“The son-of-a-bitch who drugged Jamie,” Bax says, meeting my eyes as a tremor cuts through me. I want him caught, but I don’t like the idea of being anywhere near that guy. And even the top floor of the hotel seems too close to the lobby.
“That’s great, right?” Gabby asks. “You can detain him and call the cops and then we figure out who he is.”
“And who he’s working for,” I say. “Although it’s got to be Carolyn Atkinson, right? Did Ryan say what happened at the townhouse?”
Baxter shakes his head. “But he’s on his way. He’ll fill us in when he gets here. In the meantime, hang on.” He scrolls through his phone where I know he’s getting constant text and voice updates from the hotel security team.
“Ryan’s with the chief inspector. A team is at the townhouse. Carolyn’s in custody. William is under medical care.” He looks up from the screen. “Now you’re updated.”
“I can’t believe this is almost over,” Gabby says. She has her own cup of coffee now, and she takes a long sip, then sighs.
“We grab the bastard,” Baxter says. “He’ll confirm that Carolyn hired him—or maybe blackmailed him—to drug Jamie and probably go after Gabby. And then we can wrap this up.”
“That would be amazing,” Gabby says. “But are we absolutely sure this is the guy? Because why would he come back?”
“He must not know that we have his picture or even that we’ve been looking for him. Which means we have the upper hand.” I look to Baxter. “Right?”
He nods, then moves to Gabby’s side. “And he damn sure doesn’t know that we’ve had multiple agents stationed at all of the monitors in the security room watching to see if he returned to the hotel.”
“But that still doesn’t explain why he’d come back at all,” she asks.
Baxter meets her eyes. “You heard what Meeks said about the will. They’re running out of time.”
“Oh, God.” The blood drains from her face. “Of course. He’s here for me.”
“He won’t get you.” I’m adamant.
“No,” Baxter agrees. “He won’t. He’s probably planning to watch the room. See when you leave to go shopping, down to the spa, whatever. Then he’ll make his move, grab you, and Bob’s your uncle.”
She actually laughs. “You don’t sound remotely British.”
He shrugs. “Which is why I work for her husband instead of making a living on the BBC.” He hooks a finger my direction, then smiles.
His phone pings, and he glances down, then back up again. “And it’s time.”
“Time?” I ask, then answer myself. “You have his location in the hotel and you’re going to go get him?”
“Already got him,” Baxter says. “Ryan pulled the trigger on the team intercepting him when we started this conversation. Our mysterious infiltrator is waiting in Ryan’s office. Hang on.”
Gabby and I watch as he crosses the room to make a quick call. “They picked him up for loitering,” he says, returning. “Said some women complained that he was hitting on them, and we don’t believe he’s registered at the hotel.”
“That’s perfect,” I tell him.
“He’s locked up and Carolyn is in custody. Ryan’s on his way in. We should have this tied up with a bow within the hour.” He points to each of us in turn. “Stay put, though. I’m heading down to start talking with our guy.”
We agree, and as soon as he’s out the door, I flip the security lock. “I need a drink. You?”
“God, yes,” she says, then follows me to the bar.
I grab a package of chocolate chip cookies from the hotel’s welcome basket, noticing that Ryan left his personal phone beside it. I roll my eyes. He knows every minute of every day where his work phone is, but I find his personal one all over our house. He keeps telling me he’s going to combine both numbers on one device but hasn’t gotten around to it yet.
I toss Gabby the cookies, and she catches the package one handed. Then I pour us each a Scotch and follow her to the sofa where we each take a corner, both of us curling one leg up so that we probably look like bookends.
“So what now?” she asks.
“Ryan’s good at getting information,” I tell her. “He’ll drag it out of this dude, find out if anyone else is involved, and then nail Carolyn and anyone else’s ass to the wall. And somewhere in there they’ll get local law enforcement and the embassy involved, too, I’m sure.”
“Right. So, how long will that take?”
I shrug. “Fifteen minutes? An hour? More? It all depends on the willpower of the man in the chair.”
She shoots me a pained look, and I grimace. “I know. Waiting is the worst. Should we, I don’t know, watch a movie?”
Gabby laughs. A real, genuine, stress-relieving laugh. “That’s normal,” she says. “And right now, normal sounds very, very good.” She grabs the remote from the coffee table and clicks to one of the streaming services. We’re about twenty minutes into Pitch Perfect when my phone pings, and she pauses the film.
It’s a text from Ryan, and it says—Progress report: All good. We’re wrapping up. Stay in the room. Back soon. Love you.
I put my phone down, but before she starts the movie again, Gabby looks at me. “Do you know the worst? I don't even care about the money. I mean, Carolyn is my aunt, right? Why do all of this? We could have split it. I might have even told William to take most of it—I probably would have. I didn’t know Randall, and I’m fine financially. I mean, hindsight is twenty-twenty, but all I want is something from Randall that commemorates the fact that he thought about me. Like a memento, or even a few shares of stock in his company, you know?”
“I get it,” I tell her. “Do you even know what kind of business Randall was in?” It occurs to me that Jeff might not have had the chance to tell her how her birth father made his fortune. A fortune she’s going to inherit.
“I looked it up on the flight over. All sorts of tech stuff, but most recently the company was focused on cellular technology. Mobile phones and that kind of thing.”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s what Ryan told me. Weapons and communications.” I glance at my own phone, then frown.
“What?”
“I’m not sure. Something…” I trail off, then shrug. “One of those thoughts you can’t quite catch.”
She looks at me expectantly as I sit there, but then I shake my head again and make a frustrated noise.
“Whatever it is, you’ll remember when you’re not trying.” She clicks the remote to start the movie again.
We’re almost to the big finale when I hear the distinctive click of a key card at a hotel door. I glance toward our door but see no telltale light and no movement of the doorknob. The click, I realize, isn’t coming from this room.
Baxter.
He must be back already, and since he has a key to both the connecting conference room and Gabby’s room beyond that, he must be coming in through one of those entrances. I get up, already expecting him to holler for us when the security latch engages, preventing the door from opening more than a few inches. But then I remember that although I latched the penthouse door, neither Gabby nor I thought to go into the connecting rooms.