“No, we don’t.” I offer a sheepish grin. “As you can see, there was a…misunderstanding. We misplaced our luggage and all of our identification. Lucky for us, I always carry a good bit of cash on my person.” I peel off several of the hundred-dollar bills—US currency. “We just need a room for the night. We aren’t picky.”
“I am sorry, sir, but we’re sold out.”
I peel off a few more—it’s most of the US currency, but now that a shower and a bed are within reach, I’m not holding back; the total is nearing a thousand dollars at this point. “I’m sure you can find something.”
Her eyes flick to the pile of hundreds, to me, and to her monitor; finally, she types rapidly, scans, types. Her eyes light up. “Aha! You are in luck, sir. We have a cancellation here.”
“Wonderful.”
“It’s a queen, but it is all we have at such a late moment.”
“As long as it has a bed and a shower, we’ll take it.”
“Wonderful. I’ll just need a name for the room?”
“Chuck Jones.”
“Very good, Mr. Jones.”
I slip her the stack of bills—she pockets half with a quick, hidden motion, setting the rest on the counter near to hand. Some typing, swiping a card through a machine, tucking the card into a little envelope with the room number written on it.
“Your room number is here.” She taps it with her pen. “Enjoy your stay with the Tunis Marriot. If there is anything else you may need, please do not hesitate to call down.”
We head for the elevator bank, hand in hand. We’re the only ones in the lobby at this hour, a few hours before dawn yet.
“Chuck Jones?” Rin asks with a smile.
“My favorite Looney Tunes director. And a common name.”
Our room is on the fourth floor, partway down the hall, on the left. A decent location—there’s an emergency stairwell further down the hall, and the elevators the other way, so we won’t be trapped if the floor should be breached by Spaulding’s men.
The room is, by our usual standards, tiny. But under the circumstances? We both breathe a sigh of relief.
I lock the door, hang the chain, and brace a chair under the handle. Unpack the bag and lay the weapons in a few spots around the room—Rin reassembles the rifle.
Suddenly, that job done, Rin looks…ready to collapse.
I pull her into a hug, cradle her head against my chest. “It’s okay, Rin. We’re safe, for now.”
She shudders. “I hate this, Apollo. I want it to be over.” Her voice is muffled against my chest.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t have anticipated it.” She turns her head to the side, her arms tucked together between us. “I don’t blame you.”
I kiss her forehead. Touch her chin, so she’s gazing at me. “You came for me, Corinna. I won’t ever be able to express how thankful I am.”
“I was worried you’d be angry at me.”
“For putting yourself in danger?” I smile and sigh. “I am, a little. I wish someone else could have done it. But I know you well enough to know better.”
“I don’t think anyone else could have done it—could have gotten inside like I did.”
“Which was how?”
“By pretending to be one of them.” She shudders again. “By becoming one of them. Thomas—Alexei’s friend—knew someone who was a driver for Spaulding’s operation between here and the fort. This guy owed Thomas a favor, and I was it. I was bound, with nothing but that card-knife hidden in my boot under my foot and lockpicks in my hair. I was put onto the truck with the rest of the girls headed for the fort. We arrived, and we were sent one by one inside.” She pauses, swallows hard. “We were…processed.”
“What does that mean?”
