Page 87 of While You Were Spying
We return to the lobby. Virginia arrives the same time we do, after doing her own search of the area. She shakes her head.
Shit.
The panic from earlier revisits, not at all interested in being contained this time. I try Isabelle’s and Landon’s phones again, then check with Connor to see if he’s had any luck tracking them.
He texts a moment later.
Connor:Nothing yet.
“I have an idea.” Blake strides straight to the front desk. “Hi, I was wondering if anyone is using the Gray or Red rooms, or if there have been any cancelations for today.” His tone is eager, as if he’s hoping one of them is available now for Virginia’s and his enjoyment.
The woman smiles. “We do have a cancelation for tonight in the Gray room. Unfortunately, the Red room is out of commission for a day or two due to renovations.”
“Thanks.” And with that, Blake hightails it out of there without booking the room, leaving the woman looking confused.
“I guess he changed his mind,” I say on a shrug, before Virginia and I rush after him.
He doesn’t slow down. “I might know where she is,” he says as soon as I catch up. “The Red Room was renovated not long ago. Virginia and I thoroughly searched both rooms for signs that they were being used for drug trafficking.” He opens the door to the staircase, pulls out his gun from the holster hidden under his shirt, and enters with Virginia and me behind him.
We rush down the stairs, taking care that our footsteps are silent in the enclosed space. At the bottom, we exit through the door.
He presses his finger to his lips in the universal sign of “Don’t fucking make a sound,” and nods in the direction we need to go.
I pull out my gun from my concealed holster, which I grabbed from the safe when I checked my room.
We quietly stalk down the empty hallway. Near the end of it, a faint strip of light from a partially open door illuminates the carpet. A murmur of voices comes from the room, one belonging to a female, but I can’t make out if it’s Isabelle.
As we draw closer, Blake’s suspicions are confirmed. Isabelle is in there, sounding less-than-thrilled with her current situation.
But that’s not what causes the emotions to churn inside me—the pride mixed with a healthy dose of fear.
It’s her inner fight—the reason she’d be good at the job even though I don’t want her to be part of the team.
“Okay, remove her from the table,” a male voice commands from inside. “Gently. No roughing up the merchandise.”
A motorized sound, barely more than a whisper, comes from the room.
The three of us get into position, hidden from the individuals inside.
Blake raises his hand and counts down with his fingers.Three. Two. One.
He shoves the door open, gun raised, and we enter at the same moment that Isabelle’s knee makes contact with some oversized gorilla’s nuts.
And like all men do when they witness another man’s gonads being assaulted, we cringe and mentally groan in sympathy.
But the sympathy is short-lived.
Because I don’t care how much the asshole is doubled over in pain—it’s clear he would’ve hurt Isabelle if she hadn’t acted in self-defense.
“FBI, hands where I can see them,” Blake barks.
“There seems to be a mistake,” the man, who is still standing, hands raised, says.
I don’t bother to listen to the rest of his excuse. I shorten the distance between Isabelle and me in several quick strides.
Before she has a chance to say anything, she’s in my arm, and I’m kissing her. My injured arm, still holding the cake box, aches something fierce, but I don’t care. I just need to ensure she’s okay, and kissing her is the best way to do that.
I’m vaguely aware of Blake telling the gorilla to stay where he is and of Virginia’s voice.
