Leila scowled. "What?"
He set his drink down and made for the door before she could catch him.
"Makros—"
The door shut behind her with a snap.
He had locked her in.
Leila stared at it in disbelief. Then she fist-banged on it. "Are you kidding me?"
"No," his unruffled voice came from the other side.
"Makros!"
She tried the knob. Nothing.
"I'll be back," he said. "Don't try to jump out the window."
Then his footsteps receded, and she was left fuming in the locked room.
In the hotel lobby once more, the tension of the meeting lingered in Makros mind, but he showed none of it as he approached the reception desk.
The woman at the desk glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "You look less bloody."
Makros smiled dryly. "For now."
He pulled some money out of his pocket.
The receptionist blinked. Then, slowly, she held out a hand for it. "For what?"
"I'd like to buy your gun for my wife," Makros said.
She drew out the gun, admiring it again, then passed it over.
Then, finally, Makros got around to looking into the attempt on his life.
The body had been stashed in a rear room of the hotel, held temporarily until it could be gotten rid of.
Makros came in, the scent of disinfectant and stale blood thick in the air. The man was on the ground, his face still twisted in death, yet there was nothing on him. No ID. No jewelry. Not even a phone.
Makros crouched next to the body, studying him. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and took a single photo.
Makros resolved to find out who he was.
And who sent him.
He returned to the suite to find Leila on the bed, her face a mask.
"I'm back," he said, coming in. "And I brought you a gift."
She regarded him warily. "Let me guess—another dress?"
He snorted. "Good heavens, no." He tossed the gun down on the bed beside her. "This."
Leila took it, tossing it over in her hands before awarding him a dry smile. "You know I'll kill you with this one day?"
Makros grinned. "Then at least I'll die with style.”
