Be on the Lookout

by Tyler Anne Snell

  “Actually, you can help me and a guest,” he said, holding the money up. “I was getting into a taxi right outside when I noticed this lying in the backseat. The driver said it must have fallen out of one of your guests’ pockets.” Jonathan described the dark-haired man as if he’d heard a secondhand account from his made-up taxi driver. Even as he finished his description, her eyes widened in recognition.

  “That sounds like Mr. Smith,” she exclaimed. Jonathan wanted to roll his eyes at the name.

  “Good! So you’ll be able to return it to him,” Jonathan said, mimicking her excitement. Julie nodded profusely, picking up the phone next to her. He fully intended to stall as long as he could, pretending to look at the art installations until he could see where Mr. Smith was going, when Julie decided to change the plan without even knowing it. She slid the money he’d put on the table back to him.

  “I think Mr. Smith will want to thank you personally,” she said after stepping aside to make the call. “It’s not every day you find a less-than-greedy man. Most would have kept the money.”

  Jonathan shrugged.

  “That just isn’t my style.”

  Julie pointed out which elevator the man would most likely exit. Instead of skulking in the shadows trying to stalk him, Jonathan figured this bold approach worked just as well. Sooner or later he had bet he would come up against the man again.

  Less than two minutes later, Jonathan watched as the elevator doors opened and none other than Mr. Smith was standing in front of him. His look of surprise was hidden quickly as Julie caught his eye and waved.

  “I just wanted to return what you left behind,” Jonathan said, voice dripping with fake cheer. He smiled for the benefit of Julie just as he suspected the man in front of him was doing.

  “How thoughtful,” he said, mouth stretched wide. He extended his hand and took the money before motioning for Jonathan to step inside. “To repay your kindness, how about we grab a drink upstairs?”

  Jonathan kept smiling and got onto the elevator, now fully facing Julie’s approving nod.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little too early to drink?” Jonathan asked.

  “Not when I’m celebrating.”

  The doors began to slide closed.

  “And what’s the occasion?” Jonathan asked. His entire body tensed as the man pressed the button for the second floor from the top.

  “I was about to leave to finish a job,” the man said, moving back to his spot against the elevator wall. The elevator doors shut as soon as he finished his next thought. “But it appears that now I don’t have to leave at all.”

  The man reached in his blazer and pulled out a knife just as Jonathan turned and hiked his foot up. He pushed the man away from him just as Mr. Smith swiped at his shin. The knife sliced his pants but didn’t cut deeper. Had he not reacted as fast as he did, Jonathan knew that wouldn’t have been the case.

  Mr. Smith turned the hilt of his knife so he was holding the blade down, arcing it through the air in between them with force. Jonathan lunged forward, grabbing for the man’s wrist. He caught it as the man pulled it up, ready for another swipe. Jonathan used his free hand to send a punch against the man’s face, but he moved out of range too quickly. The jolt loosened Jonathan’s hold on his wrist and he had to jump back, hitting the elevator wall so hard that it shook, to avoid the knife’s curved, sharp blade.

  Jonathan pushed off the wall, knowing the man wouldn’t stop until he had gutted him in the elevator, and grabbed for his arm again. This time, though, he wasn’t lucky. The tip of the knife came down before he could push Mr. Smith’s arm out of the way. The blade moved across Jonathan’s forearm, cutting through his long-sleeve button-up as well as his skin. He made a grunt as the pain registered, but knew the cut hadn’t been a direct hit. He pivoted back, moving his left side away from another attack and used the momentum to bring up his right elbow. It connected with the side of the man’s nose in a sickening crack and then a spray of blood.

  The man let out a howl and swung around in an angry spiral. Once again the knife connected with Jonathan’s skin—this time his shoulder.

  Jonathan felt the warm liquid before he saw the blood seeping through his shirt. The elevator began to slow and Jonathan just hoped the doors would open soon.

  “Fighting an unarmed man seems cowardly.” He grabbed his shoulder and moved to the corner. Mr. Smith was also in pain. All humor he’d once had seemed to have broken along with his nose. He held the knife out and wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his other hand. It did nothing but smear the red around.

  “Where’s the notebook?” he bit out.

  “Where’s Kate?” Jonathan bit right back.

  It angered the man more than the nose break seemed to and he lashed out in another burst of fury just as the elevator doors opened. Without time to glance back to see where he was running out into, Jonathan backed out of the small space and into a much more expansive one. From his periphery he saw more modular couches and closed doors on either side of him. He didn’t have time to investigate further.

  Mr. Smith wasn’t done with him yet.

  * * *

  KATE HADN’T BEEN blindfolded when she was brought into the hotel or the small yet lavish boardroom she was currently being held in. She had given Jonathan her notebook, called a taxi, walked into the lobby and told the front desk attendant she was expected. Then Kate had taken the elevator to the fourteenth floor and walked right into the same boardroom, all without hesitation, to wait for Greg to show up and tell her of her and Jake’s fates.

  It had been easy to get there.

  But she now expected it would be exponentially harder to leave.

  She rapped her knuckles against the door and stepped all the way back to the table, trying to show that she in no way meant trouble.

  The door opened slowly until the woman’s annoyance was seen clearly on her expression. She sized Kate up.

  “I just want to talk,” Kate pleaded.

  Candice snorted, not interested.

  “Then talk,” she said. Kate took a tentative step forward.

  “Do you know who Greg Calhoun really is?” she asked. Candice, an exceptionally pretty woman when she wasn’t trying to murder people, paused but didn’t release the door handle. “Do you know who he works for?”

  “If the money’s good, I don’t need to know,” Candice said.

  “He works for the FBI,” Kate added quickly. Candice didn’t move from her spot, but she did roll her eyes.

  “So?”

  “So, did he even tell you his plan? His endgame? Or does enough money mean you don’t care about going to prison?”

  Candice’s eye actually spasmed, a quick pulse of hidden emotion breaking through. Once again she didn’t move.

  “Greg is a scientist. He wants me out of the way so he can take over my work—my research—and continue to work with the FBI after I’m dead. Did you know that?” Kate knew the woman didn’t. Her lips had pursed. “My mother was FBI, my friend that Donnie took is FBI and for the last five years I’ve been under FBI monitoring. Don’t you think if I show up dead, not to mention my friend being kidnapped, that an investigation is going to be opened? And if Greg plans to keep his job, then surely he’s going to need one strong alibi or one heck of a fall guy...or woman. That case you two stole was given to me by Greg—why do you think he had you steal it back if not to help frame you?” Kate paused for dramatic effect. She noticed Candice’s hand had curled into a small fist.

  “Listen,” Kate began again. “I’ve known Greg almost all of my life. He’s been my role model since I was a little girl. Now he’s trying to destroy what I hoped would be my life’s work and, well, me. If he’s willing to kill someone he once claimed to love like a daughter, do you think for one second he’d hesitate to throw you and your partner
under the bus?”

  Candice put her back against the door, holding it open still, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “So, what? I should go ahead and kill all of you?” she asked, sarcasm rampant. Kate didn’t back down.

  “You’d be hunted hard and you know that.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes.

  “If you want my opinion, and I should point out that the FBI wants me for my intelligence, if I was you I would run now. Before all of this gets resolved, you could be out of the state,” Kate said. “I’ll make sure it’s known that you let me go, so if you ever get caught, then you’ll look a lot better than if you shot a defenseless woman point-blank. What do you say?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jonathan ducked Mr. Smith’s next swing. This time he was able to use his right arm to hook the crazed man’s arm in a viselike grip. Jonathan squeezed. The hold intensified until the man yelled. The sweet sound of the knife falling to the ground met Jonathan’s ears. Mr. Smith wasn’t as much of a fan. He used his other hand, fisting it, and delivered a blow to Jonathan’s temple that utterly dazed him. He released the man and staggered to the side.

  But not before kicking the fallen knife backward as hard as he could.

  “You are a pain he didn’t warn us about,” the man said, half bent, hand to his nose. Jonathan’s vision started to fringe black as he went to the closest wall and put his hand against it to try to steady not only his balance but everything else. Jonathan blinked several times, trying to keep from passing out, until the feeling subsided. He pushed off the wall and started to run for the man again. He knew he needed to level the playing field before another player was added to the game. This man might have a knife, but he knew for a fact that his female partner had a gun.

  Mr. Smith had no choice but to take Jonathan’s shoulder in the chest. He staggered backward but grabbed hold of Jonathan’s sleeve to keep from falling. It tugged the man down enough that he got an uninhibited view of something that made his blood run cold despite the exertion they were putting out.

  The man used Jonathan’s momentary distraction to his advantage. He brought his hand up and pressed hard into the gash in Jonathan’s shoulder. Unlike the one in his forearm, this wound was deeper and much more painful. Jonathan once again found himself backing away, fighting a new wave of pain.

  “I see you got a good look at my collection,” Mr. Smith said, nearly out of breath. He motioned to the inside of his blazer before opening both sides. Jonathan eyed them with an expanding feeling of unease. Attached inside were at least ten knives, ranging in size. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” The man leaned on the wall behind him. He was stalling. “Most people like guns, but me? Well, these are just so much more poetic, don’t you think?”

  Jonathan didn’t pay attention to what the two knives the man pulled out looked like. He knew they would hurt no matter their decoration or size. Instead he ran back toward the elevator, then cut into the small lounge area set up in the corner. While he wished he knew exactly where the Taser was that he’d given to Kate, he spotted the only thing that might give him a small chance to defend himself. Jonathan hoisted the closed umbrella out of the concrete cylinder and brandished it like a sword, wishing again that he’d brought a gun with him to the city. Or at least had had the sense to calm down enough to grab the Taser from his bag before coming to the hotel.

  Mr. Smith was nearly on him, like a bull drawn to a matador. In one hand he had a new knife turned downward, reminiscent of a bad guy in a slasher movie, while the other was held up and out, easier for quick jabs. Jonathan quickly judged the surroundings of the small lounge, the elevators to the left and the hall leading to what must have been a corporate meeting floor, and realized he was in the worst possible corner. There was no way to move around the raging, bloodied man.

  So Jonathan decided to go through him.

  He opened the umbrella wide and rammed it into the man’s chest. Using his momentum, he carried the man backward to the far wall before he was able to slice through the material. Jonathan tried to pull the umbrella back so he could use it as a bat, but Mr. Smith’s knives got too close again. One went through the fabric and moved through Jonathan’s shirt and skin with ease. The umbrella fell between them. Jonathan tried to back away again, but Mr. Smith was quick. He stretched out his leg and tripped Jonathan, sending the man to fall hard without any time to catch himself.

  “Like I said,” Mr. Smith said, a wild smile pulling up his bloodstained lips, “a pain in my si—”

  A gunshot exploded in the hallway.

  Jonathan cringed, waiting for the pain. However, it didn’t come. It was Mr. Smith who seemed to have taken the bullet. He tipped over and hit the floor in a spray of blood. He’d been shot in the head.

  Jonathan turned, confused, to see the dark blond-haired woman lowering her gun in the middle of the hallway.

  “Jonathan!”

  Farther back, turning the corner, was Kate. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The woman between them, however, pulled his attention back. She met his gaze with a smirk and put the gun in the back of her pants.

  Jonathan stood as she walked closer and bent over the man.

  “That’s for slicing me open,” she growled. Some other not-so-nice words were said before Kate was at Jonathan’s side.

  “You’re hurt,” she exclaimed, already touching his newest cut on his upper arm.

  “You should see the other guy.”

  The woman straightened and snorted at that. Jonathan was ready to fight her for her gun when she turned to Kate.

  “Donnie has a suite on the next floor,” she said. “That’s where your friend is. Use this in the elevator to get there.” The woman pulled a gold key card from her back pocket. Kate took it with a nod and looked down at the dead man on the ground. It definitely wasn’t a good scene. “If it makes you feel better, even by my standards he was a very, very bad man.” As if to emphasize her dislike for him, Candice gave him one swift kick to the ribs.

  Kate didn’t comment. Jonathan took her hand and pulled her a few feet to the elevator.

  “Don’t worry,” Kate whispered as the doors shut. “She can run, but she can’t hide forever.”

  “I guess telling you we should go get help first wouldn’t work,” Jonathan said. Kate was already holding the key card up to where she needed to swipe it through.

  “Greg doesn’t want Jake to know he’s involved. I’m assuming Greg will use everything in his power to pin it all on Candice and her partner. Since Jake trusts Greg as much as I once did, that might be easier than it would have been otherwise. I doubt Greg is anywhere near Jake right now,” she reasoned. “Plus...” She swiped the card and slowly they began to ascend to the next floor. “I’m not leaving him behind.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to,” Jonathan replied, taking her hand. As far as he could tell, she seemed okay physically. Mentally—emotionally—he’d bet Greg’s betrayal would leave a wound that might never heal. But Kate was strong. She would survive this like she’d survived everything else.

  * * *

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS slid open to show an entryway that was the very definition of opulent. Shiny surfaces, detailed decor and modern everything else set the tone for an obviously expensive stay. Kate wondered how a man like Donnie afforded such a place, but then stopped that thought. If Greg had offered them enough money so they didn’t ask any questions—and didn’t want to—she’d bet the man had done similar jobs beforehand, making a penthouse a much more affordable option.

  Jonathan, bleeding but standing tall, kept hold of her hand. He didn’t ask her why she hadn’t woken him before leaving for the hotel, and, in a way, she’d bet he already knew it was to keep him safe. He moved out of the elevator and angled himself so if anyone were to jump out at them, he’d take the brunt of it. She squ
eezed his hand, hoping he knew how much she appreciated it.

  They stepped out of the entryway and right up to a city view that probably made the penthouse as expensive as she imagined it was. Windows that were used as walls stretched to the left, running along a living space, dining and bar area, before dipping out of view into what must have been the kitchen. Off the living area was a hallway that led to the bedrooms. They looked in each massive and lavishly decorated room one by one until they had only the biggest bedroom and its bathroom left.

  Kate’s palms began to sweat. What if Candice had lied? What if Greg had? What if they’d killed Jake the day before and she’d come voluntarily to exchange her life for his for no reason at all?

  “I can’t,” Kate said, pulling back when they neared the bathroom door. There was nowhere else he could be. Jonathan caught her off guard by turning her so quickly she nearly stumbled and kissing her full on the lips. It was hard and powerful.

  “You can,” he said after they broke apart. “I’m right here with you.”

  And that was all she needed to hear.

  Stepping forward, she opened the door and didn’t hesitate walking inside. The bathroom, like its connected bedroom, was massive and beautiful. A marbled vanity, a walk-in shower that looked like it could fit at a least ten people and a Jacuzzi tub with an FBI agent inside.

  “Jake!”

  Kate and Jonathan rushed over to the man, whose arms, legs, hands and feet were bound by rope and his mouth covered with tape. For one wild moment Kate felt like she was back in that warehouse all those years ago. Instead of her mother, it was her best friend.

  “He’s breathing,” Jonathan said, cutting through the bad memory. She shook her head. She needed to focus on the here and now.

  “Jake? Can you hear me?” Kate asked. She put her fingers against his pulse and sighed in relief. It wasn’t strong, but it didn’t seem to be too weak, either.