Page 16 of Jacking Jill

Which just might happen if those Darkwater babies grew up to be anything like their parents . . .

The thought stayed unfinished because Keller knocked on the office door and strode in with Paige on his heels carrying a black laptop which looked tough enough to survive the apocalypse.

“Jack’s not taking my calls,” said Keller, his tone expressionless as always, a scruffy light-brown beard hiding the disarmingly boyish features of this stone killer. “His phone is still on, though. Probably turned his ringer off. Last text says he’s got it under control, that he can get into the wedding events, scope out the crowd while Paige tries to narrow it down to help him zero in on Diego’s contact.”

Benson glanced at Paige. “Can you trace a cell phone signal that precisely? Down to where you can pick out one person in a crowd of hundreds?”

Paige shook her head. “We can trace it to a particular section of the mansion, maybe even a specific quadrant in a large room. But after that I’ll have to monitor the phone for calls or text messages. Jack will have to watch to see who checks their phones around that time. We might get lucky and narrow it down if Jack is alert enough.”

“Will he be alert enough?” Benson asked the question to nobody in particular. “Who’s driving that car? Do we have the license plate and registration yet?”

“We don’t need it,” Paige declared breathlessly, shooting a quick look at Keller, whose robotic expression betrayed nothing. “Jack’s phone GPS has stopped moving. They’re at the Winchester Hotel a couple of miles from the Carmine Estate.”

Benson raised an eyebrow. “He’s got a room there?”

Paige shook her head. “It’s booked solid for the Carmine wedding. We figure whoever’s driving that Honda has got a room there.” She smiled. “So I hacked into the hotel computer system to see who checked in at the exact time Jack and his mystery driver got there. That gave us the identity of Jack’s unknown . . . um . . . friend.”

“And?” Benson drummed his fingers impatiently on his chair’s armrests, shooting a grin at Nancy before turning back to Paige. “Spit it out, Paige. What’s her name? Tell me her damn name.”

6

“What’s the name again?” The hotel receptionist glanced up inquiringly over her computer screen after a long series of clickety-clacking on a keyboard which looked to Jack like it had been constructed in 1979.

Hell, the entire hotel looked like a throwback to the 1970s, Jack thought as he drummed his fingertips on the Formica reception counter-top and sighed loudly. He was very close to pointing out to the receptionist that Jill had already said her name and you shouldn’t be a fucking hotel receptionist if you can’t remember a guest’s name for more than three damn seconds.

“Hennessy,” came Jill’s sweetly patient response that seemed perfectly timed to pre-empt Jack’s impatient retort. “Jill Hennessy.”

“Hennessy . . . Hennessy . . . ah, here we go.” The receptionist tapped and clicked, then glanced up with a smile. “We’ve got you up on the third floor. Queen-sized bed.”

Jill leaned on the reception counter and shook her head firmly. “Two double-beds, actually. I reserved a room with two double-beds.”

The receptionist blinked twice, shot a curious glance at Jack, then blinked again and flashed an apologetic smile in Jill’s direction. “Oh, well, you see, the hotel is booked solid for the Carmine wedding. Your reservation said one person, and since there were some guests who needed rooms with the extra beds and you hadn’t checked in yet, we swapped you out so that all our guests can be comfortable.”

“Well, swap me back in, please,” said Jill curtly, her sweet patience stretched to the extreme. “Two double-beds is what I reserved, and that’s what I expect, thank you.”

Jill’s cheeks reddened as Jack leaned coolly on the high reception counter. His earlier impatience had evaporated, and he grinned in Jill’s general direction, wondered if he should tell her that it wasn’t the hotel’s fault, that this was how Darkwater missions played out, that fate was going to seal the deal without Jack even needing to use his considerable skills to get Jill into bed.

Fate was going to do it for him.

“Well, there is one other guest who made the same request as you,” said the receptionist slowly. “Two double-beds, even though the reservation is for one person. She checked in earlier this evening, and I think she’s already headed out to the Carmine Estate for tonight’s event. But perhaps tomorrow morning I can inquire if she’d be willing to swap rooms with you guys?” The receptionist gasped suddenly, looking past them towards the front door. “Oh, wait, here she is right now! Perfect! We can ask her if she’s all right with switching rooms.”

Jack and Jill both turned towards the swishing glass doors of the hotel’s main entrance. A tall slender woman in a black skirt-suit, black stockings, and black leather knee-high boots strode into the hotel lobby. She glanced over in their direction as she walked towards the elevators, her gaunt face expressionless, pale eyes unreadable. The receptionist was about to call out, but then the black-suited woman stopped abruptly, frowning as she dug into her jacket-pocket and slid out a small black phone. The woman held it to her ear, speaking in hushed monosyllables that even a professional Delta-trained eavesdropper like Jack couldn’t make out.

“You can send up a folding-bed, right?” Jack said instinctively as he watched the woman speak softly into that phone which looked suspiciously like a burner. He kept his voice low and calm, flicking a meaningful gaze at Jill before smiling warmly at the receptionist. “That should be fine. We won’t be spending much time in the room anyway. No need to ask about swapping rooms. We’re good.”

“What? No, she’s right here, Jack. Why don’t we just—” Jill started to say before Jack shut her up by grabbing her hand beneath the reception counter and squeezing hard enough to made her flinch and glare up at him. “Jack, what are you—”

Jill was cut off for a second time, this time by the black-suited woman, who’d pocketed her phone and was now standing at the far end of the reception counter.

“There should be a package for me,” said the woman sharply to the receptionist. “Kay Steffen.” She cast a businesslike glance at Jill. “Excuse me for cutting in line. I’m in a hurry.”

Jill nodded. The receptionist hurried to the back room, where Jack could see a shelf with a few packages neatly lined up. He noted that the receptionist grabbed a brown sealed envelope which had a sticky-note on it that said STEFFEN-421.

Filing away that room number for no particular reason other than habit and perhaps instinct, Jack studied the gaunt-faced woman who’d addressed Jill politely enough but was ignoring Jack in a way that unsettled him. Jack was accustomed to women pretending to ignore him because they were self-conscious, either intimidated or attracted, often a mix of both. But this woman—Kay Steffen—seemed genuinely indifferent to Jack’s presence, like perhaps she’d blocked men out of her life so completely that they barely registered as living creatures worthy of attention.

Kay Steffen took the envelope and tucked it under her arm. She thanked the receptionist, nodded curtly at Jill, then turned and walked briskly towards the elevators. A moment later she was gone.

Jack said nothing as the receptionist finished checking Jill into the room and slid over two hotel room keycards. Jill made no further comment about the room-swapping deal which Jack had nixed, but her body-language most certainly had a lot to say. She thanked the receptionist, grabbed her plastic-covered blue dress from where she’d hung it on the raised handle of her black roller bag, then strode towards the elevators without so much as a glance in Jack’s direction.

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