Page 52 of Lethal Obsession

“If you find out who he’s working for,” I say, fitting a silencer to my Luger, “I’ll buy you one even prettier.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Lars’s fingers don’t stop moving throughout our discussion. Unlike the security guys, who are watching us with slightly impatient expressions, I know that Lars does his best work while keeping up a constant stream of shit talk. I like it that way. During my years in captivity, his black humor, transmitted through an old gaming console, was often the only thing standing between me and utter insanity.

That, and his lethal ability to hack any system in record time.

I turn to the security guys. “If there is anyone inside the hotel who shouldn’t be,” I say, “two of you go and take care of them. The others stay here.”

“You can’t go down there alone.” One of the guys frowns at me. “Not until we know what you’re walking into.”

“If you’re with me, they’ll make us right away.” I head for the elevators. “I need you here. Whatever happens on the street, Ofelia Borovsky is your only priority, do you understand?” I glare around to make sure they all get it. “If she or any of her friends suffer so much as a scratch, you’ll answer to me.”

The guy glances warily at Lars, who is technically his primary asset. “Mr. Andersson—”

“—will tell you exactly the same thing,” I cut him off. “As will Mickey.”

“What he said.” Lars speaks without looking up from his screen.

“You don’t leave the penthouse,” I continue addressing the security team, “for any reason. I want two of you outside Ofelia’s door, and until you’re told otherwise by Mickey, Lars, or me, you don’t move. Roman has men on the way. If I need backup, I’ll use them.”

“Copy that.” Clearly realizing the futility of arguing, they just get to it.

Mickey holds up his phone. “Line will be free, brother. Call and I’m there.”

“Just look after your sister.”

His grave nod is the last thing I see as I sidestep the elevator and head for the fire escape stairwell.

Mickey may be two days without sleep. He may have consumed his own weight in alcohol. And he may not like me.

But I know with absolute certainty that he’d put his body in front of Ofelia’s without a moment’s hesitation, no matter how many bullets were flying. And right now, that’s all I care about.

I’m two stairs down when I see two shadows on the wall below. They don’t appear to be moving.

I flick the safety off my Luger and hold it before me. I move silently down one flight of stairs before the acrid scent of cigarette smoke hits me. I peer cautiously around the balustrade.

Two young men, both wearing hotel uniforms, are leaning against the stairs, sharing a smoke.

Christ.

I slip the Luger into the back of my pants. “Bad place for a smoke,” I call down grimly. They look up in surprise. “Best fuck off back to work.” I nod upstairs behind me. “Your supervisor is on his way down.”

Looking scared, the two stub out their smoke and beat it.

The last thing I need is hotel bellboys on my conscience.

I leave the stairs on the second floor and go to the window, scanning the streets below. My eyes pause on a white van, parked discreetly on a side street opposite the hotel. It has no windows—and someone is sitting in the driver’s seat.

“White van parked in the side street just down from the hotel,” I say into my comms. “Any idea what it’s doing? There’s someone in the driver’s seat.”

A moment later Lars’s voice crackles back. “Got it. No plates, and there’s some high-grade tech inside it, going by the signals.”

Fuck.

“What kind of tech? Are we talking surveillance or a fucking bomb?”

“I’ve got cellular, Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, and radio. Surveillance for sure. Can’t tell you what else is in there.”

“Can you hack their cameras and get a head count?”