Lies(38)

Time to get more specific. I move on to #thornbrookhotel, and yes, we have a winner. A conference is in full swing and the attendees are apparently filling the bar to overflowing. Bonus points for them being addicted to social media. According to the hotel website’s map, the Uptown Bar opens onto the huge, extravagant marble lobby/reception area. Plush red velvet seating, crystal chandeliers, and lots of people coming and going.

I study every shot, enlarging them to the point where the pixels go fuzzy. No sign of Thom or…wait. Maybe one of them is in the back of this shot. Yes, there’s Bear. Or at least I’m pretty sure it’s him. The height kind of gives him away. In all likelihood they’re trying to avoid getting caught on camera. Though I’m guessing they’d be more worried about the hotel security system than someone taking a happy snap. After all, it’s hard to be on the lookout for everyone all of the time.

The shot was posted an hour and a half ago. Perhaps Bear wandered in, sat down with a drink or something, checked out the situation, and reported to his partner. At least, it’s what I’d do if I were an international person of mystery.

But what the hell do I know about doing reconnaissance (“recce,” I remind myself)? Nada. Hence why I’m here fiddling on Instagram.

Still no message from Thom on the new clean and secure cell phone he gave me. Of course, it’s only for emergencies. Like someone knocking on the door or a bomb going off. The man even made me pinky promise not to call anyone. As tempting as it is to shoot Mom or Jen a text (which wouldn’t be breaking my word, strictly speaking, because it would be a text, not a call), I don’t.

After examining dozens of pictures for further signs of my fiancé’s continued existence, I’m about ready to give up. Go back to surfing the news channels or attempt another movie. Maybe just stare dejectedly at the apartment walls. Sounds like fun.

I reload the screen one more time for good luck. Three new pictures have been posted. It’s a busy night at The Thornbrook Hotel. An expensive bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice. Very fancy. An older couple posing in their hotel room, arms around each other’s waists. They look so happy. I wonder if Thom and I would be all loved-up and gracious if we were still together in fifty years. Though who knows if we’ll even be together next week.

And the final pic is a couple of dudes hanging out in the lobby. On their way to a concert, apparently. Lots of people wandering past in the background of this one. Along with a figure who seems oddly familiar. Lanky body, sloped shoulders, hands stuffed into his jean pockets. There’s a certain air of skulking. Much nefariousness. His clothes are dark and damp from the rain, hoodie pulled up to cover his head. But his head is turned as he looks over his shoulder. Most likely to check he’s not being followed, or to avoid the security cameras at the entrance to the hotel. Whatever his reasons, he’s almost full-on facing the camera.

It’s Badger. The supposedly recently deceased Badger.

“Holy shit. He’s the bad guy!”




A doorman in one of those black uniforms with shiny gold buttons opens the taxi door as soon as the car pulls up outside the hotel. Despite the crap weather, there are plenty of people coming and going. I stride into the lobby, a woman on a mission. This isn’t a job for the Escada suit, despite the opulent surroundings. I stuck with black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Along with lots of mascara and winged eyeliner for confidence and good luck, of course. Cell phone and some cash are stuck in my back pocket. I try Thom on my cell one more time, just in case. No answer, and no indication that he’s read my message.

It’s not my fault I broke almost all the rules and left the apartment. Thom needs to be told. If Badger shoots him in the back because he didn’t get warned the guy was still alive and kicking, I’ll never forgive myself. I can’t stay hidden away while Thom’s in danger. So I’m just going to have to be very brave and get this done despite being shit-scared and way out of my depth.

I do a discreet wander around the main lobby area, searching for a familiar face or two. Music streams out of the crowded bar. A jazz pianist, by the sounds of things. How cool. But there’s no sign of Bear or Thom anywhere. The only thing I know for certain is that they were scouting out this hotel and planning a meet with Helene Sinclair. If the scouting section of the mission is finished, then there’s only one thing for me to do. I need to get up to the penthouse suite and locate Thom there. Hopefully.

Three people stand behind the reception counter and only a couple are waiting to be served, or checked in, or whatever. Luggage sits at their feet. No one at the concierge desk right now, and this suits me fine. I pick my prey carefully. He’s the youngest one on duty. The newest member of staff, most likely. Also, he seems slightly flustered, frowning at the screen in front of him. Of course, what I’m about to attempt could all backfire spectacularly. Odds are probably about even. But at least I’ll have tried.

“Hi, I’m supposed to fix the arrangements in Helene Sinclair’s room,” I say, sliding him the business card I picked up from Molly’s Flowers and moving the bunch of white roses that I bought from the shop up in my arms a little. I’ve got a whole bullshit presentation thing happening here.

The young man, whose name tag says “Cory,” just blinks.

“She’s staying in the penthouse, apparently.”

Now he frowns.