Livia Lone (Livia Lone #1)(93)

She took in an immaculate king-sized bed. Pewter carpeting, mahogany furnishings. She heard his footfalls moving up the corridor behind her. She breathed in deeply. Let it out. Braced to spin—

“I don’t know what’s in your hand, Livia, but unless it’s faster than the pistol I’m pointing at your spine, I’d recommend you put it back in your purse.”

She froze. Livia?

“That’s right, I know who you are. Just let it drop, Livia. Back in the purse. Slowly.”

She glanced back. Saw the gun. He raised it—a good, two-handed grip.

“Turn the f*ck around,” he said, his voice louder now. “Face forward.”

She did.

“Now, last chance to drop whatever that is in the purse. And I won’t have to shoot you in the back, okay?”

She dropped the pepper spray into the bag and slowly raised her hands, the fingers splayed. How the hell had he recognized her? Could they have known she was coming? Could Becky Lone have . . . no. It made no sense. Even if the woman had believed Livia might go to Bangkok, she never would have warned her brother. Whatever this was, it wasn’t that.

“Good, keep those hands up. Now walk. Don’t turn around. You know, you’re pretty good. You probably could have fooled almost anyone, but unfortunately for you, I never forget a face. Never. It’s one of the reasons the senator pays me the big bucks.”

She moved farther into the room. All right, it sounded like just bad luck that he’d recognized her. Not good, but not as dire as if this were an ambush. He was improvising now as much as she was.

“Even so,” he went on, “I gotta say, you almost had me. Out of context, the makeup, the glasses, the wig . . . took me a minute to place you.”

She saw the adjoining door. Whatever happened, it was going to happen in here, or in the suite. They wouldn’t be going back to the corridor.

“I mean, shit, you look like a real, high-class Thai hooker. Hell, I’d f*ck you. Maybe I even will.”

She said nothing. Her only move was to wait for an opening.

Or make one.

“Well, we’ll check with the senator first. He might have some ideas. He usually does. You want to know something weird? I think he’s actually going to be glad to see you. It’s been a long time. What have you been up to?”

He didn’t know, then. About the judo, about her being a cop. They hadn’t kept tabs since she’d left Llewellyn. They’d look at her as just a slightly older version of that scared, helpless little girl.

That was her play. Maybe her only play. To foster that impression. Make them underestimate her. An instructor had once told her that when you recognize someone is dangerous, it automatically makes him less dangerous.

But the opposite was also true.

“So, Livia, this is what you’re going to do. First, I want you to slowly lower that bag to the floor. And just by the way? If you think I’d be afraid to shoot you because of the noise, you’d be wrong. The Orient has the thickest walls in Bangkok. You could set off a f*cking suitcase nuke in one of these rooms, and no one would even be disturbed in his slumber. On top of which, for security, the senator always takes both adjacent rooms and the one below. We clear on that?”

She did as he said. She still had the Boker, but she didn’t think he would be stupid enough not to search her. His tactics so far had been sound.

She heard him pick up the bag. “What do we have in here? Oh, pepper spray. Well, that would have hurt. And I guess you were going to hit me with this Kuboton after that? What, did you take some kind of self-defense class? What is this? What are you trying to do?”

She said nothing.

“And what’s this? Some sort of cell phone tracker?”

The modified Gossamer. Again she said nothing.

“How’d you get hold of something like this?”

“I bought it.”

“Where?”

“Here. In Bangkok.”

“How’d you get the senator’s cell phone number?”

“Private detective.”

“That’s a pretty good private detective. What’s his name?”

He had the interrogation instincts of a cop. Time to change the dynamic. “I’m not saying anything else,” she said. “Not until you tell me what happened to my sister.”

“Is that was this is about? After all these years, that?”

“Where is she?”

“That’s up to the senator. Maybe if you’re good, really good, he’ll tell you.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Well, now, that kind of decision is above my pay grade. We’ll talk to him, though. I told you, I have a feeling he’s going to be happy to see you. But first, I want you to put your palms against the wall next to that interior door. At about, oh, say, tit level. Then I want you to step back and spread your legs until your elbows and knees are straight and your weight is on those palms. You with me? I’m going to pat you down. Make sure whatever you brought with you was limited to your purse.”

She recognized the commands. She’d patted down countless suspects from the same position precisely because it made sudden aggressive action so difficult. She’d been hoping he would take her so lightly that he’d be sloppy, but no, so far he was being careful.