“He gives a shit, you ignorant prick. We all do. Cole walked out of here as soon as he knew the jet was ready. He’s already on his way to Denver.”
“Has he brought a body bag? Or is he stupid enough to expect her to still be alive in a few hours?”
“Fuck,” Bishop mutters under his breath. “Bees and honey, champ. Bees and fucking honey.”
I close my eyes. Breathe deep. Force a patient swallow. “Look, I’m beside myself trying to get to her before they do, but I’ve got no clue where to start looking. Do you know where she is or not?”
The quiet returns.
I’m forced to stalk the display screen again. “Keira?”
“A hotel.” She sighs. “I don’t know which one or where exactly. Cole told Hunter it’s on the outskirts of the city. She was advised to stay there until he arrives.”
“Can you get me a name?”
“No. I already stole your number and am blindly trusting that my sister saw something in you that was real… At least, real enough to save her life. You’re going to have to do the rest on your own.”
“We’ll find the hotel,” Bishop mouths.
“Okay. Fine.” I wipe a hand down my face. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Good,” Keira responds. “Because if you don’t, I’m sure you know what will happen.”
39
Layla
I pace the carpet of the dirty hotel room for hours, only taking short intermission breaks to inch the cheap plastic blinds apart to see what’s going on outside.
Cars come and go on the busy street, the frantic traffic driving by like a thousand and one potential threats.
I’m hungry.
Tired.
And although it’s hard to admit, I’m scared, too.
Fear didn’t eat me like this when I was under Emmanuel’s roof. I’d felt protected. Stupidly immune because Matthew was by my side.
Now he’s not here, and I’m unsure what will happen if the Costas find me.
“Hey. Open up.” The reception guy knocks on my door. “I found that car of yours.”
I remain quiet, my heart trembling, my feet cautiously creeping me toward the entry.
“I said, I found that stolen car of yours,” he says louder. “Are you going to open up or not?”
“Keep your voice down.” I double check the security chain and open the door a crack, finding him an inch away, his acrid breath turning my stomach. “What do you want?”
He eyes me from face to feet and back again. “I hope you’re not bringing trouble my way.”
“I’m not.” I try to close the door only to have him lean his hip and shoulder into it.
“Well, you might like to know someone was calling about a woman fitting your description earlier. Said it was important they got in contact with you.”
My pulse skips a beat. “Who was it? What did you say?”
“They didn’t give a name.” He runs his tongue over a rotting front tooth. “And I told ’em nothin’, but that payment of yours is only going to go so far if I’m getting caught up in something that’s not my business.”
“You won’t.” I pull the door a smidge wider to chance a peek outside, then begin to close it again. “I’ll be gone soon.”
He thumps the wood with his hip. “How soon?”
“Any goddamn minute. Okay?”
I’m hoping Cole is already in Denver. If not, he has to be close.
“All right, Gucci belt. But just so you know, if I get another phone call, I might be tempted to sing like a little canary.” He runs a hand down his chest to his stomach. My gaze isn’t tempted to follow the path farther as he jerks his hips. “If you want we can come to an agreement on a cash-free transaction that will ensure my silence. What do you say?”
“Go to hell.” I shove the door shut and secure the flimsy handle lock.
I return to pacing, my fluctuating adrenaline having me hyped one minute and heartbeats from being comatose the next. I’m starving, scared, and nauseated. Helpless, hopeless, and horrified at what’s to come.
But it’s the familiar tone calling out, “Hey” ten minutes later that has every hair on my body standing on end.
I tiptoe to the window to peek through the plastic blinds, finding a black Mercedes pulled into a nearby parking space with Salvatore standing at the open door.
“I said, hey.” He focuses to the left of my room. Remy is nowhere in sight.
“What do you want?” the creep from reception calls back. “I’m busy.”
Oh, shit.
I slowly glide the blind back into place and sidestep to the door, holding my ear close to the frame.
“Have you seen a girl?” Salvatore asks. “Dark hair. Jeans. Blouse.”
“Pretty face?” the creep replies.
I backtrack toward the dilapidated kitchenette, my limbs heavy as I open the top drawer to find two plastic forks and a metal butter knife. There’s nothing else. No potential weapon. No cause for hope.
I’m going to have to escape through the bathroom window into the alley. Then what? Run for my life? Hide around the corner until Cole comes face-to-face with a man responsible for his brother-in-law’s murder?
They’ll kill each other.
“I guess,” Salvatore replies. “So, you’ve seen her?”
“No, but I’d like to.” The creep snickers. “If you find her, do you think you can give her my number?”
I don’t buy the act. Paranoia has me picturing the sleazy asshole blatantly pointing Salvatore toward my door.
“You sure you haven’t seen her?” This time it’s Remy’s voice, closer than his brother’s. “She isn’t hiding in one of your rooms, is she?”
A car door slams. A shadow passes my window.
I blindly trek backward toward the bathroom, my limbs growing heavy. I’m about to step into the tiled area when a skitter of sound carries from the alley, the subtle rattle of my bathroom window following.
My throat burns. The pounding beat of my heart threatens to crack my fragile ribs.
Did Salvatore run to the back of the building?
Now there’s nowhere to go.
I lunge toward the wall beside the open bathroom door, my back to the plaster covered in fingerprints, the butter knife clutched in my hand.
My head fills with visions of Stella, my eyes burning at the thought of never seeing her again.
I wipe my tingling nose with the back of my hand, measure my breathing, and raise the knife, preparing to strike. I won’t go down without a fight. Butter knife or not, I’ll cause injury.
Remy’s voice continues to carry from the parking lot at the scrape of the window opening. A light footstep against the tiles follows.
Salvatore is inside. He’s right there.
The ring of static grows in my ears.
I hold my breath, my raised arm throbbing, my heart frantic.
As soon as the suit-covered frame hits my periphery I lunge only to have the knife blocked, my wrist snatched, and my arm twisted behind my back before a rough hand clamps over my mouth.
“Quiet, amore mio.” Matthew holds me against his chest. “Save your screams for later.”