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Chapter 4
After finishing his meal, Gideon paid the bill and headed for his car. A quick scan of the parking lot told him what he already knew -- Conway’s Subaru was gone.
Instead of heading back to the hotel, he opened the app for his tracker. Pressed his lips together. She was on the road, headed west on I-94. Thank God he’d had the wits to put the tracker on her Subaru immediately.
He plugged his phone into its charger and left the app open, dropping the phone into the cup holder. Glanced at it every ten or fifteen minutes, just to make sure she hadn’t gotten off the interstate.
When she exited I-94 at Valley City, he sped up. Arrived at the Grand Hotel no more than five minutes behind her. He scanned the three-story building and noticed only a handful of rooms had the curtains closed or lights on.
Most of the rooms were vacant.
He memorized the locations of the occupied rooms, then drove around to the back of the hotel and did the same thing on that side. Fifteen rooms total to keep track of.
Still watching the hotel, he figured Conway would want a room on the approach side of the hotel, so she could keep an eye on who arrived. Who left.
He drove to the front of the building. Sat in the parking lot and waited for a light to go on in a room.
It didn’t take long for a room to light up on the second floor. Left side, two doors from the end. Smart. Close to an exit, in case she had to run.
He caught a glimpse of the woman yanking the curtains closed. Definitely Conway. That red hair of hers shone like a beacon in the room light.
He figured she’d hunker down in her room for the night, then take off early tomorrow morning. Drive before there were a lot of cars on the road, so she could keep her eyes open for anyone staying close behind her.
Conway was a formidable opponent. Smart. Decisive. Fearless, as far as he could tell.
Good thing he was smart, too. And had the advantage of being one step ahead of her. Knowing exactly where she was.
He wouldn’t approach her room tonight. She was too smart to open the door to a stranger, even one who said he was an FBI agent. Especially since she’d apparently overheard him and Trotter and knew her husband had hired a guy to kill her.
No, she wasn’t coming out of that room tonight. So he’d stay in his car until morning. Wake up early and watch for a light in the window, then be waiting in the hall when she tried to leave.
* * *
The alarm on Alex’s phone went off at five a.m. She fought to the surface from the depths of sleep, then rolled onto her back. Stared at the white ceiling and let the alarm buzz until she was completely awake. Until there was no chance she’d roll over and fall back to sleep.
She took a quick shower, re-packed her suitcase, then checked the room one last time for anything she’d left behind. Nothing.
Slinging the purse crosswise over her body, she dragged the suitcase to the door. Unlocked it, then held it open with her butt and stepped sideways into the hall. Bumped into something hard. Solid.
Swiveling around, she found herself face to face with a man. Taller than her. Wide shoulders. Dark hair. Icy blue eyes.
She froze. The guy from the restaurant in Fargo. She shoved her bags into the room and leaped to slam the door on the guy.
He was fast. Decisive. Before the door closed, he’d muscled his way past it. She put her hands on his chest. Shoved as hard as she could. But that big body of his was immovable.
Kicking the suitcase into his legs, pleased with his grunt of pain, she fumbled frantically in her purse for her gun. By the time she pulled it free, he’d closed the door behind him. Stood leaning against it, her suitcase on its side between them.
“Ms. Conway, I need to talk to you.”
He knew her name. Fear rushed through her, but she refused to acknowledge it. Standing tall, she pointed the gun at his chest. Her hand trembled, but she tightened her grip and kept her gaze on him. “Get out of my room. Right now,” she ordered, thankful her voice was steady. She couldn’t afford to show any weakness.
His gaze flickered between her face and her gun. “That thing loaded?”
Raising one eyebrow, she said, “Of course it’s loaded. What good is an unloaded gun?”
Keeping his gaze on the gun, he said, “I’m an FBI agent. I have my badge and ID in my wallet. Okay if I take it out of my pocket?” His hand hovered over his right hip.
She glanced at his pocket and saw the flat bulge of what probably was a wallet. “Do it slowly,” she said. “Make no sudden moves. I took lessons in how to use this gun. And my instructor’s number one rule? Don’t hesitate to fire if you’re in danger.”
