Perfect.
I park the van three blocks away in a parking garage. We walk.
“Hold my hand,” I say as we approach the revolving doors.
Cassie hesitates.
“Social camouflage,” I remind her. “Couples hold hands. Strangers maintain distance. We need to close the gap.”
She slides her hand into mine. Her fingers are cold. Mine are rough. But the fit is—alarming.
She squeezes once. I’m here.
We walk through the doors. The lobby smells of expensive perfume and old money.
I keep my head down, letting the brim of the hat shadow my face, and guide Cassie toward the elevators, bypassing the front desk.
“Don’t we need to check in?” she whispers.
“I have a key,” I lie. “Just walk.”
We blend into a group of surgeons heading for the elevators. I press the button for the 5th floor. The elevator is crowded. I back Cassie into the corner, putting my body between her and the rest of the world. It’s a protective stance, but it looks like intimacy. I lean in, putting my mouth near her ear.
“Relax,” I whisper. “You’re doing great.”
She leans back against the wall. Her hand is still in mine, gripping hard. I smell her—the vanilla scent lingering beneath the sweat and the dust of the road. It’s intoxicating.
The elevator empties floor by floor. At the 5th, it’s just us.
I step out. Turn left.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Room 514.”
“How do you know?—”
“Because I know where Cerberus keeps its contingency caches.”
I stop at 514. I don’t use a key card. I pull a specialized magnetic shim from my pocket—something Fuse designed. I slide it into the reader.
Click. Green light.
“After you.”
We step inside.
It’s not a room. It’s a suite. High ceilings. Heavy drapes. A king-sized bed that looks like a cloud compared to the forest floor.
I lock the door. Throw the deadbolt. Engage the privacy latch.
“Clear,” I say.
Cassie drops the shopping bags. She walks to the center of the room and spins around.
“This is a contingency cache?”
“Ghost likes his comforts,” I say. “He maintains rooms in six major cities. Prepaid. Under shell corporations.”
