The maître d' stepped forward to greet new arrivals, his spine stiffening almost imperceptibly as he did. I angled myself to see past a floral arrangement.
My stomach dropped.
Weasel-face and Neck-optional stood just inside the doorway, looking decidedly out of place in their damp coats and scowling expressions. They must have found a way to keep moving despite their damaged tires.
Persistent idiots.
The maître d's voice carried across the room, his whispered urgency barely contained. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid we cannot accommodate walk-ins this evening. We are fully booked."
"We ain't here to eat," Neck-optional growled. "We're looking for someone."
I set my nearly empty tray down on an unoccupied service station, keeping my movements unhurried despite the panic building in my chest. A quick scan revealed a dimly lit hallway beyond the bar area.
Exit strategy identified.
I still needed a distraction. My gaze landed on a sleek smart-phone resting on a nearby table while its owner was deep in conversation with a dining companion.
Perfect.
I brushed past the table, extending my awareness toward the device. The familiar tingle ran through my fingertips as I connected with its circuitry, instructing it to vibrate continuously as if receiving an emergency alert.
Modern alarms trumpeting old-school thugs.
Poetic, really.
The phone's owner jumped, startled by the sudden vibration, and knocked over his water glass. The resulting commotion – servers rushing to mop up the spill, apologies being offered –created the perfect cover as I slipped away from the main dining area.
The hallway led to a staircase marked "Private – Staff Only." I glanced back toward the dining room, where my pursuers were now arguing with the maître d' and a man who appeared to be the manager. They hadn't spotted me yet, but it wouldn't take them long to start searching the restaurant.
I took the stairs two at a time, emerging onto a quieter floor. The plush carpet muffled my footsteps as I moved quickly down the corridor, trying each door I passed.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked again.
Behind me, I heard the stairwell door open and heavy footsteps on the stairs. My pulse spiked as I tried another door handle – this one turned. I slipped inside what appeared to be an office, closing the door silently behind me.
The room was dark except for the ambient light filtering through partially closed blinds. Heavy furniture loomed in shadow – a massive desk, file cabinets, and leather chairs that probably cost more than my first car. The air smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and something else. Something wild and earthy that I couldn't quite place.
Footsteps approached in the hallway, slow and deliberate. Not the hurried pace of my kidnappers, but something more measured. More dangerous.
I dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the desk, pulling the leather chair in to shield me from immediate view. The footsteps stopped outside the door. My breath caught as the handle turned and the door swung open.
A massive silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the hallway lights. The figure reached inside and flipped on the lightswitch, flooding the room with sudden brightness that didn't quite reach my hiding spot.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and cold, with the faintest trace of a Russian accent. It filled the room like physical presence, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
"What business do you have on my private floor?"
I pressed myself further into the shadows beneath the desk, wondering if I had just traded one predator's jaws for another's.
I held my breath as the office light illuminated everything except my hiding spot beneath the massive desk. From my vantage point, I could only see expensive Italian leather shoes and the hem of what had to be a custom-tailored suit. The man moved with the quiet confidence of someone who never needed to raise his voice to command a room.
Great.
I'd escaped amateur hour only to land in the office of a professional.
