d probably continue on to the lobby, shouting at the top of his lungs, imagining it was an angry gloamist after him.

Move, she told her shadow. Do something.

Her shadow remained just where it was.

Oh, come on, she thought. Be magic.

Inert.

You’d do it for blood, wouldn’t you? If I tossed a napkin soaked with it, like a stick for a dog.

Or like a napkin soaked with blood for a dog, she supposed.

Please. But nothing happened. And her legs only hurt worse. What good are you then?

Taking a chance, putting her hand on the tile, she slowly pushed herself to her feet. She could stand for a lot longer, but if he came into the bathroom, he’d be sure to see her.

She hadn’t heard him throw the dead bolt. If she could hop out of the shower, get across the room fast enough, she could be out the door before he got up off the bed. Except that it would be almost impossible to get out of the shower without making some sound. If he just turned on the television, she might be tempted to try.

In the other room, Adam was on a second call. “Yeah, I’m just going to take a quick shower and then I’ll meet you at the bar.”

She had to get out of the room, immediately.

Slowly and carefully, she pulled her cell from her pocket.

He’d already found a way to move the book, so Amber would hold no appeal, even if he hadn’t blocked her. Charlie could use her regular phone—send him a text, pretending to be a stolen credit card alert, or the hotel manager. But if he called back, it wasn’t like she could answer from his bathtub.

Charlie flipped a mental list of people she knew, plus the things she might be able to convince them to say. Maybe she could convince Barb to call and tell him there was a delivery for Adam that he needed to go down and sign for. Maybe she could get Posey to call and tell him that his car was on fire.

Then she thought of the one person who could definitely get him up and out of the room. Doreen.

From the other room, she could hear him rummaging through his drawers.

Fucker sold your gram’s ring, Charlie wrote.

For a moment there was no response and Charlie started to sweat.

Then Doreen’s text came: Asshole. I’m going to kill him. Where is he?

Charlie smiled. She typed as fast as she could. MGM hotel, Room 455. He’s there right now, if you want to give him a piece of your mind.

There was a long pause. Charlie put one hand against the wall.

The response came back: Are you with him?

One thing Charlie could rely on was how much Doreen hated to wait. She’d been restless at Rapture, impatient in every text. Back in high school she would tap her foot against the back rung of Charlie’s chair and futz with a pen all through class.

Charlie simply didn’t answer. In less than thirty seconds, the landline hotel phone started to ring.

He picked up, and there was a long pause. “How did you find me?

“You’re coming here?” he said. “Baby, wait a second. How do you have my room number?”

Charlie heard steps coming toward the bathroom and she went back into a crouch. Listened as he pissed in the toilet. He swore twice, kicked the wall, then walked out of the room. She heard the door close and the electric lock engage.

Legs stiff and shaking, Charlie climbed out of the bathtub, using the towel rack to help her. She hobbled to the door. She wanted to yank it open and run, but forced herself to count to fifty. Then she walked into the hall and headed for the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, she headed down. On the fifth floor, she had to stop and take a few deep breaths. Panic had made her breathe too shallowly and she was dizzy from it.

In the lobby, she kept her head high and her gaze on the exit. She reminded herself that even if Adam knew what Charlie looked like, she was in a wig. She could probably walk right past Doreen without being spotted.

As she hit the doors, fresh, cold autumn air broke over her. She inhaled and felt the pure hit of adrenaline that came when a job was almost over. And now, with Knight Singh’s book tucked under her bra, she had the promise of a new job ahead of her.

Ten minutes later she was parking too close to the curb on Meadow Road, in front of Murray’s Fine Jewelry. If she got Doreen’s ring, then she’d have something to turn over in exchange for fixing things at Posey’s school. And to make up for having boosted the book from Adam.

“Charlie Hall,” Murray said as the bell clanged behind her and she looked around at the familiar, dusty shelves. “What did you bring me?”

He was a small man, red-haired and wearing wire-framed glasses that magnified his eyes uncannily. She’d been selling him stolen goods since she was fifteen and Rand decided it was important for her to learn “the back end” of the business.

Charlie walked to the counter. She looked down at the rings. “Can I see that one?”

Murray’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he took out the tray.

She put her finger on Doreen’s ring. “This ring was stolen, you know.”

He raised both eyebrows. “That’s a real shame.”

She sighed, because while it was true that Doreen could call the cops, they didn’t usually get involved in domestic disputes about communal property. “I’ll trade you for a tip on a fixed horse race.”