Page 101 of When He Plays

Charlotte pushed the button for the fourteenth floor.

The doors slid closed. “The perp just called me.” She reached into her small bag and pulled out her gun. One of the reasons she’d brought the bag—it made hiding her weapon easier. “The bastard is in the hotel, room 1408. He just called.”

Jamar hauled out his gun, too. It had been tucked under his suit coat.

“Well.” A sigh from Logan. “No one told me that we were all packing weapons, so I suppose it’s a good thing I came prepared on my own, isn’t it?”

What kind of weapon did he have? She frowned over at him.

“I’ll pull it out when it’s needed,” he assured her. “Right now, I think you and Jamar—it is Jamar, yes?”

“Yes,” Jamar grunted.

“Pleasure to officially meet you. Only heard great things. By the way, thanks for watching my wife’s ass over the years.”

“What?” Jamar gaped at him.

“Anyway…” A roll of Logan’s shoulders. “You two have the fire power covered. I’ll pull out my weapon when needed.”

Jamar shook his head, hard. Then locked eyes with Charlotte. “Are you sure it was him?” Jamar asked her. “You know for certain this is the killer we’re after?”

One hundred percent sure. “He said that he had Harper. That he didn’t think she’d last the week like the others.” Fast, frantic words. “He told me that he’d rather have me.”

“Fucking bastard.” Logan’s low snarl.

Yes, yes, he was, indeed, a fucking bastard. “How did he even know I was in the lobby?” That part confused her. How had he known how to reach her so easily?

“If he’s in room 1408, he probably just watched us walk right in the hotel.” Logan’s easy reply. “He would have seen us approaching. Even numbers in this hotel face the street.”

“The room is registered to Pierre,” she rushed to tell Jamar. The elevator rose swiftly. Her gaze remained on the floor indicator sign.

Seven.

Eight.

“Why is he in Pierre’s room?” Charlotte muttered. A point that bothered her.

The elevator kept rising.

Nine.

“Maybe they’re working together?” Jamar’s retort.

Ten.

“Maybe,” she allowed. “We should have someone checking the stairs. Monitoring the other elevators. While we are going up, he could be coming down.” Not like they wanted him escaping. Oh, hell, no.

Eleven.

Jamar yanked out his phone. Called someone—someone on their team, no doubt, and immediately asked for the stairwell and other elevators to be monitored.

Except, who were they looking for? Who were they supposed to stop? Who was the perp?

“No accent,” she recalled. “His voice was muffled and low.”

Twelve.

“Harper is still alive.” Her gaze remained on the red lights as the next floor lit up. “He spoke about her in the present tense.” That was good. That meant they had time to save her.