Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
I gaze around at the cameras pointing down on us. “How many work?”
“What? All of them.”
That’s unfortunate, but I haven’t got time or the resources to fix that. They’ll see me soon. “Open.”
His shaking hands fumble over the keys until he finally gets it open, revealing more doors.
“Where’s the vault?”
“Oh God, I’ll go to prison!”
“I’m not here to rob you.” I hold up a key. “Familiar?”
He nods and points to a door. “Oh Jesus. The vault’s through there.”
“Open.” I demand, waving my gun. Spittle holds a key to a pad and then his eye to the scanner, and the door pings open as he starts praying while he goes through the motions of opening the vault.
When the colossal metal door drifts open, I inhale, momentarily losing my focus. A moment is all it takes. Spittle moves fast, facing me, and I fire before I have a chance to think about where I’m shooting him. Blood splatters against the wall, and I look away on a wince. “Shit,” I breathe, telling myself, forcing myself to calm the hell down. I find Spittle face up, eyes open, a hole in his head. Fuck! I still, listening for any sounds of security coming to investigate. Nothing. I frown and step toward the door, hearing cheering from the security room, then look up and around at the cameras. Uneasy, I take Spittle’s legs and pull him to the door, using his body to wedge it open.
Then I start trying all of the boxes, looking up every time I hear a sound, pausing my search, bracing myself for a security guard to come running in. No one does. Box after box refuse to open, until . . .
The key turns, and I inhale at the sound of a lock shifting. I open the box, tense, finding a piece of paper, and with shaking hands, I unfold it.
A letter.
From my father.
And with each word, my heart slows more.
Beau, If you’re reading this, you’ve found out something I desperately didn’t want you to know.
I’m so sorry…
“Beau?”
I still, staring down at the words before me, frozen. The voice behind me spikes both comfort and distress.
And then a sharp stab in my arm has me dropping the paper.
And everything is . . .
Black.
37
DANNY
James screeches up outside the hotel, and I’m out before he’s brought his Range to a stop, sprinting up the steps and bursting into the lobby, frantically scanning the space for Rose.
I don’t see her.
I turn on the spot, my stressed sweat starting to meet the collar of my shirt. “Where are you, Rose?” I say to myself, raking a shaky hand through my hair as I stalk around, dialing her. It goes straight to voicemail. “Fuck!” Have I got the wrong hotel? I run to the reception desk and thrust my phone at the woman, showing her the photo of Rose on the beach in St. Lucia that dominates the screen. “Have you seen this woman?”
The receptionist leans back, wary, her eyes jumping from the deranged man before her and his mobile. “I’m sorry, no.”
“Can I help you, sir?” A man steps forward, suited and booted, looking all important. I look down at the gold badge on his blazer. The manager.
“I’m looking for someone,” I say, showing him the screen. He doesn’t bless it with even a look, instead raising his chin. I mentally warn him not to be difficult. My patience is non-existent. He’s lucky I’m not already tearing up his hotel.
“I’m afraid guest confidentiality is something we take very seriously.”
“She’s not a guest,” I grate, my hand squeezing my phone. It’s that or this cunt’s throat. “Have you seen her?”
He still doesn’t look at the screen. Is he detecting the unexploded human bomb before him? The heat rises from my toes, burning the worry away and replacing it with something this prick definitely doesn’t want to see in his hotel. The woman moves back as I reach for the glass jug on the counter and wrap a hand around the neck, turning it upside down. The water pours out all over the marble counter and he looks at the weapon in my hand.
No second chances. And with that thought, I draw back the jug.
“Danny.”
My name breaks through the mist of fury and I still, ready to launch, and look back. James has Rose under his big arm. I drop the jug, letting it shatter everywhere, and jog over, my lungs tight, relieved. I grab her and haul her into my chest, squeezing the life out of her. “Thank God,” I whisper, over and over, looking to the heavens. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“We need to get out of here,” James says, taking the top of my arm, jerking his head back toward the entrance. I look over my shoulder and see the manager with a phone shaking at his ear. I turn Rose around, tuck her into my side, and lead her out onto the street where James has abandoned the car. We make it to the passenger side, and I release her, finally taking the time to check her over. Legs, stomach, chest, neck, face.