Page 7 of Duty Preserved

And then I’d had to be the asshole who shut her down because I couldn’t break surveillance. Told her I was meeting someone. Watched her walk back to her friend with her head down.

On any other night, I would’ve interacted. Or at least wouldn’t have been so shitty to her. I wouldn’t have let her buy me a drink, but I sure as hell would’ve bought her one.

But that hadn’t been an option, so I went back to watching the target and pushed the pretty redhead from my mind.

When the trafficking bastard finally made his move, it was outside the club. I got the call over comms, stepped in, put a fist in his face, then Andrew and the team had him cuffed and in the van before he hit the ground. It wasn’t until the van pulled away and I turned around that I saw who he’d chosen as his potential victim.

Sarah.

She’d had no idea what was going on. She was on the other side of that hotel door right now, thinking the worst thing that happened tonight was throwing up on a stranger.

It could’ve been so much fucking worse.

I looked down at myself. My shirt was ruined. Whatever she’d been drinking, it had come back with enthusiasm, and the smell was already less than pleasant.

I took the stairs to the lobby.

The front desk was staffed by one clerk, a young woman with dark hair pulled back and tired eyes that sharpened when she saw me coming. Her gaze dropped to my chest and held.

“Monsieur, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. There was a bit of an accident on the third floor. One of your guests got a little sick near room 312.” I paused. “Sorry about the mess.”

She was already reaching for the phone. “Of course. I’ll have housekeeping up right away. Is there anything else you need?”

I almost said no. I was halfway to turning around when it came out.

“Actually, can you arrange room service for 312? Morning delivery. Breakfast. Whatever you’d recommend for someone who had too much to drink. Coffee. Water. And headache medicine if you have it.”

“We keep paracetamol for guests. I can include that.” Her fingers moved to the keyboard. “How would you like to pay?”

I set my credit card on the counter—personal one, not business. Last thing I needed was the guys finding out about this and giving me shit.

“Donovan Hughes,” she read back, confirming.

“That’s right.”

“And the guest in 312.” She looked up. “Is she your partner?”

“No. She’s just someone who got caught up near some work I was doing tonight.”

“Ah.” The clerk processed the card and slid the receipt toward me. Her mouth curved. “Well. You certainly take good care of the women who get caught up near your work.”

I signed the receipt. “No name on the delivery. Just the food and the medicine.”

“Of course, Monsieur Hughes.”

I walked out.

I tapped the earpiece that had been in my ear all night as I pushed through the hotel entrance into the dark. “Andrew, status.”

Andrew’s voice came back immediately, energetic despite the hour. “Package delivered. We’re at the collection point finishing up with our friends. Heading back your way in fifteen, twenty minutes. Where do you want pickup?”

“Hotel entrance.” I gave him the address. “I’ll be⁠—”

A different voice cut through the channel. French accent, clipped. DGSI. “All units, we have a runner. Target six, last seen heading west on foot near Rue de Rivoli. Armed with a knife. Any available units to assist, respond.”

I pushed back through the hotel entrance. The clerk looked up, surprised to see me again.