by Rickie Blair
“Is this a joke?” Her voice wobbled. “Where are you?” She groped for the door handle.
He reached out and squeezed a hand over hers. She gasped and he felt her shudder.
A thrill of anticipation flooded through him. This was the best part, when she still thought that she could leave, that it was all a misunderstanding.
“I think I’ll go now,” she whispered.
Luca flipped her around and smacked her hard across the face. As she fell to the floor he flicked on the overhead light and looked down at her. She scrambled to her feet, rubbing one hand across her mouth and holding out her other hand, and took a step back.
“Get away from me or I’ll scream.”
“Go ahead.”
* * *
Luca slid his jacket back on and straightened his shirt cuffs.
“I invited you to a party and you attended of your own free will. Anything else is your word against mine.”
Tracy’s eyes flashed with anger and pain. She stumbled to her feet, one hand braced against the wall, fumbling with her clothes and wiping away tears.
“By the way, how’s little Kennie? Still healthy?”
Tracy drew a sharp breath as a stunned look came over her face.
Luca winked. “We want him to stay that way, don’t we?” He turned to amble downstairs.
At the bottom he gestured at Roman, who turned down the music. Luca motioned him over, inclining his head at the second floor.
“Give her a purse.”
Luca walked into the great room, then turned to look back. Tracy shuffled down the stairs with both hands gripping the rail. At the bottom, she looked up as Roman handed her a purse that had been crammed into a flat plastic bag. With a bewildered look, she took it. Roman opened the front door and tilted his head. Tracy walked out.
In the doorway she paused to look back, her eyes sweeping the crowded room.
Luca saw that she was looking for him and he smirked at the fear in her eyes. He pulled at his cuffs once more and turned to the pool where a woman waved and called, “Dragos! Dragos!” He waved back, and, after plucking a beer from a tray held by a passing server, walked over.
Not such a boring Saturday night after all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hari peered through the glass doors of the Starlight’s deserted IT department, fingering the pass card in his pocket. The office was closed for the night, making it a perfect time to scan the hotel’s records. He could open the locked doors with the pass card, but the employees didn’t need to know that. Given that his mandate included the invasion of their privacy, it probably would be better if they didn’t catch him at it.
Fortunately, the office appeared to be empty. He pulled the card from his pocket and moved toward the scanner by the doors. He froze when a woman stepped out from behind a cubicle and walked to the entrance. She pressed a button and the doors slid open. She adjusted her black-rimmed glasses and held out her hand.
“Mr. Yanez, welcome. I’m Elena Ortiz, the Starlight’s accounting supervisor. I’ve been told to let you look at anything you want.”
Hari dropped the pass card back into his pocket as he stepped into the room.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
“Then you wouldn’t have been able to get in, would you? I volunteered to wait for you.” Smiling, she fingered the cobalt Starlight pin on her lapel.
“So if you’re the accounting supervisor, you—”
“—oversee our audits and monthly statistical reports and the daily journal entries,” she said, still smiling.
Hari knew an accounting supervisor’s duties, but he nodded as if this was quite interesting.
Bouncing on her toes, Elena leaned in.
“So, tell me, is the casino on the auction block? That’s what I’ve heard. Is it true?”
Hari gave her a stern look, then relaxed it into a smile.
Convince them you’re somebody it might pay to confide in.
“I can’t say. Not at the moment.”
Elena tapped her nose with a conspiratorial air. “I hear you.” She walked over to a desk with several monitors, pulled out a chair and placed a card on the keyboard. “You can work here. I’ve written out an account number and temporary password so you can sign in.”
Hari sat at the computer. On top of the monitor, a four-inch-high Uma Thurman wearing a yellow jumpsuit brandished a molded plastic sword at him.
“Who sits here normally?”
“Zeke Turner. One of our cybersecurity engineers. They update our hardware, monitor our network, keep the guests’ wireless networks working, and so on.”
Hari nodded, but made no move to turn on the computer.
“If you tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can help,” Elena said.
“The usual benchmarks.” He flicked a hand. “Occupancy rates, average rate index, revenue generation index, and so forth. But I can do it on my own, thanks.”
Elena, whose look of confusion had deepened as Hari ran down his list, slowly nodded. She placed her business card on the desk beside him.
“If you need anything, you can reach me on my cell.”
The doors hissed shut behind her.
The password Elena gave him was unnecessary. Oliver had provided him with all the hotel’s passwords and account log-ins, including Elena’s own. Hari went through her email. It was clean, even the deleted stuff. Half an hour later, he started in on Zeke Turner’s.
Now, that was interesting.
Zeke had repeatedly emailed the same supplier for quotes on computer upgrades, extra RAM, bigger hard drives and so forth. Nothing unusual there. Except the supplier was not on the hotel’s approved list and, even more suspiciously, they had never emailed Zeke back. It was possible this mystery supplier answered Zeke’s queries over the phone, but it was more likely the supplier didn’t exist. Setting up fake supplier accounts is a common fraud, and Hari had seen plenty. They often go unnoticed unless the fraudster gets too greedy. And in Hari’s experience, they always did.
But there were no invoices in the system from this supplier, so Zeke hadn’t ordered any merchandise. Maybe he sent the emails in error. Hari searched through Zeke’s sent emails, looking for the supplier’s name, and found half a dozen messages to the nonexistent company. But no replies. If nothing was coming back, why keep sending the emails? Something must be going out, and it must be in the messages sent by Zeke.
Hari opened the suspect emails. Each had an attached list titled Request for quotation. The first page was a request for a quote on computer equipment, but everything after the first page was gibberish. He sat back in astonishment. The gibberish must be encrypted data. Hari glanced up at the yellow-suited action figure on the monitor. What had this kid gotten himself into?
After sending the encrypted attachments to his own email address, he turned off the computer. He would run the lists though decryption programs on his laptop in the Andromeda suite, setting up the programs to notify him when they were finished. Could this case really be as simple as it looked? He wearily glanced at his watch. Jet lag had set in with a vengeance. Time to call it a night.
* * *
The Andromeda Suite was dark, except for the light coming through the windows from the neon displays outside. Hari took off his shoes and walked to the first of the two bedrooms, where he had left his suitcase. Shedding his jacket and tie on the way, he slung them over one arm. He pushed open one of the double doors with his shoulder and flicked on the light, turned, and stopped in his tracks.
Ana sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes and stretching.
“Hi,” she said sleepily, before glancing down. “Oops.” Gathering up the sheet, she clasped it to her bare chest.
“Sorry,” Hari stuttered, “I thought you were in the other bedroom.” He gestured at the door behind him. “I’ll just go … now … there.” He fumbled for the door handle.
“No, you’re in this bedroom.”
“
Excuse me?” He was too far from the vanity mirror to check, but he was fairly certain that his eyebrows had hit his hairline. And that wasn’t all that was rising.
“We can’t sleep in separate bedrooms,” Ana said. “The staff would be able to tell when they came in to make up the rooms.” She stretched out an arm and slowly ran her hand along it. The sheet fell back down. “You’ll have to sleep in here.”
“Excuse me?”
Ana settled back into the duvet. “You’re repeating yourself.” She patted the bed beside her. “There’s plenty of room.”
Hari stared, his mouth slack. Ana was beautiful, willing, and available. Yet all he could think about was getting the hell out of there.
“Thanks, but no.”
“What?” Frowning, she sat up and looked at him.
“No.”
“But—” She was scowling now.
He picked up his suitcase and turned to walk out.
“Tell the staff I snore.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Zeke placed the bloody sword on the floor and walked on wobbly legs to his apartment door to push it closed. It took him three tries before the lock clicked into place. Then he shuffled over to Big Blue, switched off the screen and sank into the chair, barely able to breathe.
He turned on his desk lamp for a better look at the severed head. If Luca’s men had threatened to shoot him over an unpaid debt, what would they do over this? His stomach roiling, he ran to the bathroom.
After rinsing his mouth, Zeke returned to the living room, unable to look away from Petru’s body. He could tell the police that an armed intruder broke into his apartment and he defended himself. It was the truth. The police might not even charge him. Luca would not be as understanding.
Zeke Turner vs. Dragos Luca. He didn’t like his chances in that grudge match. Somehow, he had to even the odds.
His heart pounded as he studied the body. Maybe he could get rid of it, clean up the mess, and pretend it never happened. He stepped gingerly around the severed head, grimacing. Even headless, Petru looked to be about two hundred and fifty pounds. Zeke tipped the scale at no more than one forty-five. How could he drag the body downstairs by himself? Or avoid being seen? Besides, even if he did somehow get it downstairs, he had no car—and therefore no car trunk—in which to stash it for a quick trip to the nearest ravine. Or wherever people hid bodies these days.
Unless… He gave a sideways glance to the sword on the floor, but quickly turned his eyes away. No. He was not about to hack up a body in his bathtub like some deranged serial killer to make it easier to dump somewhere. Just the thought made his gut churn again.
He collapsed into the chair with his head in his hands. There had to be some other way. He sat up straight. What if he told the police that Dragos Luca was a crook? Then they would arrest Luca, and Zeke would be safe. His feeling of relief was short-lived. How could he prove Luca was a crook without implicating himself? He sagged into the chair with his arms on his knees, staring at the floor. Every few seconds, he swiveled his head to look at Petru’s body and shuddered.
With a heavy heart, Zeke initiated a wipe of Big Blue’s hard drive. As he watched the progress bar inch along, possible scenarios tumbled through his brain. Maybe he was overlooking a third option. William Watson, the Starlight’s London-based owner, wouldn’t want the police involved, either, because of the publicity. But he might pay for information that would allow him to shut down Luca’s auction site himself, maybe even enough money that Zeke could leave town.
The progress bar clicked off and the computer shut down. Big Blue was empty. Zeke reached out and slowly ran a hand across its screen.
Then he tucked his laptop into the duffel bag and turned to leave. At the door, he hesitated, his hand resting on the handle, then walked across the floor to pick up the sword. He took it into the bathroom where he wiped it off with a towel, then retrieved the saya from the wall mount. Zeke slipped the sword into the leather holder and slung the strap over his shoulder. He didn’t really know how to use a sword, but it made him look like a samurai. He straightened up, turned the door handle, and stepped into the hall.
Zeke Turner, Samurai. He liked the sound of that.
* * *
Eric and Corey were his two best friends. So naturally they were the first people he turned to for help.
Eric tried to slam the door in Zeke’s face.
“Have you lost your friggin’ mind?”
Zeke held out a hand to keep the door open.
“I told you, I left my apartment because—”
“Because Dragos Luca is looking for you. I heard you. Dragos Luca,” Eric hissed, poking his head into the hall and looking both ways. “So you want to crash on my sofa, ’cause that’s such a good idea.” His voice rose. “And again I ask, have you lost your friggin’ mind?”
“Can I come in? I have to ask you something.”
Eric, aka Dragnet, sank his head onto his chest with a heavy sigh and held open the door.
“Five minutes,” he said as he closed the door behind Zeke. His rumpled hair stuck straight up in spots, his feet were bare, and he was wearing pajamas. “It’s three a.m.”
His roommate Corey, aka Lord Phreak, had one eye on the television’s Weather Channel as he hammered away on his laptop on the coffee table. He nodded his head at Zeke.
Eric plopped onto the worn sofa beside Corey and leaned back. An orange tabby jumped onto his lap and purred while Eric absently scratched its head.
“Start talking.”
Zeke told them about his gambling debt and his lucky swing with the sword.
Eric lifted his head to stare at him.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.” Zeke fumbled for his phone and held it out. “Look, I took a picture.”
Eric reached for the phone and glanced at it. Shooing the cat off his lap, he pulled the phone closer, staring.
“Holy shit.” He looked up at Zeke. “Is this real?”
Zeke nodded.
“Holy shit,” Eric said again, staring at the photo. He handed the phone to Corey, who whistled.
“You’re in some serious shit, buddy,” Corey said, handing the phone back to Zeke.
“You think I don’t know?” Zeke put the phone back in his pocket. “All I need—”
“No, no, no. You can’t stay here, Melonball. Not after,” Eric gestured at the phone, “that.”
Zeke struggled to breathe, his body shrinking into the black hole that was forming in his chest.
“But where am I going to go?”
Eric ran a hand over his hair, rumpling it even more, and gave another heavy sigh. He exchanged glances with Corey.
“Sit down,” Corey said. “We’ll think of something.”
Zeke put his sword and laptop on the floor and sat on Corey’s other side. They stared at the poster on the wall, Wanted: Dead and alive, Schrodinger’s cat. The clock on the wall ticked over. The orange tabby rubbed against Zeke’s legs.
“Couldn’t I just stay—”
“No.” Eric made an emphatic gesture with his hand. “Wait a minute. Does this have anything to do with that side venture of yours?”
Zeke nodded.
“So you’re in trouble with basically everybody.”
Zeke nodded again, and Eric shook his head.
“We can’t have the cops here, Zeke. Do you have a plan or are you just winging it?”
Zeke picked up his laptop, placed it on the coffee table and flipped it open. A few clicks opened the browser, and he explained about the auction site. When he looked up, Eric’s face was white. Without a word, Eric marched to the door and shook his head.
“Holy shit, Zeke,” he said with his hand on the door handle. “I’m sorry, buddy, but you have to go. If you’re trying to take down Dragos Luca, you’re crazier than I thought.”
Corey looked up from his laptop.
“Let me see that photo again.” His forehead wrinkled as he stared at Petru’s severed head.
“How did you do that, exactly?”
Zeke pulled the katana from his saya and stood on the sofa to demonstrate. Corey got up beside him, taking the sword to scan the blade. He practiced a few swings before handing it back. “Cool.”
“No, it wasn’t. I didn’t mean to do it.” Zeke’s chest tightened. He killed a man. He was a murderer. His gut churned, and he would have thrown up again if there had been anything left in his stomach. He rubbed the palm of his hand against his pounding forehead.
“Obviously. That was an incredibly lucky swing,” Corey said. “Look, Dragnet and I will try to help you with Luca. We’ll send you whatever we find. But for now—”
“—leave,” Eric said, opening the door.
On the sidewalk outside Corey’s apartment, Zeke paused to rub his hands across his face. His legs were wobbly so he squatted on the pavement with his head bowed, swaying. He had to log on and find the next auction site before Luca could find him. There was another place he could try, where no one was ever turned away. Flipping the sword up over his back, he heaved the duffle bag over his shoulder and set out.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stars twinkled overhead as Zeke twisted his fingers through the wire mesh fence and stared at the makeshift tents and shelters scattered around the entrance to the huge storm drain. Would he find shelter? Or would he be mugged and left face down, unconscious, in the water that oozed from the tunnel?
He leaned his forehead against the mesh. He had to chance it. If his plan worked, he would only be here for a night or two. He adjusted the sword around his shoulder, pushed through a ragged flap in the fence and walked down the embankment, carefully stepping through gravel and around garbage.
Campfires crackled and threw off sparks while tents glowed yellow from flashlights and lamps. Dark figures hunched around the fires, and people walked from one group to another as voices and faint music drifted toward him. The night desert air was cool, but dawn would bring another scorching day. Many of these people would move deep into the storm drain when the temperature climbed, so he had to find shelter before that happened.