by Sara Rosett
How long did it take to ride five floors in an elevator? I heaved the duffle back in the closet, then hesitated a moment over my own laptop. I wanted to take it with me, but if I did, Pete would know for sure someone had been in his room. I quickly replaced it in the closet and set the video camera on top of it. There was no way I could get it back across the balcony with me, anyway. I needed both hands for that maneuver.
I closed the closet door and sprinted for the sliding glass door. I hoped he had to stop on every floor. My phone buzzed again, causing me to do a little leap in the air. I was as tense and quivery as a poodle waiting for the mailman. I let the phone continue to buzz.
I’d have to leave the sliding glass door unlocked and hope Pete didn’t notice it. Maybe he’d think he left it unlocked.
I gripped the sheet and was about to lunge for my balcony, mentally giving myself a quick pep talk, when I remembered I’d flipped the interior deadbolt. I shoved the sliding glass door back open, rocketed to the door, flicked the deadbolt to the open position, then took a few steps and halted in my tracks. The lights! They’d been off.
I quickly reversed course, slammed my hand down on the switch plate to douse the lights, and dashed back to the balcony. As I pushed the sliding glass door closed, I heard the familiar click of the door lock releasing. I let out a whimper as I inched the glass door closed. Thank goodness the curtains were closed.
I threw my legs over the railing, grabbed the sheet, and jumped across the gap without even thinking about it. Fear and adrenaline are amazing things. Safe on the other side, I shifted my legs over the railing and untied the knot in the bed sheet with trembling fingers. Then I darted into my room and crumpled onto the bed.
After a few minutes, when I felt that I could walk without my legs collapsing, I got up, left my room, and made my way to the elevator. Monica was dialing my phone nonstop, and I figured she needed to see the photo of the contract to actually believe it. She met me in the lobby.
“Glad to see you made it out,” she said, removing her phone from her ear.
I shrugged. I was too drained to talk. I brought up the pictures of the contract on my phone and handed it to her. “We’re sunk,” I said, dropping down into one of the chairs scattered throughout the lobby.
She skimmed the document, shaking her head. “Do you know what this means?”
“It means we have nothing. No photos. No memory card. No bargaining power. Nothing.”
Monica paced across the dark wood floor, not listening to me. “It means Pete is done. He saw the opportunity for a big payoff, and he took it. Instead of handing the photos off to Exposé, he decided to keep them. He negotiated his own deal with the British tabloids. He’ll never work again in celebrity media.”
“I’ll say. Look at the next picture.”
Monica scrolled to it and shook her head again as she said, “The Caymans! I never would have thought it of Pete, but he is getting up there. He’s said a few things about retiring. This probably seemed like too good a deal to pass up. He snatches the photos from you, sells them to the Brits, and disappears to the Caribbean where he can catch waves until he can’t get out of his wheelchair.”
Monica sat down in a chair beside me. “Clever idea, getting the room next to his. I’ll have to remember that in the future.”
“Thanks,” I said listlessly.
“I wonder how long I can put off calling my editor. At least until the morning, right?” Monica sounded as apathetic as me. She didn’t seem to expect an answer, and we both sat in silence. Laughter mixed with music floated from the bar. People moved through the lobby, snatches of their conversations drifting through the air. I felt too tired to move and let the music and words flow around me for a few moments.
“I told you, that’s not good enough.” I stiffened as the speaker, a man, passed right behind me, his voice carrying through the lobby. “I’ll never let her sign,” he continued, “until you get rid of that exclusivity clause. Not going to happen.”
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I knew that abrasive voice. I wanted to swivel around. Instead, I gripped the arms of the chair and slowly turned my head. In a white shirt and jeans, he stood out from several pudgy tourists in floral prints and pastels. He was striding away from me, his cowboy boots ringing out with each step, a phone pressed to his ear. When he turned his head, I could see his face was furrowed with wrinkles.
Monica picked up on my altered posture. “What is it?”
“It’s Mr. Sandpaper Voice,” I said, staring at the man, who was repeatedly punching the elevator button. “That’s who threatened Ben. He’s the one who wants the memory card.”
“Dwight? Dwight Fellows?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling. “Suzie’s manager?”
“Yes. That’s him. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.”
“It is distinctive,” she said, but there was doubt in her tone. “You think Dwight kidnapped your brother and . . . what? Has him tied up in the penthouse?”
“I don’t know. Ben could be somewhere else, but he did say he was in a nice hotel on the beach, but . . .” I frowned. “That’s not the guy who pulled a gun on Ben in the parking lot.”
The elevator dinged, and Dwight stepped inside. The air stirred around me as a young man jogged by, his flip-flops slapping the floor as his blue Hawaiian shirt fluttered. “Mr. Fellows, wait,” he called, and Dwight reluctantly held the button to keep the door open. The younger guy stepped inside and pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. Dwight Fellows sent him a look that, even at a distance, I could interpret as distaste. The younger guy held out a set of car keys, and the elevator door slid closed as Dwight took the keys.
“They’re together,” I said, sitting back in the chair, trying to work it out. “That younger guy, I saw him in some of the photos today. Do you know who he is?”
“No . . . but I suppose I could ask Tony. He’d probably know.”
“Who’s Tony again?”
“One of my contacts here. Works for the concierge,” she said. “He got off at eight, thank goodness, or he’d be trying to buy us drinks.”
“You should be nicer to your contacts,” I said in an aside.
“He’s seventeen!”
“Oh, in that case, you need older contacts. Who aren’t smitten with you.”
“But then they’re not nearly so cooperative,” she said with a little pout as she dialed a number on her phone. “Tony, honey. Me, again. Yes, I know, I have to talk to you every few hours. So who’s the scruffy guy with brown hair and glasses with Suzie’s entourage? Hawaiian shirt, young guy . . .” She listened for a moment, then thanked him effusively. Turning to me, she said, “He’s Lee Fitch, a new PA.”
“They both work for Suzie,” I said, lowering my voice as a woman joined us, taking a seat in the third chair in the conversational grouping. The woman opened her laptop and began typing. She had the same brand laptop that I had and, as I watched her out of the corner of my eye, something stirred in my mind, a thought that I couldn’t quite nail down. I turned back to Monica and focused on her, trying to work out what had happened.
“Suzie must have found out about the pictures somehow. Maybe Angela did contact her and offered to sell her the pictures instead of selling them to the paparazzi.”
“Press,” Monica said automatically. She looked through her messages on her phone. “Nothing from my tech guy. I’d call him, but it would only slow him down.”
“Suzie sent someone to meet . . . or intercept Angela. Maybe Suzie hoped Angela would have the photos with her. When she didn’t, the person forced Angela to go with them. After a night in the company of Lee and possibly Mr. Sandpaper Voice—I mean, Dwight Fellows—Angela called me and asked me to bring the purse. That’s why Lee tore the lining out of the purse. Angela must have told him where the memory card was.”
The woman shot us a look and heaved an irritated sigh. We ignored her. Monica said, “And when Lee realized he didn’t have the memory card, he took Ben, b
rought him to Dwight, and Dwight called you.” She nodded again. “It does make sense, that Dwight would take over at some point. If anyone bungles something, he’s the one who would clean it up.”
I said, “Even if we know who has Ben, I still don’t have the memory card.”
The woman in the other chair gave a little huff of disapproval, slapped her laptop closed, then strutted away to another chair.
“What does she think this is, a library?” Monica said, but I didn’t respond because I was staring at the woman’s laptop.
“I’m an idiot.” The wisp of an idea that had nagged at me crystallized into a coherent thought, and I grabbed Monica’s arm. “My laptop. Pete still has my laptop,” I said, my voice growing stronger and more excited as I spoke. “Upstairs in his room.”
“That’s irritating, but I don’t think you need to worry about that right now,” Monica said.
“I looked at the photos on the laptop and didn’t close any of the windows. My laptop is password protected. If Pete closed the laptop, it would go into hibernation, and he wouldn’t be able to open any programs or documents without the password. The photos could still be on the laptop.”
“Did you save them?” Monica breathed. “If you didn’t save them, I don’t think you’ll be able to view them without the memory card. You’d get that error message about the missing drive or disk or whatever it is.”
I closed my eyes, trying to remember. I shook my head. “I don’t know. Everything happened so fast. I might have hit SAVE FILE when I opened the documents, out of habit. I usually do that, but I might have just hit the OPEN instead.”
Monica’s eyes sparkled as she said, “But, either way, those photos have to be on there. Even if you didn’t save them specifically, you opened them. That had to create some kind of temporary file. I’m no computer expert, but I bet the files are there. It might take a specialist to find them, but I bet you the biggest Hershey bar they’ve got in that gift shop that the photos are on that laptop.”
“We’ve got to get that laptop.”
Chapter Seventeen
Since I didn’t want to repeat my “giant step” maneuver between the balconies, I convinced Monica to call Pete and invite him down to the bar for another drink. Her cover story was that she was celebrating her exclusive shots of Suzie and Nick at the back door of the El Mar restaurant.
“Weak,” she’d muttered when I suggested it.
“But it should be a piece of cake for you, right? Don’t you do this all the time?” I’d countered.
Now I was standing in Room 503 with my cell phone pressed to my ear, holding the ice bucket as I talked to Monica. I had my door cracked the teeniest bit so that I could see Pete the minute he left his room. “He didn’t want to come back down,” Monica said, “but I convinced him. Told him he had to see my current disguise. I’ll probably have to buy him more champagne.”
“Put it on my tab.”
The distinctive metal clank of the door lock releasing sounded through the wall. “There he is,” I whispered, and ended the call, my heart immediately zooming into the aerobic workout range as he stepped over the threshold and headed for the elevators.
I waited a beat, then stepped into the hall, half a step behind him. No balcony, if you pull this off, I mentally repeated as I dipped down, propping the lid from the ice bucket against the doorframe of his room to keep his door from closing completely. The elevator was about ten steps away. I resumed pacing behind him, my door clicking closed behind us with a solid thunk.
Don’t look back at your door, I tried to mentally telegraph to him. He stopped at the elevators, and I continued by him, ducking my head, as if I was going to the ice machine at the end of the corridor. I kept walking a few steps after the elevator dinged. I glanced over my shoulder. The doors were closing with Pete inside.
I sprinted back down the hall and into Room 505. I flipped the interior deadbolt and went to the closet. The room looked the same as when I left it earlier, except the television was on, tuned to a baseball game with the sound muted. Nothing had changed in the closet. I moved the video camera and blew out a breath that sent my bangs fluttering. The thought that the laptop might not be where I left it had crossed my mind, but I hadn’t let myself dwell on it. I grabbed it, then replaced the video camera. On the way to the door, I picked up the ice bucket and lid. Juggling everything, I opened the door a sliver. The corridor was empty so I slipped out the door and back into my room as quickly as I could.
I ditched the ice bucket and set the laptop on the desk. I’d never been so glad I’d used a password in my life. As soon as I typed in the password, my initials followed by a string of numbers and letters—a combo of Livvy’s and Nathan’s birth dates—the screen loaded and all the photos popped up, just as I’d left them. I dropped into the chair. I had them. I had saved them to the computer when I’d opened them.
I dialed Monica’s number. “I’ve got them,” I whispered, feeling like I’d finished a triathlon.
“Hello, Ed,” Monica said in a formal voice. “Just give me a moment.” She tilted the phone away from her mouth, and I could hear her say something about her editor, that she had to take the call.
“Back in a moment,” I heard her say faintly. After a few seconds, she came back on the line. “Okay, I’m out of the bar. You got them?”
“Yes,” I said. “And they’re saved to my computer.” I leaned back in the chair. “Now all we have to do is get them to Mr. Sandpaper Voice. I mean Dwight.”
“And get me a copy.”
“Of course. You’ve earned it.”
“I’ve got plenty of memory cards. I’ll bring one up to you.”
“What about Pete?” I asked.
“He’s fine. He’s got a bottle of champagne on me, er, on you, actually. I charged it to your room. I’ll call him and tell him I had to go. My editor had an assignment for me.”
A small window popped open on the computer, informing me I needed to switch to outlet power. “Oh . . . low battery.” I let out a groan. “Just when I let myself think things might be coming together. I don’t have the power cord. Pete didn’t take it when he took the laptop,” I said, looking around as if I might find a spare power cord in the hotel room. “I have to go back to my hotel room. My other hotel room.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you in the lobby,” she said.
I reached to close the laptop, but another small window opened with the information that Ben Evanworth was calling. I had a program that let me send and receive video calls via the Internet. I’d used it a few times to call friends or family, but I mostly used it to talk with Mitch when he was deployed or away on short trips. Ben was also in my contact list.
I still had 15 percent battery life. I hit the ACCEPT button, and his face filled the screen. I hit the button to start my camera so he could see me as well.
“Ben!” I said. “I’m so glad to see you. Are you okay? Where are you?” He looked haggard.
“I’m fine. Still in the hotel. I don’t have long,” he said as he glanced quickly to his left. I couldn’t see much behind him, just a wall papered in thin stripes and the edge of some dark drapes.
“I don’t have long, either. Low battery.” I glanced at the percentage of power remaining. Fourteen percent.
Ben asked, “Is there any way you can get to the front desk of the Park Palms Hotel quickly? There’s a package of documents for you with hardcopies of everything I’ve found.”
“Yeah, I can be there in about two minutes.”
He’d been drawing a breath to continue speaking, but my words threw him off. “What?”
“I’m in the hotel now. It’s where I found the photos of Angela. I’ve got them,” I said a bit smugly.
Ben closed his eyes and gave a little laugh. “Right. Of course you looked for them. I should have known you wouldn’t curl up in your hotel room and stay put. I forgot how stubborn you can be.”
“Runs in the family,” I retorted. “Besides, I like to think of it a
s persistence. I wasn’t going to leave your fate solely in your hands. I’m down to thirteen percent battery life. So you are in the Park Palms?”
“Yes, but I can’t leave right now.” His face turned serious as he said, “Good thing you went after the photos. These people we’re dealing with . . . well, it pains me to say this, but you were right. They’re not quite as amateurish as I thought. I haven’t seen the bumbling kid since he brought me here. Another guy has taken over.”
“Dwight Fellows, Suzie Quinn’s manager?” I asked.
Ben’s forehead wrinkled. “Yes. How did you know that? Never mind. You can tell me later. Are the kids still with Summer?”
The quick swerve in the conversation brought me up short. “Yes,” I said cautiously. “Why?”
Ben paused, obviously reluctant to tell me something. “Ben, what is it? Why are you asking about the kids? What do you know?” I asked, my heart already thudding.
“They’re fine as long as you hand over the photos tonight,” he said, his voice heavy. “I overheard that guy, Dwight. He called someone and told him to get a friend and sit on Summer’s condo, to watch her and the kids. If Dwight doesn’t get the photos tonight, he’ll call that guy. He and ‘the friend’ are supposed to get the kids.”
I dropped my head into my hands, “No, no, no. That can’t happen. They should be safe.” I raised my head, reached for my phone. “I’ll call Summer and tell her to leave, right now. Then I’m calling the police.”
“Ellie,” Ben said sharply. “If Summer and the kids suddenly leave her condo during the night, the guy will know something is up, and he’ll call Dwight. Dwight will realize I’ve been listening at doors and searching their rooms instead of sleeping off their drugs.”
I shook my head as I flicked through the contact list on my phone. “These are my kids. It’s one thing to let you do your thing. You’re a grown man. Livvy and Nathan are kids. They don’t have your sophisticated training. Summer doesn’t even know they could be in danger.”
“Think about it, Ellie,” Ben pressed. “Any unexpected change will alert Dwight and then, not only will the kids be in danger, I’ll be in worse shape. If either you or I tip our hand, the situation gets worse. The best play is for us to make sure the exchange happens. Once I’m out of here, we can take the documents I found and go to the police.”