Page 84 of Double Down
I end the call, pinch the bridge of my nose, and count to five. It does nothing.
Phoenix will wake up alone, and I can’t change that.
I grab hotel stationery because I’m ridiculous when I haven’t slept.
Emergency. Stay put, or else. Do not leave this suite.
Then add the only carrot with a shot at keeping her in bed for fourteen minutes.
I’ll bring coffee—and apple fritters—if you’re good, Kitten.
I slip back into my room, set the note on her phone, place both where she’ll see them, and ghost back out again.
The elevator opens on eighteen into the kind of chaos that comes with uniforms and latex gloves.
Four ambulances’ worth of paramedics crouch in the hall over prone bodies, each with a rolling case cracked open like a metal rib cage. Oxygen masks, IV kits, and spent Narcan inhalers litter the carpet. The air smells like antiseptic layered over stale party.
Police tape stretches a weak ribbon across a doorway that used to be a guest suite and is now a crime scene. A woman sobs into her hands on the carpet. Another is wide-eyed and too bright, talking too fast to a cop who pretends to write while a paramedic takes her pulse.
The night manager looks pale, sagging against a wall. He straightens the second he spots me and moves my way.
“They wouldn’t let me close the hallway,” he says. “They said a secondary survey is ongoing. I don’t know what that means.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure, either. This is their circus.” I scan faces, count uniforms, mark the wall cameras with my eyes. I know every angle in this building like the back of my hand, but right now it feels like I’m looking at someone else’s.
Nothing is right.
“Mr. Vale.” The ranking officer turns. His eyes rake me; his mouth twists.
He’s young enough to still believe in clean lines between lawful and useful. “We’ll need hallway and elevator footage from midnight until now. And bar cameras prior.”
“I’m already pulling it,” I say, lifting the laptop. “You’ll have a drive in your hand before your EMTs finish second-round vitals.”
He nods and turns back to the chaos. No thank you, fuck you, see you next Tuesday. That’s fine. I don’t do this for gratitude. I do it because evidence beats opinions, and the fastest way to shut this down is by feeding the machine.
“What are you doing about the suspect shouting that the house sold him pills?” I let the edge show.
“Talking to him. Getting his statement,” he says. “We’ll verify receipts and staffing.”
I nod and sit on the floor out of the way, balancing my computer in my lap. Con needs a full brief, but I’ll give it in a few hours. No sense in all of us losing sleep.
First, a quick email to legal and PR. Their day is already wrecked; they’ve got a few hours till they report.
Then I pull the CCTV—and find nothing. Gone. Wiped.
This time, though, the sick bastards leave a trace.
I take the laptop and, in one clean motion, launch it at the wall opposite me. It explodes—case, keys, all of it a useless scatter on the carpet. The cop turns from down the corridor, surprise arching an eyebrow as he takes in the scene.
I ignore him, dropping my forehead into my hands.
They used my fucking admin credentials to delete everything. It now looks like I erased the footage.
20
Phoenix
I feel him—hishands around my neck, squeezing the life from me. I choke and gasp, unable to breathe. His fingers, thick and cruel, clamp tighter at my throat.
