Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(55)

“You need a gun for Les?”

“He’s supposed to call before he comes up,” I say, “and as far as I’m concerned, any surprise that shows up at our door could be sent by Alvarez.”

Myla’s eyes go wide. “Oh God. My phone.” She pops to her feet.” What if Michael called and I didn’t answer? Maybe he sent Les to check on me.”

“They’d send someone other than Les,” I say, though I’m not ruling this out as a problem underway. “Go clean up our mess and hide your gun.”

She’s already out the door while I follow, my gun in hand, as I step to the door.





Chapter Fifteen





Kyle





“Who is it?” I call out at the door, not about to let Les, or anyone know about my camera, or my team watching the hotel.

“Les, sir. I was coming up anyway so I thought-”

I open the door and show the little prick my gun. “This is what “you thought” gets you.”

His eyes go wide, but there is no fear, which tells me he isn’t what he seems. “Oh, sir,” he begins. “I-”

“Save it,” I say, shoving the gun in my waistband and taking the pizza. “Earn your paycheck, Les. Follow instructions.” I step back inside, shut the door and slide the lock back into place, before re-entering the bedroom, where I deposit the pizza on the bed, and pull my phone from my pocket, punching in Asher’s number.

“A phone call is never good,” he says when he answers.

“Les brought our pizza up without calling me,” I say. “Watch him.”

“Copy that,” he says, and I end the connection, heading to the hallway and toward Myla’s bedroom, praying like hell we don’t have an Alvarez problem.

Rounding the corner to the living area, I’m about to enter Myla’s bedroom when she appears in the doorway, the scanner in her hand. “You said clean up our mess,” she explains. “I was kind of freaked out that I didn’t let you scan my room.” She indicates the machine. “It didn’t beep at all. That’s good right?”

“That’s damn good,” I agree, taking it from her. “I called Asher to confirm no one had entered the room since I scanned it, but just for peace of mind, I’ll double check it all.” She steps aside and I enter the bedroom, calling over my shoulder. “Any missed phone calls?”

“No,” she says, moving to the sitting area on the far side of the bed by the windows, and sitting down on the couch. “We got lucky,” she says, watching me move around the room, “because he’s insanely possessive. And he’s back in a week. Honestly, he could be back any day. He’s big on changing his plans, to throw off his enemies.”

“Which is why we have a plane waiting on us,” I assure her, relieved as the scanner remains silent. “Where is he supposed to be now?”

“Honduras.”

“I’ll have our team see if we can find him, but don’t get your hopes up,” I say. “He’s slippery or we’d have had him by now.”

“You won’t find him,” she assures me, proving her hopes aren’t even close to being up. “He’s a master at not getting caught.”

“And yet, we’re going to catch him,” I assure her, walking into the bathroom, giving it a quick silent scan. Turning off the power, I re-enter the bedroom. “We’re clear.”

“Thank God,” she says, the compact she’d thrown at me earlier now in her hand. “What happened with Les?”

“I haven’t decided what that impromptu visit was about yet,” I say, “so my answer is to be determined.” I cross to stand in front of her. “In other words, it’s pizza and movie night, and he’s the show.”





***





Forty-five minutes later, Myla and I are sitting at the desk, having finished a damn good pizza, the empty box on the floor beside us, the computers pushed out of our way, but the security feed is live for the viewing. We’ve also finished watching Les huddle up with Juan in the hotel restaurant. “I guess we now know who he’s working with,” Myla says, twirling the compact in her hands, the way she has off and on since she finished eating. “And they can’t know you’re watching them.”

“I have a feeling I know what Les was up to,” I say, standing and grabbing our trash. “I’m going to dump this at the door, and check out my theory.” I round the desk and enter the hallway, opening the door to set our trash outside, before running a hand over the surface by the doorbell, and bingo. I have a recording device. I start to remove it, and decide better of it, re-entering the room and flipping the locks.

“He stuck a recording device by the doorbell,” I say, reclaiming my seat beside Myla, grabbing a footstool and setting it between us, both of us leaning back in our chairs and putting it to use. “I left it where it is. I want them to think that I think Les is more of an ally than he is and we can stage a little conversation they overhear in the morning.”

“What kind of conversation?”

“One that includes you disliking the way I’m suffocating you, but I’m going to think on exactly what I want them to hear.” She’s twirling that compact again, nervous I think, or anxious, and I get to the point. “What do you want to know? Ask your questions.”