“Then how do we find it?” I asked, scratching an itch in my jumpsuit.
“By asking someone just as shady as Marco.” She reached inside my bra strap and plucked out Enzo Russo’s business card. “And I know just the guy.”
CHAPTER 21
Vero and I tore the phone number from the notepad, wiped down Louis’s room, and took the stairs back to the seventeenth floor. We pounded on Marco’s door, rushing inside as soon as Cam opened it. He held Kevin Bacon in one hand and a slice of cold pizza in the other.
“I thought I told you to clean this place up.”
“I did,” Cam said, gesturing indignantly to the overflowing trash bags lying on the foyer floor. Red plastic cups spilled from their gaping mouths. Cam kicked one with the toe of his boot. A shower of empty liquor bottles cascaded to the floor. “I separated the recycling and everything.”
Vero nudged open a bag, her nose wrinkling as she peered inside. “What’s all this?” she asked, pinching a dirty sock before realizing what she was holding. She dropped it back into the bag with a grimace.
“A bunch of clothes people left behind when you told everybody to leave. A couple coats, shoes, some bras… I tossed a few pairs of underwear around the place.” He tapped his temple with a conspiratorial wink. “You know, DNA and shit.”
Vero rolled her eyes. She shoved the paper with the phone numberat him and snatched his pizza. He nearly dropped Kevin Bacon as he scrambled to hold on to it. “What the hell is this?”
“I need you to find out who this number belongs to,” she said, tearing off a huge bite. “And hurry it up, we don’t have time to waste while you eat.” I’d known Vero long enough to know the signs of stress eating. She shoveled in another mouthful as she lifted the lid of the pizza box on the serving cart, searching for another piece.
Cam set Kevin on the floor and unfolded the paper, frowning as he held it closer to his eyes to read the number in the coffee residue. “Cell phone users aren’t just listed out there for anybody to find.”
“I thought you were supposed to be some wunderkind hacker. So hack something.” She picked up his laptop bag and thrust it at him.
“Hacking isn’t just knowing how to use a freaking computer. It’s about knowing what makes people tick. You know, tricking them into giving you the information you need to break in. I need to know something about who this guy is,” he said, waving the piece of notebook paper at her.
“He’s the guy who knows where your thumb drive is. Is that enough motivation for you?”
“The man who answered that phone works in some kind of garage,” I offered. “He said he called Louis yesterday. See if you can find any records of calls or texts between Louis or Marco and that number. Maybe one of them has it stored in their contacts with a name.”
Cam sucked a tooth, looking between me and Vero before carrying his laptop to the sofa and settling in.
The hotel phone in the suite rang again.
“I’ll get it.” Cam plucked it from the cradle before I could stop him. “Yeah,” he answered casually, cramming the receiver under his jaw as he typed. His fingers froze over the keyboard. His eyes lifted to mine as he swung his legs off the coffee table and bolted to his feet. He thrust the phone at me. “It’s for you,” he said, slapping his laptop closed. He fumbled with his backpack zipper as he shoved his computer inside it and slung it over his shoulder.
Vero grabbed hold of it as he hurried past her, stopping him in his tracks as he bolted for the door. “Sit down,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously. She took him by the shoulder and set him firmly on the couch.
I cleared my throat and put the phone to my ear. “This is Mr. Toscano’s assistant.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elaine said in a hushed voice, “but a police officer is here, and he’s asking for a room number—”
Vero’s knuckles whitened around Cam’s shoulder as she registered my face.
“But I’ve spoken with Mr. Delvecchio, and the noise complaint has been handled,” I insisted. “There’s no need for the police to get involved.”
“The officer’s not asking for Mr. Delvecchio’s room. He’s asking about Mr. Toscano’s.” My eyes skated over the room, then darted to the bathroom door. “I told them it’s not our policy to give that information unless they have a warrant, but he flustered me. He’s very charming,” she blurted, the words coming faster as she fumbled over her apology, “and when he asked me which floors our VIP suites were located on, the FBI agent who was with him insisted that I wouldn’t technically be breaking any rules to disclose that. So I told him we have VIP suites on the tenth, twelfth, and seventeenth floors.”
Wewere on the seventeenth floor.
“Where are they now?” I asked, my heart leaping into a gallop.
“In the lobby, waiting for an elevator. I told them Mr. Toscano was entertaining company tonight, but they—”
I slammed down the phone. “Nick and Garrett are on their way up.”
Cam stood up again. Vero pushed him back down, her face pale. “How much time do we have?” she asked.
“They don’t have a warrant.” My hands shook as I paced the living room. “The front desk didn’t give them Marco’s room number, only the floor numbers for the VIP suites. They’ll have to go door to door. With any luck, they’ll start on the tenth floor.”
