Storm Season (14 page)

She went back into her room, made sure the door was latched, then retrieved her Glock 27 from its case in the interior of her suitcase. They key to the lock shook in her hands – damn, it was cold. She had only brought the small backup gun, certainly hadn’t planned to get it from its case. She hadn’t expected to need it, not at a conference in a swanky hotel.

She slapped a magazine in place, put two more in her jacket pocket, and stowed the weapon in a paddle holster. She felt sure she wouldn’t be the only one armed out of this crew – cops and counterintelligence officers weren’t that dissimilar.

More comfortable with the familiar weight on her hip, she left the room, followed the remaining stragglers to the stairwell.

“What’s the matter?” she called out to the nearest man.

“Dunno,” he replied. “Guess it’s a fire. Wish they’d turn that bloody alarm off though, it’s breaking my eardrums.”

“No kidding. It’s deafening.”

Down the five flights, carefully picking their way, with cell phones giving the only decent light. There was emergency lighting on the walls, but the lights were dim, as if they weren’t getting proper connections.

The stairwell exited into the lobby. A crowd of people had gathered in the dark. They weren’t being evacuated, just left to mingle in the cavernous space.

Taylor didn’t like this at all. She bumbled around in the dark a bit, saw Cherry, her face underlit by a flashlight, making her seem like a ghoul. She was pale-faced and carrying a clipboard. Just as Taylor reached her, the alarm stopped, leaving her ears ringing.

Cherry gave her a wan smile. “Oh, good, Lieutenant Jackson. I can mark you off the list.”

“What’s going on? Is there a fire?”

“When the power went out, the generators to the rooms failed. A small fire started on the roof, and they’re trying to contain it. There’s a skeleton staff on the night shift, plus several people couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make the drive in, and the roads are blocked, so the fire trucks can’t get here. They’re doing the best they can.”

“Should we be evacuating people?”

“No, not yet. Thankfully, the lobby is on a separate generator, and the heat will stay on here for a while. As soon as they give the word, we can send people back to their rooms. Might as well settle in until they give the all clear.”

“You need to put me to work, I’m going bonkers. What can I do to help?”

Cherry flashed the light on her list. “We’re still missing a few people. Would you be willing to take a flashlight and hike back upstairs, knock on doors? Be very careful, we wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“Absolutely. Who are we missing?”

“Let’s see – Ellis Stamper – he’s in 4880, and Thierry Florian, right next door in 4900. Hildy Rochelle as well, the brunette woman who was charming everyone tonight. She’s on the fifth floor, 5380.”

The man nearest them said, “Cherry, I saw her earlier, she’s down here somewhere.”

“Oh, good. Thanks for letting me know, Ron.” She turned back to Taylor. “Just the two gentlemen, then.”

“Got it. On my way.”

“Thank you, Taylor. I appreciate it.”

Cherry handed Taylor an extra flashlight, and she headed back to the stairwell.

Now that it was silent and empty, she had to admit, it was a little creepy. She climbed the stairs, enjoying the burn in her thighs that started on the third floor. It warmed her up. The faint scent of smoke was stronger up here, but no worse than when she’d exited her room.

The fourth floor was deserted. Taylor needed the flashlight – it was amazing how dark the hallway had become. She heard nothing but the whistling wind.

Room 4880 was halfway down the hall. She knocked on the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stamper? You’re needed downstairs.”

Nothing.

She banged a few more times. He must have passed her in the night. She walked down to the room next door. “Mr. Florian, it’s Taylor Jackson. The generators are out to the rooms and there’s a fire on the roof, they want everyone downstairs. Cherry sent me up to find you.”

Silence, again.

They must have already made their way down. A wasted trip.

She’d just started back toward the stairwell when she heard the noise.

She stopped dead in her tracks, listened for it. Yes, there it was again. It sounded like crying. She pulled open the stairwell door and let it slam closed, then stepped lightly back to the two men’s rooms.

Stamper’s room was still dead quiet, but she could swear there were hushed voices coming from Florian’s.

She knocked again. “Mr. Florian? Are you in there?”

Nothing. The silence was pervasive, complete. False?

She shook it off. Must have been the wind. Or, better yet, this old place was probably haunted, and she’d just been tricked by a ghost.

Not that she believed in ghosts.

Not really.

She went for the stairwell, made her way back down to the lobby. She found Cherry in the spot she’d left her.

“Nobody home. They must already be down here and you just missed them.”

Cherry’s brow creased.

“They’re not here, Taylor. I’ve talked to everyone, they are all in the room behind the lobby’s entrance. There’s a giant wood burning fireplace in there, and plenty of logs. They’ve opened the bar, there’s some water boiling for tea and hot chocolate. But everyone who went in passed by me, and I didn’t see them.”

“Well, that is weird. Let’s go do a lap, see if they came late.”

It took five minutes of flashing lights in strangers’ eyes to see that there was no trace of either man.

TOO CLOSE. SURELY THE woman won’t come back, she will assume the bastard has already vacated his room.

I remember seeing her at the cocktail party, tall, blond, aloof. Looked frigid as hell. Pretty, if you liked the ice princess type. She gave off a whiff of danger, her eyes watching every move in the room. A cop, for sure. I’ve seen too many in my day not to be able to pick them from the crowd.

Florian is whimpering again. I kick him in the ribs. “Shut up, old man. We are not finished.”

He is missing part of a finger, a play I wasn’t planning to have to employ so early in our friendly chat. But he was not taking me seriously, so I had to make a point. It was the tip of his pinky, just a quick snip of the shears, but bloody, for all that.

I flash the light in his eyes, his pupils hurriedly shrink. He moans again.

“I will take the gag out if you promise to cooperate. To tell me what I want to know.”

A nod.

“If you don’t cooperate, there will be more fingers. Then toes, and hands, followed by your feet.
Tu comprends
? Do you understand?”

Another nod. I swear his skin pales – perhaps I’ve finally made my point.

I remove the gag, dragging it down over his chin. He gulps air. “They will come back. You can’t get away with this.”

“How disappointing.
Crétin. Maudite vache.
Do you not know who I am?”

He looks, uncomprehending. He does not know me, in the darkness, in his confusion. Granted, I’m still in the brown wig from earlier, the dark contacts. A small adjustment to my nose.

I pull the wig from my head, and he gasps.

But it is not in recognition, it is in pain. He has passed out. I forget his age. He will not last the night at this rate. I must slow down.

His words penetrate. They will come back.

They will. I should move him. But where?

My finger taps against my thigh, and I hear his intake of breath. He is awake, and recognizes that small movement. Finally, he knows who he is dealing with.

“
Mon dieu
. Angelie. Angelie Delacroix. Is that you?”

“Oui, Thierry. C’est moi. Je suis vivant, et vous êtes mort.”

The knife slides into his ribs with ease, just above the kidneys. Not deep enough to be fatal. Not yet.

I whisper in his ear, the words harsh, metallic on my tongue. The question I’ve been waiting two and a half decades to ask.

“Why did you kill my father?”

UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES. The fire was contained, and everyone was given the okay to go back to their rooms. But without power, the electronic key cards wouldn’t work. The generator that powered the rooms was damaged in the fire, so there was nothing they could do until power was restored. The hotel staff was forced to gather everyone back in the lobby near the fireplace.

And the generator to the first floor lobby ran out of fuel just after 4:00 a.m.

The depth of the snow was overwhelming. In just eight hours, there were at least four feet pushing up against the hotel’s front door, and it was still coming down. Ice crackled along the windows, the moaning wind fighting to gain entry into the hotel. Cracks sounded in the distance, tree limbs collapsing under the sudden weight.

There was talk of evacuation, but Taylor knew that was a pipe dream – what were they going to do, bring a bus in? Nothing was moving, they were stuck here. And where would they go? The entire eastern seaboard was caught in the grip of the storm.

Cherry was waiting for a maintenance man to arrive with an override master key that would allow them access to rooms 4880 and 4900. She paced the lobby, staring out into the snow. Taylor figured she knew deep down there was no help coming.

Everyone knew something was wrong, that Thierry Florian and Ellis Stamper were missing. Whether they were in their rooms, or had left the premises and weren’t able to return, no one knew. The idea of the two men caught out in that blizzard, it was unthinkable.

Stamper, it turned out, was also a member of the Macallan Group. He was Thierry’s assistant, though that term was a misnomer. Right hand would be more appropriate. Bodyguard might even come into play.

Their relationship had even been speculated about once or twice, though Florian put those vulgar rumors to rest quite openly, taking a beautiful young lover who’d ended up as his wife three years earlier. Stamper had married a year later as well.

It was their habit to get suites at hotels, ostensibly so Stamper could watch out over his boss, but for this event, the suites were booked and they’d been forced into adjoining rooms. The front desk clerk remembered their conversation clearly, and the manager had sent a fruit basket to Mr. Florian to apologize for the mix-up.

There was no way to call either wife, to ask if she’d heard from her husband. No power, no cell service, no landlines. They were an island, in the dark and cold.

Taylor was chomping at the bit to get into the rooms. She wasn’t in her jurisdiction or she’d be ordering people around. Instead, the hotel staff was waiting for a representative from the Sheriff’s office to show up before they opened the doors.

Precious moments ticking away. Modern technology was fantastic until the world was plunged into the dark, and then the Middle Ages reigned supreme.

Taylor watched the minutes pass on her Tag, catching Cherry’s eye every once in a while.

It took people who’d become accustomed to death to have a sixth sense that this situation was very, very bad.

THE SKIES OUTSIDE WERE dark gray. No power, but not the dead of night blackness from earlier. The mood in the room lightened, especially when the staff began handing out apples and bananas and granola bars, and stoked up the fire. If they just had some marshmallows, this would be more like a damn camping trip.