AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A surge of surprise, then relief, then dread settled into Hartley’s chest. Claire didn’t sound all that excited to be back.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s too much to tell you on the phone. Can we get together and talk?” Claire asked.
“Why do I think I’m not going to like this?” Hartley asked, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“To be fair, there’s not a lot you usually like besides new clients. How did your meeting go, by the way?” Claire asked. “Did the new client sign?”
Hartley groaned. “Speaking of too much to tell you on the phone, let’s catch each other up. Where are you?” she asked, ready to head back to Seattle. Cavendish had four condos downtown, and she imagined Eli would have them holed up in one.
“At Topkapi,” Claire said.
“You—what?” Hartley demanded, looking through the rain-soaked windshield as if the Turkish-inspired property was in front of the car. “Eli’s been saying this whole time it was too dangerous for you to be here.”
“I guess you could say the situation’s changed,” Claire replied, now sounding nervous.
“What do you mean, changed?”
“Just…come to Topkapi. We’re in the top suite. I’ll tell Eli’s men you’re okay.”
“Eli’s men?” she asked, but Claire had already ended the call.
Hartley stared at her phone.
“What the fuck?” she said to the empty car.
* * *
Hartley droveup to the front gate, pulling off to the side to park. The gate was more of a tall, wooden wall that surrounded the replica palace, with a small doorway in the front. Two serious-looking men stood in front of it.
“Hartley Meyer?” asked the first man as she approached, his voice thick with a Spanish accent. He and his stubble-headed partner, who was looking from her to his phone, wore dark turtlenecks and pants under their ink-black raincoats.
“Yes,” she replied, not slowing her stride.
The man with the phone said, “That’s her,” and he and Mr. Spanish Accent pushed the door open just before her booted foot kicked the base.
“Elevator to the top floor,” the phone man said.
“Yeah, I know my way around here,” she sniped. She jammed her fists into her pockets as she strode to the front door.
As she entered the opulent interior of the palace, the warm glow of chandeliers on the mosaic-tiled walls did little to calm her nerves.
She moved through the grand foyer to the elevator at the back, her mind racing. How prepared was she for whatever Claire had to share? A few months ago, she’d approached her meetings with confidence, but lately they were all nightmares that turned into horror stories and ended in a shit show.
Two minutes later, the elevator door opened, and she stepped into the sumptuous upper floor of the palace.
Topkapi wasn’t a full palace, but the original owners had spared no expense to imbue the smallish building with the ambiance of the fifteenth-century structure. The panels on the walls were green with gold-filigreed scrollwork, curving into the high ceiling. Tall vases held wide palm fans, while a massive mirror reflected a nervous woman in a business suit.
Her.
Why am I nervous, other than I might walk into whatever comes after a shit show?she wondered. What could that be? Nuclear blast? Then there wouldn’t be time to be nervous. They’d all be dust.
It was almost a comforting thought.
“Hartley,” Claire said, stepping into view from the far end of the hall.
Hartley pressed her lips together in a non-smile, but taking in Claire’s oversized sweater and jeans, low heels, and blond hair curling around her face—her perpetually kind face—she felt her expression crumbling.
