“Shit. Yeah. Hang on a second.”
While I wait, I check the balcony doors. Locked, but any idiot with a credit card or even a paperclip wouldn’t need more than thirty seconds to break in. Pulling a thick rubber band from my pocket, I loop it twice around the door handles. It’s not much, but given its strength, it’ll at least cause a racket and wake her up if someone tries to break in.
“Got both Austin and Dax on the call,” Clive says, his words switching to blue text on the screen.
“Max is dead? How?” Austin asks, the green type an homage to Mik’s job as a botanist.
“Someone cut his throat. In his hotel room. I was only in there for a minute, tops. Sloane was the one who found him, and I didn’t want to leave her alone. But no obvious signs of struggle or other injuries. Body was posed in a chair facing the door.”
Dax—whose words appear in black, cuts in. “You secure the scene?”
“I’m not an idiot. Put out theDo Not Disturbsign, made sure the door was closed, and left. Her fingerprints will be on the light switch, but that’s it. I’ll go back after I’ve explained things to Sloane, but the way I see it, we’ve got three options.” Taking a deep breath, I stare out over the serene water of Lake Zurich. “At the party tonight, someone tried to rattle Sloane by sending her a distinctively Russian drink. I have a vague description of the asshole, but nothing solid. And Marina told me Max texted Sloane andaskedher to meet him in his room. Given the condition of the body, there’s no way he sent that message. The killer did.”
“Fuck. And the options?”Dax asks.
I tick them off on my finger, “Dangerous, dumb, and risky. Dangerous is sending Sloane back there torediscoverthe body and call the authorities. Dumb? Taking the sign off the door so housekeeping can find him in the morning. And then there’s risky. Cover the whole thing up. But if we do that, and the killer saw me follow Sloane into that room, my cover’s blown.”
No one speaks for several long moments, until Austin’s green text appears. “Wren managed to Photoshop you into a couple of Sloane’s existing Instagram posts, and the hotel reservation system has you listed as the second guest on her suite with Marina staying next door. It’s not that much of a stretch that her overprotective boyfriend wouldn’t want her going to Max’s room alone.”
Dax adds, “Or that the two of you got distracted and didn’t make it there at all.”
When I first saw Sloane tonight at the bar, the one-shoulder number in midnight blue hugging her curves, she took my breath away. Finding myself distracted with her for a few hours? That’s not my mission. But while I’m damaged goods, I’m not dead.
Clenching my right hand, I relish the pops of my knuckles. Even if I can’t hear the sound, I can imagine it, and the sensation helps drive the inappropriate thoughts out of my mind. “It’s not out of the question. But that may not be as easy to sell as we’d hoped. She’s pretty pissed at me.”
“Shit. I told Marina she couldn’t keep this from Sloane,” Clive says.
“Your cousin has a decent right hook. If she were any taller, she might have done some damage.”
The wordlaughterflashes on the screen in Austin’s green text, and damn. There aren’t many sounds I miss—at least not more than I miss simply beingableto hear. But laughter? I blink hard against the burn of emotion rising from my throat to my cheeks to my eyes.
It hits me so hard, I sink down onto the bed, take off my glasses, and mutter, “Need a minute.”
I need a hell of a lot more than that, but leaving Sloane and Marina alone for much longer? Not an option.
“Griff? Clive and Dax are on hold. It’s just the two of us. You okay?” Austin asks.
“Fuck no, I’m not okay. This was a goddamn mistake, and you know it. Sloane doesn’t know about mylimitationsyet, but when Marina found out? That was a shitshow.” Shaking my head, I swallow my pride and clear my throat. “I’ll keep Sloane safe. You know I will. But for the love of God, send someone else to take over for me tomorrow. Someone with two good arms who can hear more than thunder and semi trucks. Please.”
My voice cracks on the final word, another thing I can feel but will never hear again.
“There’s no one else to send. I just recruited a former FBI agent out of Texas, but he’s recovering from a serious concussion and won’t be mission ready for another month. They’re doing a major remodel at Clive’s mom’s care home, and it was stressing her out to the point she was hospitalized. He can’t leave her. Ronan’s back in Ireland for his brother’s wedding. Tank is in Seattle training with Hidden Agenda for a week. Vasquez is on another assignment, and Ella’s on vacation. But dammit, Griff. I wouldn’t have sent you if I didn’t believe you were the best guy for the job.”
Fuck. “Do what you can. Okay?”
“I will. Gonna bring the others back on now.”
My phone announces the return of the other two guys, and Dax’s name flashes on screen first.
“I talked with Clive, and we think the best move is something between risky and dumb. I’ll send a cleaning crew in tomorrow morning posing as housekeeping. This shindig is a big fucking deal, and there’s no way the hotel—orBeauty and Style—would want a murder made public. Wren’s going to hack into the manager’s email. We can analyze his writing patterns and communicate with the event’s organizers so no one misses him. Family emergency, that sort of shit. Your cover story has you working for the Ulstrum Agency as a junior agent—that’s how you and Sloane met in the first place—so you can take over any day-to-day management tasks and it’ll give you an excuse to be with her 24x7.”
They’re not going to let me out of this. “Fine. Once I talk to Sloane, I’m going back to Max’s room to record the scene.”
Dax stops me, “Don’t. My guys will take video and send it to you. Wren’s scrubbing the security feeds so there’s no footage of the two of you coming or going. Cleaner that way.”
“Will do.”
Call Disconnected.
