Probably.
The plan had seemed reasonable an hour ago, when Dakota left. She’d called London, who had patched her through to Nimue, who’d pulled intel on the remaining suspects and flagged the Harts—the quiet couple who’d joined the tour. Their room was a story and three doors down from hers, accessible via the balconies that wrapped around this wing of the grand old hotel.
Fourth floor. Historic architecture. Plenty of handholds.
What could possibly go wrong?
Nothing at first. She’d changed clothes, then made it to the Harts’ balcony, slipped inside, and searched their room. Luggage: normal vacation clothes. Toiletries: unremarkable. Electronics: a laptop with a dormant screensaver, and a tablet loaded with romance novels and family photos of their children.
Nothing. Another dead end.
And then she’d heard the door.
The Harts had come back. Jayden had fled to the balcony, swung herself over the railing, and pressed into the shadows while someone came into the room.
That someone had stepped onto the balcony for air.
Now Jayden was on the ledge, trying not to breathe too loudly.
So, yes, a terrible idea. The worst.
Finally—finally—whoever was on the balcony went back inside. The balcony door clicked shut. Jayden counted to sixty, then started moving.
Three rooms. That’s all she had to cover. Three rooms’ worth of ledge, with the ornate stonework of this beautiful old hotel providing just enough grip for her fingers, just enough width for her feet.
She edged past the first balcony. Dark inside—empty room, probably. Past the second. A television flickered behind drawn curtains, but no one looked out.
Her balcony. Her room, one story up.
Don’t look down.
She climbed up the exterior, brilliant handholds etched into the ornate structure, and swung herself over the railing, feet hitting the tile with a soft thump. She pressed her back against the wall, breathing hard, waiting for her heart to slow down.
She was alive. She hadn’t fallen. She hadn’t been caught.
Small victories.
She reached for the balcony door?—
And heard the room door open and close inside.
Dakota.
And terrific—she had approximately three seconds to decide: stay on the balcony and hope he didn’t come outside, or walk in like she’d just been enjoying the night air.
She chose option two.
When she stepped through the balcony door, Dakota was standing by the bed, his jacket half off, his expression somewhere between curious and suspicious.
He stared at her for a long moment before: “What were you doing out there?”
“The view is amazing.” She gestured vaguely toward the city lights. “You should see it.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then at the balcony. Then back at her. “You changed clothes.”
Leggings and a black shirt. “I was cold.”
He raised an eyebrow. Walked past her and stepped out onto the balcony. “Part of your inspection?”
