“He knows what you look like,” Izzy begins, coaching her. “Walk into the lobby, make eye contact, and rush out like your hair is on fire. He’ll follow.”
“What if he’s not in the lobby?” she asks.
Syrus begins driving again, while I take advantage of my hot spot on my phone to log into the hotel security system. I also find a log of the activities happening at the hotel, and find that he’s still in meetings. There’s a block of time that says “drinks at the hotel bar” which doesn’t seem like a suggestion from ten at night to midnight.
“Bingo,” I mutter. “He’ll be there. The schedule for his conference says he will be. I’ll also be able to find him on the cameras. We got this, baby.”
Nodding, she snuggles between Harlan and Izzy before she begins to fire off questions. What has he been doing all this time, how often is he in Colorado, and does he have a family.
She’s all business, though she’s not as acerbic with Harlan anymore. Every day, she settles in a little more with us. The heat was definitely a good icebreaker.
I should definitely not be in charge of a manual on how to make your omega adore you. I would fuck that all the way up.
I spend the next two hours answering Silva’s questions, digging deep into the research my computer has been pulling on Brad and Luke. At the third hour mark, she falls asleep and I relax slightly.
“Bait,” Syrus growls.
Oh, he’s been holding that one in for fucking hours. Awesome.
“How else am I supposed to get him out?” I ask. “Walking in with a crossbow and screaming ‘I challenge you to a duel,’ is probably not going to work.”
Harlan and Izzy laugh, and I shrug at the visual it brings to mind.
“It would be really cool,” Izzy admits. “I don’t think duels are fought with crossbows though.”
“I am surrounded by children,” Syrus rasps, sounding as if he’s very close to losing his shit. He’s been stewing and driving. That’s never a good mix.
“Sorry, Daddy,” I reply, not feeling very repentant.
“God, I fucking hate you so much,” he groans.
“I think we’re growing on him,” Harlan says cheerfully.
“I know I am,” Izzy shrugs. “You two are fucked.”
“Rude,” I mutter.
Ignoring us all, Syrus flicks on the radio and concentrates on driving through the mountains. I notice that every song is violent as fuck, and I shake my head.
“It’s either throttling you or music. I choose not to die on the road,” Syrus says under his breath.
“That’s valid,” I say, going back to work on my mark. By the time I’m done, I’ll even know if Brad Fielding liked to eat his boogers, or if he’d ever paid a prostitute for sex.
Whatever his darkest secrets are, I plan to find them out, and then I’m going to find the biggest online newspaper to offer his story to. Even dead, his ghost won’t rest from the humiliation I have coming for him.
I bet he’s really interested in keeping a squeaky clean image. The problem with that is that it’s never true. I’m intent to fuck up everything he’s ever worked for after making him brutally disappear. All that will be left once we’re done is his blood.
No evidence, nothing to report.
That’s how ghosts like ourselves roll.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Harlan
“What’s his status?” I ask Kyren as Syrus pulls into a parking lot across the street from the hotel. It’s a large convention type of venue, one I expect has the ability to accommodate large groups of people with many meeting rooms.
“He’s settled in at a table at the hotel bar with a few of his colleagues and boss,” he replies. “My research says that he’s looking to move up in the company, and schmoozing is the way to do that.”
