“You have a better idea?”
Steven patted his pockets once more. Apparently, neither one of us had our phones either.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for my hand.
“Can’t we just wait here?” I whined as he hauled me to my throbbing feet. “The kids will be up in a few hours anyway. It will probably take the front desk that long just to get someone up here.” Without any form of ID, I doubted they’d send someone to unlock it anyway.
“We’re not going to the front desk.”
“Where are we going?”
“To eat.”
Steven and I walked to the first open restaurant we could find, a few blocks from the hotel. As much as I hated the idea of giving in to him, my stomach didn’t have the same willpower, and the promise of greasy diner food was far too tempting to pass up. It had been so long since my last hot meal.
Steven smiled brightly at the hostess as she guided us toward a table. He stopped me as my screaming feet dove for the booth. He pointed to a dimly lit table at the back of the dining room. “Would you mind if we take that one?” he asked her. She glanced at the empty section of the restaurant, a regret already forming on her lips. Steven put an arm around my shoulder and winked at her, and her frown softened.
“Sure,” she said. “I don’t see why not.”
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was up to something, but I was too exhausted and too hungry to care as I sat down and the woman slid a carafe of coffee and an empty mug in front of me. I poured myself a cup, dumped in a few creamers and some sugar packets, and took a long, slow, glorious sip, hardly listening as Steven ordered for both of us. The server returned a few minutes later with two heaping plates of waffles, bacon, and eggs. I tore into the batter-encrusted goodness like it was the Last Supper as Steven stared at me over his mug, one corner of his lip curled up in amusement. I was halfway through my second waffle and my third cup of coffee when the fog started to lift.
“So where were you tonight, really?” he asked, elbows on the table as he watched me Hoover my last slice of bacon.
“Already told you,” I said around it.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Feliks Zhirov, does it?”
“No,” I said. At least, not directly. I glanced up from my breakfast. “Why would you ask that?”
“No reason.” His eyes slid away from me. They darted around the restaurant as if he was ready for the check. “You finished?” he asked as I used my last bite of waffle to soak up a puddle of syrup and shoved it in my mouth. It stuck in my throat as I thought of Vero, alone, back in that hotel suite. I hoped she’d ordered food and was getting a few hours ofsleep, though I was guessing if she had the choice between room service with two dead guys or a waffle breakfast with Steven, she’d probably agree she was getting the better end of the bargain. I swiped my syrupy fingers against my paper napkin. “I can’t eat another bite.”
“I saw a sign for the bathrooms by the door. Why don’t you go wash up. I’ll handle the bill.”
I meandered back through the diner, smiling at the hostess as I passed her station on the way to the ladies’ room. A young woman in a server’s apron stood in front of the sink, applying her makeup and fixing her hair, probably getting ready for her shift. Her purse sat on the countertop, her cell phone sticking out of the open zipper. “Would you mind if I used your phone?” I asked her. “I seem to have lost mine. I just need to call my roommate and make sure she doesn’t worry.”
She gave me a quick once-over in the mirror before passing me her phone.
“Thanks.” I carried it a few feet away and googled the number for the Villagio. When the front desk answered, I asked to be connected to Marco’s suite. The phone rang several times before the call connected. The woman who answered had a thick, nasal New Jersey accent that sounded suspiciously like my literary agent, Sylvia. “Mr. Toscano’s room. This is his assistant speaking. How may I help you?”
“It’s me,” I said in a low voice, cupping a hand around the phone.
“Oh, thank god,” Vero said as she released a held breath. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been texting you.”
“I got locked out of my room and I don’t have my phone. I had to borrow one from a woman in a restaurant bathroom. Don’t ask… it’s a long story,” I said, glancing back at the mirror as the waitress swiped on her mascara. “Everything okay?”
“The two dead dudes put a damper on the whole room service experience, but the eggs Benedict was pretty damn good.”
“Did you find anything in Marco’s phone?” The waitress had begun packing up her cosmetics, suggesting my conversation with Vero was about to be cut short.
“Not yet. I’m still going through all of his contacts, trying to figure out who all these people are. He uses a lot of nicknames, probably so he doesn’t get caught doing business with shady people. He texted someone namedS.H.right after we left the restaurant last night. Marco gaveS.H.his suite number at the Villagio with instructions to meet him here. Said he had something he needed to move.”
“Think it was the Aston Martin?”
“It had to be. But I can’t find anything about who thisS.H.is or where they might have taken Javi and the car.”
“What about thatG.G.person who texted Marco last night? They said something about making an exchange. You think they might have had something to do with it?”
“Good thinking. I’ll keep looking and see what else I can dig up on Marco’s phone.”
