Swerve Page 21

  He follows her lead, backing her across the room until they bump the desk.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she says, pulling back for a moment to begin unbuttoning his shirt. “You are so beautiful. This isn’t the kind of thing that ever happens to me.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” He lowers his head to kiss her neck, untying the scarf at her throat. By the time he gets the knot undone, she has his shirt completely unbuttoned and is starting on his pants.

  He pulls the scarf free from her blouse and spins her around to pin her against the desk.

  “Whoa, cowboy,” she says, laughing.

  He slides his hands down her arms, grasps her wrists, and pulls them behind her back.

  “Hey,” she says, her laugh a little less certain now.

  He quickly wraps the scarf around her wrists, whipping the fabric in a circle until he can secure it with a knot.

  “Are we going Fifty Shades?” she asks on an uncertain giggle.

  “Actually, Sarah,” he says, swooping her up in his arms and holding her tight against him as he heads for the bathroom, “I’m going to have to put you on hold for a few minutes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something I need to do, and I’ll need you to wait in here.”

  He sets her down inside the shower stall, running his hands up and down her jacket and skirt in search of a phone. He finds it tucked inside a pocket, pulls it out and sets it on the sink before pulling the shower door closed. He reaches for the toilet brush beside the sink and wedges it through the door handles, effectively locking them.

  Sarah stares at him in disbelief. “You can’t leave me in here!”

  “It’s nothing personal.”

  “Why are you doing this? If she finds me here, I’ll be fired!”

  “I’d like to prevent that, but conflict of interest, I’m afraid.”

  “You ass!” she screams. “Let me out!”

  He slams the door before the next expletive can reach his ears. Knowing he has limited time, he turns on the flashlight of his phone, not wanting to light up the office any more than necessary. He sits down on the chair behind the desk and begins opening drawers. The middle one holds nothing more than pens and paper clips. A side drawer contains some bland-looking files and envelopes.

  The next two lower drawers are locked. He slides the chair back and drops to his knees to look under the center of the desk. He aims his phone flashlight at the corners, then slides his hand along the edges.

  Bingo.

  A small bracket holds what feels like a remote of some sort.

  He tugs it free from the holder and pulls it out, recognizing it as similar to the one he’d watched the owner of the hotel open that elevator with.

  He jumps to his feet. Now to find Emory.

  Emory

  “The more I see, the less I know for sure.”

  ―John Lennon

  I’M SITTING IN a chair in the lobby, looking at my phone and trying to act as if my nerves aren’t leaping beneath their pulse points. Facebook isn’t holding my interest though, and I throw another nervous glance at the lobby entryway, wondering what Knox has gotten himself into.

  It’s then that I see him standing just inside the archway that leads to the restaurant. He waves for me to follow him. I get up and walk casually across the wood floor, and by the time I reach the arch, he’s already jogging down the hallway.

  “Knox!”

  “Come on,” he says over his shoulder. “We don’t have much time.”

  “For what?” I’m actually running to catch up with him, and when I do, he reaches back to grab my hand, pulling me now in an all-out run.

  At the end of the hallway, he comes to an abrupt stop, pulling something from his pocket and aiming it at the wall. I hear a click and then the wall begins to separate, revealing an elevator door.

  “Wow,” I say.

  Still holding my hand, Knox pulls me inside and hits the Close Door button. We stand for a moment, staring at the panel. There’s only one button, marked B. Knox pushes it, and the elevator whispers into motion.

  I look at Knox, notice his disheveled hair and the lipstick at the corner of his mouth. “What did you do?” I ask softly.

  He lets go of my hand. “Persuade and detain. She’ll be fine. A little mad at me for the moment, but no lasting damage.”

  “You might want to wipe off the evidence of your technique,” I say, even as I wonder at the nudge of envy rooting somewhere near my heart.

  Knox

  “To save all we must risk all.”

  ―Friedrich Schiller

  THE ELEVATOR STOPS, and the doors slowly slide open onto a hallway dimly lit with sconce lighting. The room doors are some kind of heavy wood with keypad locks. Knox scans the walls for security cameras and spots them immediately.

  “We’re not going to have much time,” he says, beckoning Emory to follow him.

  “This is crazy. She can’t be here.”

  “Maybe not, but while we’re here, let’s make sure,” he says, grabbing her hand to pull her along behind him until they reach the end of the hall where the camera appears to have the least reach.

  “What’s your plan?” she asks. “We’re just going to knock?”

  “No need to reinvent the wheel here,” he says, rapping on the door in front of them with his knuckles. They stand for a moment, Knox pressing his ear to the wood and closing his eyes.

  “Anything?” she whispers.

  He shakes his head, and they move to the next one. He knocks again, the sound echoing in the long hall. They wait, and still nothing. The third door yields the same. Knox is beginning to think he’s overreached on this one as he pounds on the fourth door. This was an insane idea. What had made him think whatever Senator Hagan was up to could have anything to do with Mia’s disappearance?

  But in the next instant, a scream rips through the room behind the door. “Help! Help me!”

  “Oh, my God. That’s Grace! That’s Grace!” Emory pounds on the door with both fists. “Grace! Grace! Open the door.”

  “I can’t!”

  “Shut up, you little bitch!” A man’s voice, and he’s clearly not happy.

  Is that the senator? Knox scans the hallway, spotting the fire extinguisher next to the elevator door. He runs down the hall, grabs it, and uses the end to pound away at the keypad lock on the door. It doesn’t take long to prove his effort a waste of time.

  “What are you going to do?” Emory says, barely getting the words out.

  He checks to see which side of the door the hinges are on.

  “You’re not going to break that with your shoulder, are you?”

  “That only works in movies,” he says. “And it usually gets you a dislocated shoulder. The door’s hung so that it swings inward, so I might have a shot at kicking it in.”

  Emory throws him a shocked glance. “Seriously?”

  “Stand back from the door!” Knox yells to the girl inside. “Okay?”

  “Okay!” Grace’s voice is now muffled, barely audible.

  Knox drives the heel of his foot near the keyhole, supposedly the weakest part of the door. The wood splinters slightly. He aims another kick in the same spot, making sure not to hit the lock itself. He kicks again. And then again. The wood cracks further. It’s the seventh attempt that finally caves the bottom of the door in. He reaches through and turns the door handle from the other side.

  He pulls the Glock from the holster on the back of his belt. He aims the gun at the center of the room. Huddled behind the corner of the bed’s headboard, a teenage girl is sobbing. She has no clothes on, and Knox averts his eyes, grabbing a blanket from the bed and holding it out.

  Emory runs to her and wraps her in the blanket, her voice breaking when she says, “Grace! Oh, thank God. Are you okay?”

  Grace clamors out and throws her arms around Emory’s neck. She is crying so hard, she cannot speak. Sobs engulf her. She nods hard against Emory’s shoulder.

>   “Grace, where is Mia?” Emory asks, holding her by the shoulders now and staring into her face.

  Grace shakes her head, her voice wobbly when she says, “I―I haven’t seen her since the man took us.”

  “You don’t know if she’s here?” Emory asks, the words infused with fear.

  “No,” she says on a half-gasp, and then she’s crying full force again, holding on to Emory as if she’s afraid she’ll melt and disappear.

  “The man . . . he’s in the bathroom.”

  Emory places her hands on Grace’s shoulders, stares hard into her eyes. “Stay here with Detective Helmer. He’ll make sure you’re safe. Promise me you’ll stay here, okay?”

  She looks up at Emory, her eyes brimming with tears, the fear she’s no doubt felt for days now reluctant to release its grip. “Where are you going?” she asks in a barely audible voice.

  “I’m going to find Mia. She has to be here somewhere. I’ll be back as soon as I can. All right?”

  “Emory, wait for me,” Knox throws out, but she’s already gone. “Damn it!” He aims his gun at the bathroom door. “Open up!”

  A couple of seconds pass, and there’s no answer. “Okay, then, I’ll open it for you.” He aims a solid kick beneath the door handle.

  This door is less substantial than the room door, and it gives on the fourth kick. Knox sticks his hand through the hole and turns the lock, swinging the door fully open. He aims the gun at Senator Hagan’s chest.

  “No need for that,” the senator says, his voice icy cool. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?”

  “An underage girl in your room? And there’s the little matter of the drug you put in your friend’s drink at dinner. No deals for you, Senator.”

  “Watch out!”

  Knox turns at Grace’s scream. Just in time to see the gun with a silencer on the end. He jumps sideways, but not in time to avoid the bullet.

  Emory

  “You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

  ―Eleanor Roosevelt

  I BANG ON every door in the hallway, praying I will somehow know which room my sister is in. I hammer each door as I go, pressing my ear to the wood in the hope of hearing Mia’s voice. But there’s nothing all the way to the end of the hall on the same side as the room where we’d found Grace.

  I cross the hallway and start pounding on the door at the end. Again, nothing on the first, the second, the third. At the fourth door down, I bang as hard as I can, my fist now throbbing from the effort. I press my ear to the door, and it’s then that I hear her voice. Unmistakable.

  “Help. Please help.” And then louder. “Please! Help me!”

  Adrenaline hurls me into action. There’s no way I can kick the door in. I pull the gun that Knox had given me from the waistband of my jeans, release the safety. I know I could kill myself using the gun to destroy the lock, but at this point, what other choice is there? I have to get it open.

  I step to the side of the door and aim the muzzle directly above the keypad lock. I turn my head, close my eyes, and pull the trigger.

  The lock shatters, a piece of the metal blowing out and hitting me in the side. I feel its jagged edge pierce my skin and gasp, stunned by the pain. But the lock is broken, dangling now as the other one had. I use my shoulder to shove the door inward, screaming out Mia’s name as I go.

  She is sitting on the bed in the middle of the room.

  Her knees are drawn up tight against her chest, the expression on her face one of frozen fear. She’s wearing a pink dress that looks like something a ten-year-old would wear. Her hair is braided, a pink ribbon on each end.

  There’s a man on the bed beside her, naked and seemingly unconscious. I look at his face and recognize him as the man from the restaurant. The one who left with the senator, looking as if he’d had too much to drink.

  I run to Mia, dropping to my knees at the side of the bed and reaching for her. She falls into my arms, still saying nothing, as if she’s unable to let herself believe I’m really here. Like it might all be a dream. “Mia,” I say, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her so hard I’m afraid I’m actually hurting her.

  She remains stiff for a few seconds, and then, all of a sudden, she throws her arms around my neck and starts to sob. She’s crying so hard she can barely breathe. I’m crying too, trying to drag in gulps of air as I hold her against me, not sure I will ever be able to let her go.

  “How did you find me?” she asks, looking into my eyes, her own pooling with fresh tears.

  “It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that we get out of here as fast as possible.”

  “Actually, I’m afraid that won’t be at all possible.”

  The voice startles me, and I jump to my feet to find a very tall woman with ink-black hair pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, staring at me with hatred gleaming in those dark eyes.

  “From here, I’m afraid there will only be one option for the two of you,” she says in a deadly quiet voice. She lifts the gun in her right hand and points it directly at me. “Sadly, you have created quite a messy situation for us to clean up, but these things do happen. We’ll do what is necessary to get back to normal.”

  She looks at me then and says, “I think my mistake was in not listening to my initial feeling about you, dear girl. I have found that the only mistakes that arise here are the ones that occur after I have ignored my intuition. You have taught me a final lesson, and this will not happen again. Sergio has taken care of your other friends, so if you’ll please come with me, we’ll get this over with as quickly and as neatly as possible.”

  I stare at the woman, trying to process what she’s just said, even as I realize I am listening to the words of a psychopath. “What have you done to Knox?” I scream.

  “If his safety was your concern, you should have thought of that before trespassing where you do not belong.”

  “If you’ve hurt him or Grace—”

  The woman laughs. “You’ll what?” she asks. “You’re hardly in a position to be making threats.”

  I frantically search my mind for a way to buy time and force myself not to glance at the gun I’d placed on the floor beside the bed. Can I reach for it fast enough, or will she shoot Mia or me before I can even get it in my hand? I’m afraid this is exactly what will happen so I aim for another tactic to stall her.

  “You don’t really think you’re going to get away with this, do you?” I ask, locking my gaze with hers. My years of education suddenly make practical sense in a way I would never have imagined them doing. I know though that she has to see me as capable of besting her, that it is only this challenge that will give her pause.

  “The police will be here at any moment,” I say. “We called them when we broke into the other room.”

  “Oh, is that so?” she asks. “I do believe it will take them a while to find us, considering no one knows about the secret bunker. Nonetheless, we should hurry along. Your gun. Kick it under the bed, please.”

  My heart drops to the floor. I hesitate, knowing that gun is the only chance we have.

  “Now,” she demands, aiming her gun at me, her finger on the trigger.

  “Do it, Em,” Mia says, her voice shaking.

  With my thoughts racing for any branch of hope to grab on to, I find the gun with my left foot and push it under the bed.

  “And so you know,” the woman says, “this is my trap. It’s a fact of life. Predator and prey. Our girl here being the latter. I suspect you would never have let it happen to you, am I right? You’re the protector. The one who tries to keep away all of life’s ugly unpleasantries. And let me guess, little sister here has hated you for it? It hardly seems fair, does it? That those of us in the protector roles aren’t valued for those we save.”

  “Do not compare me to you,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re evil. A vile, despicable—”

  The woman laughs, as if truly amused. “Now, now. Continue seeing life through your rose-colored glasses,
if you wish, but I’m afraid that doesn’t change anything. The truth is undeniable. We each have our roles in this world. I’m under no illusions about my own. Do you think a year from now, if you were here to experience it, of course, that your younger sister would still be grateful for what you did for her in rescuing her here tonight? We both know the answer to that. Gratitude fades like smoke. And one day, you’ll wake up to wonder what made you risk your own life to save one who sees you as the bane of her existence.”

  “That’s not true!” Mia screams out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “To the contrary,” the woman says. “I am certain that I do. Now enough with the philosophy. Both of you, walk out the door. Now. Or I will shoot you here and simply have the extra mess to deal with once I go upstairs and assure the police there’s nothing to be concerned about here at the Hotel California.”

  I swallow hard, reaching for Mia’s hand, clasping her fingers between mine. My brain races for a plan, something, anything to delay, buy time. There are no police coming. This will be up to me. I have no idea if Sergio has actually gotten to Knox or not, but I can’t wait for him. It’s me against her. I have no gun. No weapon of any kind, and I have no doubt that she will shoot us.

  I pull Mia in behind me and start to walk toward the door. She holds the gun out, pointed straight at Mia. She knows where my priorities are and that in controlling Mia, she has me. Keeping Mia tucked by my side, I step out into the hallway.

  “Left, please,” she orders, pressing the tip of the gun to my shoulder and pushing us forward.

  I start walking, one foot in front of the other, closing my eyes for a moment, as I consider the only option I have. I open my eyes and focus on a point ahead in the hallway, the spot where a fire extinguisher hangs on the wall. I count my steps. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. I turn, abruptly, ramming my shoulder into the woman’s chest. I hear the gun go off, feel a blaze of pain ricochet through my left arm. A guttural scream comes from my throat, a sound I never imagined I could make. I shove her backward. She falls to the floor, the gun skittering across the hallway carpet.