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I peek through the hole and see Ron leaving. I look around the room for a prop, something, anything I can use if I need to improvise an excuse. I empty trash in a left-behind Bergdorf Goodman bag and sling it over my shoulder. If anyone asks, I’ve been out for a day of shopping and wandered into the wrong room… or something.

“He’s on the move,” I say into the microphone I transferred from my elf costume to the collar of my Christmas sweater.

I wait another minute for Ron to get into the elevator, and then I’m back on the trail.

I have no clue what to expect. A trap? A lair of well-laid plans? Photographs of me and Nathan taped to the walls with large Xs drawn over our faces?

I’m scaring myself. That’s the stuff of movies, not real life.

I square my shoulders and let myself into room 1708. It’s not at all dark and dingy like I imagined. Instead, it’s ornate and bright. Seriously, so much gold. The chairs, the carpeting, the drapes. There’s also a small Christmas tree in the corner of the living room—yes, this is a two-room suite—with ornaments and decorative, prop gifts underneath to fill the space.

I set the Bergdorf bag on the ground and check the suite for audio and video bugs. If there are any, I’ll have to make it look convincing that I’ve randomly stumbled into the suite. I’m good at an impromptu cover, but this? This makes no sense.

Luckily, the room’s clean.

Unluckily, there aren’t any signs of Sadistic Santa in here—no tiny note cards, no calligraphy pens, no nothing. In fact, there are no signs of life in here at all. No suitcase, no clothing. Not even garbage in the bins.

Why would Ron have access to a different guest’s room? I don’t recognize Robb’s name from my Santa Wannabes Cheat Sheet. Who is this guy?

Too many questions, not enough answers.

Think, Scarlett.

My eyes dart around like the answer is written on the walls. What am I even looking for here? All Sadistic Santa’s plans and riddles neatly laid out? A motive written on hotel letterhead? This is like trying to find a piece of tinsel in a blizzard.

No! Strategic thinking, not overthinking.

I move on to other things I can open. The closest drawers in the desk and nightstands. I look in the closet to check the safe. It’s unlocked but empty. I check behind the toilet room door, the toilet tank itself, and under the sink. I pull cushions from the couch and lift the mattress. Nothing.

“We need to check out Ron’s actual room,” I say to Nathan. “The Con-assigned one.”

“We’re not checking anything out. We have less than ten minutes until the finale,” Nathan says. “Meyers and Bird can take over while we’re down there.”

I don’t want to leave. I’m so close, I can feel it.

“Ron’s finishing up a quick photo op and taste test the judges are doing with the cookies—Wait.” Nathan goes quiet. “He’s heading back to the elevators. Payne, if you’re in that room, get out of there. Now.”

I retrace my steps. What am I missing? I look behind the chair in the corner. Nothing.

I hurry past the Christmas tree, accidentally kicking one of the presents. The box tumbles into the one next to it.

But the present behind that doesn’t budge.

“Payne,” Nathan says, his voice low, “did you hear me?”

“I’m going,” I say absentmindedly. I kneel and lift the present that didn’t move. It’s got weight to it. When I untie the ribbon and remove the lid, I see why.

Inside is a metal box, locked with a padlock.

My heart races. I grab one of the tree ornaments and remove the silver hook, bending it back to pick the lock.

“You can do this,” I say to the warped version of myself reflected in a glass ornament. Outside, crackling on the speakers of a pedicab, Bing Crosby sings about conspiring by the fire. Unafraid, we can face the plans that we’ve made.

And that’s exactly what I intend to do. With my pulse pounding, I push forward. I hum along to the music and close my eyes, imagining my way through the lock. I feel it at the same time I hear it.

Click.

The lock pops open. I’m in.