Page 49 of Business vs. Pleasure

“Not yet.” August hadn’t just been keeping eyes on Darrow while he lounged by the pool. He was also checking every hotel employee who walked by for the telltale features of their nemesis, which so far were vague at best. Skinny, long face, possibly brown hair and blue eyes but those things could be changed so easily, but most of all a certain smoothness to his gait that spoke of knowing exactly where he was meant to be. “You?”

“I’m keeping a watch on the video feed of Darrow’s hallway and ours. Nothing so far.”

Hmm. August didn’t like the ambiguity of the situation, but there wasn’t much he could do about it either. They were balancing on a wire right now, and the only advantage they had was in being the first to lay a trap. Speaking of… “You took care of his car, right?”

“Of course I did.”

The contract against Darrow specified that, ideally, his death should look like an accident. No bullets to the head, and a sudden poisoning or allergic reaction verged on too dramatic. They’d considered carbon monoxide poisoning, but that was tricky in a hotel, and staging a random mugging would be challenging to keep out of the eyes of possible witnesses when the man spent so little time out and about.

Luckily, Darrow was a fan of expensive cars. He’d been in San Francisco for the past week, and every day he rented a different car from a local auto club to speed around their exclusive track on. Today’s automobile of choice was a Lotus Elise GT1 in white and green, a gorgeous machine conveniently prone to oil line malfunctions. By the time he was on his second lap, all things going to plan, the engine should burst into flames. Couple that with Ricardo’s handywork on the door locks, and Darrow ought to go out with a bang.

A new drink was set down in front of August by a petite young woman in a hotel-branded blazer. Not the NightPigeon, clearly. He smiled his appreciation, even though he had no intention of subjecting himself to more of their cut-rate liquor, and glanced back at the pool.

Darrow was just getting out. He headed over to where he’d left his towel and phone and dried himself off, then slipped into a pair of hotel-provided sandals and began to head inside.

August didn’t follow him, but he watched to see if anyone else did. There was nothing obvious yet, but… “Darrow’s on the move.”

“Got it.” There was a pause. “I’m watching the elevators.”

God, nothing was better than a hotel with its own private surveillance. Especially when your husband was an expert at tapping into said surveillance, with some help from his “Karen” of a spouse who’d given him an in by loudly demanding to speak to the manager. “No NightPigeon yet?”

“No one who comes close to your description.”

He must be waiting to make his move. August stared down at his fresh drink, watching a drop of condensation slide down the side of the glass. He looked out over the other people sitting there by the pool, conversing quietly as they enjoyed the sun. There were plenty of empty glasses out there…and no one was replacing any of them, not until one of the people sitting there got up and went over to the bar themselves. That made sense, because this was a decent hotel but it wasn’t the kind of place where you could expect a concierge level of service.

So why did he have a new drink?

August picked it up and sniffed at the contents. There was nothing but the overwhelming scent of gin. Maybe the waitress just liked him.

Ha.

“Don’t yell at me, okay?” August said as he raised the glass to his lips.

“Why would I⁠—”

He took a sip, swished it for a second, then immediately spat it out again. This gin was bad, but it shouldn’t be that bitter. Cut-rate fucker should have used Rohypnol. “NightRaven is here,” he said before lifting a napkin to his mouth and spitting into it more thoroughly.

There was a pause on the line before Ricardo said, “What did you just do?” His voice was chilly.

“Tested a theory.”

“August.”

He was already on his feet, but he took care to stuff his napkin into the glass before he walked away. No one would be sipping that tainted gin, thank you very much. “I was brought a drink I didn’t order,” he said as he headed away from the pool. Stepping into the hotel lobby felt like stepping into a fridge by comparison, but August shook it off. “That’s not the norm for this place. I tested it, and I’m pretty sure it was spiked.”

“You tested it how?”

“I asked it what two plus two equals,” he snapped. “How do you think?”

“You—” Ricardo’s impending tirade cut off. “Darrow’s elevator just stopped.”

August could see that, the digital number above the double doors on the ground floor coming to a halt. “Is he alone in there?”

“Yes.”

“Well, shit.” The number had stopped on 5. Darrow’s room was on the seventh floor. “Do you think he’s going to drop it?”

“Elevators don’t work that way anymore, he can’t just drop it.” Even as Ricardo said it, the number went from 5 to 4. August could hear a sharp yell from behind the doors. The woman with two bickering kids who’d been waiting for it in front of him backed away a few steps, faces uncertain.