Page 16 of Illusive
He finished with a sheepish smile and felt a surge of triumph when the woman’s mouth curved in response.
“You’re lucky security’s too busy to hunt you down yet.” She dropped the towel in her hand and rounded the table. She was somewhere in her mid-fifties. Small and trim, with her dark hair contained in a net and big gold hoops dangling from her ears. “There are cameras everywhere. I’ll show you to the guest elevator before you spend the night explaining yourself.”
“I appreciate you,”—he read her badge—“Jennifer. Truly.”
“Where are you from?” she asked, as she led him through a gauntlet of tables piled with freshly cleaned linens awaiting folding. The area was busier, with several staff members actively loading, unloading, and wheeling laundry about.
“Mississippi,” he lied. “Biloxi, to be precise. Ever been?”
“Can’t say I have, no.”
“You should give a gander sometime. Right on the Gulf. Great seafood. Gambling if you’re inclined. And a lively nightlife, although nothin’ like what you’ve got around here. Seems like there’s somethin’ big going on in the hotel every night, but especially tonight.”
She shot him an examining glance. “If you were hoping to sneak into the event, I can tell you that’s not happening. And if you try, you’ll end up in the kind of trouble you don’t want.”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head decisively. “Not that I’m ever opposed to a good time, mind you, but from what I’ve overheard, it doesn’t sound like my kind of party. I’ve no interest at all in bidding on bachelors, or even bachelorettes for that matter. I’ve got my hands full with my wife. And seeing as it’s our anniversary trip, she wouldn’t take kindly to me celebrating with anyone else.”
They pushed through two swinging doors into a short, wide hallway that had a doorway to a stairwell on one side and a heavy metal door at the opposite end.
“Straight ahead is a guestroom hallway,” she advised. “Turn left, and you’ll find the elevators at the rear of the hotel. They’re less busy than the ones at the front.”
Placing one hand over his heart, Ronan gave her a gallant bow. “Thank you, Miss Jennifer. You’ve been a godsend.”
She laughed. “I needed to stretch my legs anyway. Stay out of trouble, Biloxi. And service areas. Security is a lot meaner than I am.”
“Advice taken. I’m going to be in trouble enough with my better half.”
Shaking her head, Jennifer walked back into the laundry room. Ronan’s smile dropped instantly, and he headed on his way with haste. In moments, he was in the packed lobby of the five-star hotel. Gilded, marbled, and otherwise ostentatious, it was a space that might’ve impressed him more if he’d taken anytime to appreciate it. As it was, he barely registered the car-sized chandeliers suspended from the soaring ceilings, or the densely packed seating areas on multiple levels, which were filled with guests enjoying drinks and conversation.
He spotted the bell desk and cut in line. “Excuse me,” he interrupted, placing one of the cell phones in his pocket on the counter. “A man I’m fairly certain was Gideon Cross dropped this in the hallway. He had a hot blonde with all the right curves on his arm.”
Satisfied with the man’s shocked recognition, Ronan walked away.
“Thank you!” the bellman called after him.
“No problem.”
Popping up the collar of his stolen jacket and lowering his head, Ronan exited to the driveway where Ireland had been taken a half hour or so before. The outdoor air, muggy as it was, revitalized him and eased a bit of the tension stretching across his shoulders. Wide open spaces were where he felt most at ease.
He pulled out his phone and started walking, searching for the same location-sharing app he’d seen on Cross’s device and downloading it. He had already shared Cross’s login and password with his own phone while in the elevator, after pickpocketing the other man’s device while they’d scuffled in the hallway.
Some survival skills from his youth remained valuable.
That Eva Cross’s face could unlock the phone wasn’t all that surprising, considering what he’d learned of them through research. They were very close, and their focus on each other made it easier to aim the screen at them without being detected. It had never been his experience to be lucky in any way, but meeting Ireland appeared to have been the first in a string of fortuitous events.
Meeting him, however, had been nothing but unfortunate for hischerfrom the beginning. He could only pray he had the opportunity to change that. He refused to think otherwise. His mind, and perhaps a corner of his heart, could not allow it.
He felt a rush of relief when the map in the app populated with various colored dots, all but one clustered in the hotel, while the other appeared to be several blocks away and unmoving. Reaching the street, he debated staying on foot or flagging a cab, but, seeing that traffic was beginning to ease, he chose the latter.
Opening the back door, Ronan gave the driver the cross streets and offered a hundred-dollar tip if the man broke land speed records getting there. In the end, it took only minutes that felt like hours.
“Wow,” the driver said. “Looks like someone’s having a bad day.”
He pulled to the curb diagonal from a parking garage, which was surrounded by a half dozen police cruisers with flashing lights, a black armored vehicle, a Crime Scene Unit van, an ambulance, and two FDNY trucks. One of the exits to the garage was blocked by a black Bentayga, which Ronan recognized as Cross’s. He also recognized Angus McLeod as one of Cross’s vaunted security team, since he’d appeared in the background of innumerable paparazzi photos of Cross and his wife. The Scotsman must have once had bright red hair, but it was now faded and liberally threaded with silver.
Handing the cabbie the promised tip and fare, Ronan exited the vehicle and crossed the street.
McLeod glanced his way, then did a double take.
