Page 59 of Freedom’s Inferno

“Of course he knows. He’s been tracking us the whole time. Moving now doesn’t fix that. It just tells him we’re rattled and running blind.” His eyes stayed on the windshield. “We go back, and we figure out the next move on our terms. Not his.”

The confidence in his tone should have calmed me, but it didn’t. The fear cut deeper. He believed what he said, and I envied that belief, but I could still see those photos behind my eyelids. Proof of how close Costa had been.

How close he still was.

Chapter 25

Chuck

The elevator doors opened with a muted chime, and Lana and I stepped out into the carpeted hallway that led toward our suite.

She hadn’t said a word since we left the bank, not since those photographs.

I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t know what to say either. It sat heavy on my chest, the blurred outline of our bodies, the intimacy of it. My stomach turned at the thought. Someone had been close enough to steal the quiet from our morning, a moment that shouldn’t have belonged to anybody else.

We walked fast. The anger and fear vibrated off her in uneven waves. She needed someone to fight.

I happened to be standing there.

“This isn’t sustainable,” she said under her breath. Her heels clicked against the floor, every sound an accusation. “You can’t just keep pretending everything’s fine.”

“I’m not pretending,” I said. “We’ll figure something out.”

“By doing what, exactly?” she shot back. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, because that’s not living, Charlie, that’s waiting to die!”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know, I’m working on it. Would you rather we just throw our hands up and surrender? Maybe offer them a drink from the mini bar when they kick the door in?”

She exhaled. “You’re impossible.”

“So are you.”

We were both too keyed up, too raw. We’d stopped talking strategy. Fear sat between us now, but we were both too proud to say it.

As we rounded the corner toward our suite, a well-dressed couple passed in the opposite direction. They looked like the kind of people who frequently enjoyed luxury hotel stays: the gentleman in his tailored suit, a Rolex on his wrist, and the madam dripping with diamonds.

The woman’s gaze flicked over Lana, perfect, composed, elegant even in her anger, then to me. Her eyes lingered long enough for me to read the judgment there. Her partner followed her look, assessing me in my flannel and worn boots, the gauze wrapped thick around my hand.

I didn’t look like the kind of man who belonged in this kind of place. Something inside me snapped.

“Yes,” I said, my voice cutting through the hall, sharp enough to make them stop. “She’s with me. Unbelievable, I know.”

The man blinked, startled. The woman’s mouth fell open, offense and fear warring in her expression.

I picked up my pace, charging ahead down the hall, and Lana’s stride lengthened as she fought to keep up.

“Seriously?” she hissed. “What’s with the tantrum?”

“They were staring,” I said. “I didn’t like it.”

“So you decided to shout at them in the middle of the hallway?”

I ignored her, stopping in front of our door, jaw tight. The key card clicked, the lock giving that small mechanical sigh as the door opened. I stepped in first, hand automatically going to the small of her back to guide her in behind me, but she shook me off. The suite looked the same as we had left it, but after seeing those photos, it felt soiled now. Poisoned.

I moved through the suite like a man possessed, every motion calculated. I told myself I was being logical, methodical. I told myself checking the rooms was precaution, not paranoia, but my pulse hammered in my throat. It beat too fast, too loud, echoing in my ears as if the walls themselves were amplifying it.

I flung open every closet door and checked each shower, my eyes tracing the corners and the ceiling as I went. I studied the view from every window, searching for any angle a lens could have caught us from, then drew the curtains tight, sealing each room in its own uneasy dark.

I hesitated at the threshold of Lana’s bedroom. Her scent hung in the room, ripe strawberries, and something floral. I crossed to the window and pulled the curtains open.