“How can I help you, sir?”
“It’s a little awkward, actually,” I say, feigning shyness. “I need information on another guest. A friend of mine is staying here, but I’ve forgotten his room number.”
“I’m sorry—” he begins, but I cut him off.
“I know, it’s against policy, but this is really an emergency. I think he might be ill. He has a health condition.”
The receptionist raises his eyebrows. “I’ll need to talk to my manager.”
I reach into my pocket, where five hundred-dollar bills are folded inside a leather wallet. To pay for company, if required. I drop one on the counter.
“It’s an emergency. I don’t have time.”
He looks around, clicks a few buttons, then swivels the screen to face me. It’s a list of names, maybe sixty long. I scan through each one, looking for clues, until I find it.
Carli Cross. 410.
It’s the name of the girl fromThe Last Date.
Clever. But how far does clever get you when I’m standing in your room? Will he still have courage? Will he be able to finish what he started?
I think not.
“That’s the one,” I say. I drop another hundred onto the counter. “What would it take to get a room key?”
It takestwo more hundreds to convince the boy to make a new keycard for the room, but he eventually does it. As I walk away, I can tell he already regrets what he’s done. As well he might.
Because of his actions, a man might die tonight. But it sure as hell won’t be me.
I take the elevator to the fourth floor. As the door opens, I peer out into the hallway, just in case Jesse is waiting for me. I go to the end of the hallway and turn the corner. 410 is the last room on the floor.
I hesitate outside his door, listening for noises. I want to surprise him, but after standing for less than a minute, I conclude that he probably isn’t in his room.
I’m unsure of my next move. If I’m wrong, and the police get involved, my plans will be at risk. But if I let Jesse get away with his little pranks, who knows how far he’ll go?
He looked crazy at the funeral. Maybe his pathetic mania has given him courage. It’s not a risk I want to take. I take out the keycard and press it against the lock; it clicks open.
I turn the handle slowly, then push the door open. The room is completely dark. The curtains must be drawn. I freeze, wondering if I’m stepping into a trap, then reach for the light switch.
It doesn’t work. I step further into the room, and the door clicks shut behind me. Shit, I can’t see a thing. I take out my phone and flick on the torch. I half-expect to see Jesse crouching in the corner, knife in hand, ready to butcher me—but the room is empty. There’s a large bed on the other side of the room, and beyond that, the curtains. I walk gingerly through the room, looking for traces of Jesse, but there’s nothing. The room doesn’tlook like it's been lived in at all. The bed is perfectly made, and there are no clothes on the floor. Not even a suitcase.
I open the curtains, then turn back to get a better view of the room.
Then I swear under my breath. Because it’s worse than I thought.
On the coffee table beside an armchair is a large, white rock. Up close, I see that it has maroon paint scattered across its side. It’s nearly convincing, and it tells me only one thing.
I can’t just run from Jesse anymore.
He knows too much.
I’m going to have to kill him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Jesse knows.
He isn’t just suspicious. Heknows.
