I blew out a ribbon of steam as I searched the depths of my purse for a bag of Zach’s Cheerios. Cam took it with greedy hands, shoveling the contents into his mouth by the handful.
“Come on,” I said, taking him by his sleeve. He didn’t try to stop me as I led him past the empty teacup ride, back down the ice-slicked ramp to the boardwalk.
“Where are we going?” he asked through a mouthful of cereal.
“To find that thumb drive before Charlie does.”
CHAPTER 9
“What the hell, Mrs. D?” Cam grumbled to himself as we rolled the housekeeping cart down the hall. “Is all this cloak-and-dagger shit really necessary?” The cart slowed as he paused to scratch an itch under the pillowcase I’d tied around the short spikes of his hair like a headscarf. The housekeeping smock just covered his knobby knees, and he adjusted his apron to conceal the laptop bag slung across his chest. His Doc Martens clomped reluctantly behind the cart as I urged him to hurry up.
“Keep your head down,” I reminded him when we reached Marco’s suite. I rapped on the door. There was a faint shuffling sound on the other side of the peephole. “Open up. It’s me,” I whispered.
“Who’s that with you?” Vero asked.
“Just open the door.” The dead bolt flipped and the door swung open.
Vero frowned at me. Then at Cam as his cheeks flamed. Recognition sparked white-hot in her eyes. “Oh, hell no!”
I shoved a mop in the door before she could slam it. Thrusting it into her hands, I grabbed the cart’s handle and dragged it inside, pullingCam over the threshold with it into the suite. “He had nowhere else to go and it’s freezing out there.”
“Too bad,” Vero said, blocking his way to the living room, “because there’s no way I’m letting that conniving little thief in here.”
Cam laughed. “That’s rich coming from you.I’mnot the one wanted for stealing.”
Vero held up her cell phone. “I can think of a quick way to fix that.”
“Enough!” I said, breaking out my mom-voice. “Nobody is reporting anybody. We have more important things to do. Like rescuing Javi.” That got Vero’s attention, and she pressed her mouth shut.
I untied my housekeeping apron and tossed it onto the cart. I handed Cam his hoodie and jeans from one of the compartments underneath it. “There’s a bedroom down the hall on the right. You can change in there.” He snatched his clothes from me, flipping Vero off.
“Whoa,” he said in an awed voice as he stepped around her into the living room. “Nowthisis a hotel.” Vero glared at his back as he clomped to the coffee table and lifted a silver lid off a room service platter. He stole one of Vero’s uneaten french fries and licked the salt from his fingers as he chewed. “So much better than that last dump you took me to.”
Vero’s hands balled into fists. She gritted her teeth as Cam sauntered down the hall in his housekeeping smock and disappeared into the smaller bedroom.
There was a loud yelp and a door slammed as Kevin started barking. I rubbed my temple, feeling a headache coming on.
Vero rounded on me and stomped her foot. “I can’t believe you brought him here after he tried to cook us all alive! We’re supposed to be rescuing Javi, not babysitting a juvenile delinquent with mafia problems!”
“I couldn’t just leave him out there. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Cam screamed, his horrified shriek carrying down the hall. From the left. Not the right.
“Oh, god,” I breathed.
Vero’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t tell him?”
Cam burst into the living room wearing a pair of plaid boxers and an undershirt. His boots were unlaced, his eyes glassy with panic. A sheen of perspiration had bloomed between the acne on his brow, and he looked like he might be sick. He gesticulated in sweeping motions behind him, breathing fast. “There are two dead dudes in the bathtub! Why are there two dead dudes in the bathtub, Mrs. D?” His hands shook as he bent to step into his pant legs before remembering he still had his boots on. The thick soles caught on the denim, and he nearly fell on his face in his rush to get out of them.
“I can explain,” I said as he shook a foot free.
“Forget it. I don’t want to know.” He wrangled his jeans on and tugged on one boot as he stumbled toward the door. “I mean, I saw what you did to that guy in the salvage yard, and I thought that was pretty badass, but this—”
I stepped in his path before he could make it past the housekeeping cart. “I swear to you, Cameron, we did not kill those men. You have to believe me. They were like that when we got here.”
“Together? In the bathtub?” he cried. “With the”—he gestured to his hair in a frantic pantomime—“thing?”
“Not exactly,” I said, taking him by the arm and steering him gently toward the sofa. “Sit down before you hyperventilate.” Cam stumbled to the sectional, one boot unlaced, holding the other in a death grip. “Take deep breaths and put your head between your knees.” I couldn’t remember if that was how you treated panic or a nosebleed, but the last thing I needed was for Cam to lose my son’s Cheerios on the floor.
