A place to hide.
My eyes followed his. To the bed. Closet. Drapes.
Balcony.
We quickly stepped outside into cold drizzle and closed the door behind us right before two large men entered my hotel room.
They were dressed in long black cassock robes, like Orthodox monks. If pressed to guess, I’d say they looked Eastern European. They searched my room like lions hunting prey.
Inside the rain-speckled panes of glass, a gauzy curtain covered the balcony door. Even so, I was afraid they’d see our silhouettes. Huck must’ve thought so too, because he dragged me out of view, and we huddled against the stone wall of the building. As traffic sped down slick streets below, I forced my overfast lungs to calm and dared a glance into the room. The curtain obstructed my sight, but I could tell that they were tearing my room to pieces. My clothes torn from hangers. Drawers pulled open. The mattress flipped over. My imported silk stockings twisted like wharf rope... and my imported newspapers with all the crossword puzzle pages removed and neatly finished, tossed aside like garbage.
Heathens!
One of the monkish men emerged from the bathroom and mumbled something to his cohort that I couldn’t catch. Then he surveyed the room, and—
He spotted the balcony door.
I quickly moved out of sight.
“We can’t stay here,” Huck whispered urgently into my ear. “They’ll kill us.”
The look on Huck’s face was grave. I didn’t want to die. Particularly not in a foreign country with a nearly naked Huck.
There was barely room enough on the balcony for us and the small patio table that sat in the opposite corner. Nowhere to hide. We couldn’t very well jump four stories to the street below.
My gaze flicked to our side. Each of the rooms on this floor shared one long balcony, broken up by waist-high iron railings. Terrible if you cherished your privacy, but at the moment it looked like a viable escape route.
“That’s Madame Leroux’s old balcony,” I whispered.
Huck took a moment to think about it before quickly tossing his rucksack over the rail. With one hand grasping his towel, he swung his long legs and leapt over the iron divider, smoothly landing on the adjoining section of the balcony like a graceful cat. I, on the other hand, still clinging on to both my handbag and my father’s journal, clambered over the rail like some sort of drugged sloth. He grasped my arm to stop me from slipping in a rain puddle, and we stumbled into the recessed shelter of the adjoining room’s balcony door.
As Madame Leroux had only checked out within the last hour, I prayed this room was still currently empty and tried to make myself smaller to remove myself from the intruder’s line of vision. Huck wrapped both arms around my back and pulled me closer. Too close. My breasts grazed his bare chest, and I could smell the rose shampoo in his hair. This was eight down in today’sGuardiancrossword: “To bait or ensnare.” T-R-A-P.
On the other side of the dividing rail, my balcony door creaked on its hinges. And that’s when I felt Huck’s damp towel plop onto my shoes.
I didn’t glance down.
Itriednot to glance down.
Fine. I glanced down.
There was a blur of darkness and some... vague shapes in my peripheral southerly vision. It was hard to see in the rain, but I was more than aware that the fourth floor was not as high up as I’d prefer, because anyone walking on the street below need only look up to see us in a lurid state of disgrace. Just one more black mark on my stellar record.
A scream cut through the wind and drizzle. It was coming from my hotel room, and a commotion soon followed. Banging. Running. Shouting...
The robed intruder on my balcony disappeared, and a male voice—one that I recognized immediately—shouted for the police.
“Bless Mr. Osman and his awful haircut!” I whispered.
Huck, however, didn’t share my enthusiasm. At that instant the glass-paned balcony door no longer withstood our combined weight. It flew inward, and we followed, hitting the floor together with a terriblethump.
The wind was knocked from my lungs, and it felt as if a horse had kicked me in my right breast. I seized in pain, unable to think straight. It took me several seconds to realize that my father’s journal was painfully wedged between us.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was more than aware that I was sprawled atop a naked Huck. I’d been here before, and my body hadn’t forgotten his, no matter how hard I’d tried to erase it from my memories. But that had been in kinder, gentler times.
In the hotel corridor, a guest yelled, “Here! They went this way!” Heavy footfalls gave chase, and a commanding voice ordered everyone to stay in their rooms.
That sounded promising. Were we out of danger now? Then I should move off Huck. Any second now I would. On the count of... something. Ten? Maybe on the count of twenty. He felt more pleasant beneath me than I cared to admit. Desperation does terrible things to a girl.
