“No, sugar. We’re here because my daddy’s stayin’ here tonight, and we want to tell him the good news in person. But…he ain’t answerin’ his phone. Could you be a peach and give us his room number? Duncan Wilder.”
Looking down his pinched nose at me, he shakes his head. “We take the privacy of our guests very seriously. I can’t help you.”
I grip the rose tight enough, one of the thorns digs into my palm. Tears prick at my eyes. With my bottom lip quivering, I look from the clerk to Nash and back again. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t tell my daddy the good news. He’s only in town for another few hours—the oil business keeps him very busy—and this is my last chance to see him for months!”
When faced with a woman’s tears, even the strongest man can break. This guy—the gold tag on his jacket says his name is Ron—is no different. “I can…call his room. But I’m sorry, that’s the best I can do.”
“Oh, thank you!” I lean both elbows on the counter, my cell phone in one hand, that damn rose in the other, and bat my eyelashes at the man. “Baby, isn’t Ron just wonderful for helpin’ us?”
“Thanks a lot. This means everything to my sweet girl.” Nash lowers his voice and cups the side of his mouth with one hand. “Her father scares the shit out of me, but whatever Sierra wants, Sierra gets.”
Ron picks up the receiver, and I slide my thumb over my phone’s screen, activating the camera. Best case, Duncan answers and comes down to the lobby. Worst case, we get his room number.
“Tell him it’s Sierra and Nash.” One last sugary sweet smile, and Ron dials. But after a minute, he shakes his head.
“He’s not answering.”
No shit. “How long have you been workin’ today, sugar?”
Ron straightens his shoulders. Dammit. I’m losing him. “Since ten this morning. If Mr. Wilder doesn’t want to answer his phone, that’s his choice. I’m afraid I’ve done all I can for you.”
“You’ve been the absolute best,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I’ll just keep tryin’ his cell phone. Come on, baby. There was a coffee shop across the street. We can hang out there for a spell.”
As soon as we’re back outside, I check my phone. “Duncan’s in room 329.”
“But we can’t get into the elevator,” he says, not moving when I try to guide him toward the corner of the building. “Even if we could, the desk clerk would stop us.”
“That’s why we’re goin’ around back to the service entrance.” I give his hand a squeeze. “You did good in there.”
Ryker waits for us behind the hotel. “Whiskey is keeping an eye on things out front.”
“Somethin’ about this whole situation is two sandwiches short of a picnic. You comin’ up with us?” As much as I want to handle the former U.S. Marshal on my own, my gut tells me we’re gonna need Ry.
“Yep.” He pulls a small camera from his backpack and sticks it over the hotel’s back door. “Base, you have a visual?”
Over comms, Rip confirms he can see the video feed.
Ry shields me while I make quick work of the lock on the back door. “Stick close,” I whisper to Nash when we step inside.
I hope to all that’s holy the rest of the hotel is as deserted as the lobby. Ryker ain’t capable of blending in. Not when he has to duck just to make it through the door.
The scent of bleach burns my nose outside the service elevator, but in less than thirty seconds, we’re on our way up to the third floor.
We don’t encounter a single soul on the way to Room 329. If it weren’t for the television blaring across the hall, I’d wonder if even a single room were occupied.
Nash’s knock goes unanswered. “Get behind me,” I whisper. Ryker takes up position on the other side of the door, his Glock 19 pointed at the ground, and I slide the first pick into the lock.
When the last tumbler falls, I shove the door with my foot, and Ry sweeps into the room. “Clear,” he calls ten seconds later. “Get in here. We’ve got a situation.”
I pull Nash with me, but stop only two steps into the room. Duncan Wilder lies on the bed, fully clothed, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling.
“Is he…?” Nash reaches a hand toward Duncan, but lets it drop a second later.
“Yes.” Ry holsters his gun and reaches into his pocket for his phone. “He’s dead.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nash
