No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(68)

The light in our room flared on, the glow stabbing through the crack in our closet. Jennifer stiffened, and I pulled her close, telling her with my body to let it go. To wait until there was a reason to explode. I felt her trembling and raised my Glock. She saw the death in her peripheral vision and raised her own. I leaned in and whispered, “My shot. You do nothing.”

She lowered her gun, but I could still feel the tension in her body. Fearing she’d cause a compromise, I leaned in again and said, in a voice that could barely be heard, “You’re a ghost. Nobody knows you’re here. Let him go about his business.”

I felt the trembling stop but kept my weapon at the ready. The man left the room.

We heard more shuffling from the other bedroom, then heard the outside door close. Jennifer sagged against me and said, “Man alive. I don’t want to do anything like that again.”

I said, “Let’s get out of here.”

I called Dunkin and got the all clear from the camera. Jennifer used the scope just to be sure, seeing the hallway was empty. We exited, moving straight to the laundry room stairwell. I jerked the handle, and it moved freely up and down but didn’t open the door. I tried again, getting the same result. The door was locked.

Feeling like a fool, I said, “Please don’t tell me you disabled the lock on the first-floor stairwell before you came down.”

“No. Why?”

“Because this f*cker is locked.”

She tried the handle, saying, “Mine was open. I didn’t do anything.”

For whatever reason, her doorway had been left unlocked. Which was absolutely no excuse for me not checking this one before I let it close.

Jesus Christ. I should have left a wedge. Idiot.

Jennifer said, “Pick it?”

“Take too long, and I don’t want to be on tape doing so. Right now, we’re just guests to anyone who reviews the footage.”

From Dunkin’s floor plan I knew that the hotel guests’ stairwell flowed out right past the reception desk, but we could still use it to get out. I said, “Guest stairwell. We’ll exit on the first floor, then retrace your steps to the garage.”

We speed-walked to the other end of the hall, entering the stairwell and taking the steps two at a time. We reached the second floor, and Dunkin called again. “The man just went to Koko’s entry room on the first floor.”

Shit. He was sterilizing every room. He’d find the window breach.

I held up and Jennifer said, “We are going to get out of here clean, right?”

I said, “Of course,” but I was honestly starting to wonder. I started back down, moving much slower, thinking through options. I skipped the door to the first floor and continued to the lobby. Jennifer said, “How are we going to exit? The desk will see us.”

I said, “Yeah, that’s a threat, but I’d rather the hotel staff see us than the man on the first floor. He has two rooms to sterilize, and it would be just our luck he’d pop into the hallway the same time we do. He takes one look at you and your wet clothes, and he won’t have to guess at who was climbing through the window. We’d be forced to take him out, and any lead we’ve found will be gone. They’ll think they’re compromised and abort whatever they’ve got planned.”

We reached the lobby, and I had Jennifer lead. Walking into the small atrium, we went past the beefy dude at the front desk.

Moment of truth.

He nodded at us, then did a double take. He said something in French, which I didn’t understand.

Here we go.

I tensed up and Jennifer answered in French. Calming the man. I hid a smile and kept walking. The guard said something else, walking around the desk. Jennifer hissed, “He doesn’t buy my story. He’s asking why I’m all wet.”

Still walking, I said, “What did you tell him?”

I saw the door to our front, and she said, “That we were visiting a friend. He asked who.”

We were parallel to his desk, the door thirty feet away. I considered just sprinting when he darted in front of us, blocking the exit. He moved surprisingly fast for such a big guy. Over six feet tall, he leaned forward, using his size to intimidate. He said something I couldn’t understand, and I decided I’d had enough.

I held my hands up and said, “Speak English?” He shook his head, and I said, “How about ass kicking? You speak that?” My hands already shoulder-high, I balled my fists and popped him in the face with two quick jabs from my left. His head bounced like a paddle ball on a string, and I gave him a right roundhouse punch with all of my weight behind it, snapping my hip into the blow. It connected perfectly with a sharp crack, and he dropped straight down, as if I’d magically touched him with a wand.

Jennifer knelt next to his head and checked to make sure he was breathing. She looked up at me and said, “I guess he got a crash course in that language.”

I pulled her to her feet without a word, moving to the front door. We burst out of it, the rain stinging my face. I turned left, dodging through the deserted cafés, Jennifer right behind me.

With any luck, the event would be chalked up as an attempted break-in and not connected with the Serbian TOC operations. Nothing had been stolen, and no other guests had been disturbed, so it was a good bet. After tonight’s shenanigans, I figured we were due some good luck. For Kylie’s sake.