“How do we play this?”
“No idea which room is his,” I mutter, studying the layout. “Office is there.”
The office sits at the corner of the L, a sad little box with flickering neon announcing,VACANCY,in faded red. I can make out a silhouette behind the grimy windows—someone hunched over a desk.
“I'll handle it,” V offers. “Less likely to scare the shit out of them than you looking like you're here for murder.”
“I am about to commit murder.”
“That's my point.” He slides out of the van. “Give me five minutes.”
I watch him saunter toward the office, transforming from biker to unsuspecting customer with a roll of his shoulders. The man's a chameleon when he needs to be.
My phone buzzes. Ratchet.
Got your text. Can be there in 15.
I type back.
Stay with Charlotte. Don't let her out of your sight. This could be a diversion. If you don’t hear from us, bug out.
Because that's what I'd do if I were Holloway, create a distraction, draw me away, then move in on my real target. The thought makes my blood run cold.
V emerges from the office, moving with purpose now. He slides back into the passenger seat and slams the door. “Room twelve. Last one on the end.”
“How'd you get that so easy?”
“Slipped the desk clerk a hundred. Asked about a white guy, ex-military type, staying alone. Clerk says he's been here three days. Pays cash, keeps to himself.”
I scan the row of doors until I spot number twelve, a corner unit, partially obscured by a scraggly palm tree. The curtains are drawn tight. No light visible from outside.
“You see his vehicle?”
V points to a black SUV with rental plates parked two spaces down from the room. “Betting that is his. Tinted windows, generic model. Exactly what I'd choose for surveillance work.”
I run through scenarios in my head, weighing options. “Front approach is suicide if he's waiting. He'll have a clean shot the moment we knock.”
“Could wait him out,” V suggests. “He's gotta leave eventually.”
“No time,” I check my watch. “If he's got eyes on the resort, we just gave him one hell of a show to watch.”
“I can pretend to be housekeeping,” I glare at him, and the fucker smiles back at me. “Works in movies.”
“Do you think a place like this is going to have a housekeeper?”
“Fair point. Exterminator?”
“No,” I groan.
I study the layout of the motel, noting the narrow walkway that runs behind the rooms. Most of these cheap places have rear exits, part of a fire code requirement. Might be our way in.
“Back exit,” I murmur, nodding toward the narrow alley behind the building. “Most of these shit holes have rear doors.”
“Could work. But if he's as professional as his record suggests, he'll have that covered too.”
“Maybe. But professionals get cocky. They expect amateurs.” I grab the syringe from V's jacket pocket. “Let's give him something unexpected.”
We circle around the building, staying low, using the parked cars for cover. The alley behind the motel reeks of garbage and piss, littered with broken bottles and discarded fast food containers. Perfect camouflage.
