Chapter 32
I drew myself up and made my best attempt at a commanding voice. “Let me go.”
Amazingly, the mountainous man released me and backed off a pace or two with his hands raised as if trying not to scare me.
Too late for that. In another couple of seconds my stolen pants were going to need the services of my laundry cart.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it; I just didn’t want you to run off.” He surveyed my pornographic uniform. “You’re one of those acting students, aren’t you? Let me guess: Auditioning for a chambermaid scene?”
A tiny hope stirred. “…Yes…?”
His frown was back. “Shouldn’t you be in the guesthouse or the spa? And shouldn’t you have been here at two PM, not two AM?”
I swallowed hard, hoping my voice wouldn’t come out sounding like Minnie Mouse. “They said two AM. I was supposed to take the service tunnel to the main house and somebody would meet me.” I gave him a nervous smile, which wasn’t much of an acting achievement under the circumstances. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before and I really don’t know…”
He shook his head and blew out a breath as he sank back into his chair. “Nothing surprises me anymore.” He surveyed me from top to toe. “Don’t take this wrong, but I can’t believe anybody would think that looks sexy.”
I grimaced. “It sure doesn’t feel sexy.”
“Well, don’t worry; it could be worse.” He chuckled. “Last week there were two blondes running around in nothing but the front and back half of a zebra costume. People are weird, you know?”
Enlightenment dawned as I nodded in sincere agreement.
Acting students; of course. I’d been right about those video clips being created for sims. And that explained the pornographic zebra, too.
The man-mountain leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head as if settling in for a good chat. “I didn’t have a clue what this gig was going to be like when I hired on. I’ve been with the Harchmans for five years next month, and y’know, I think I’ve seen just about everything.”
Urgency hammered at me. How much time had I lost?
“I’ll bet you have.” I gave him a timid smile. “I wish I had time to hear about it all, but…”
He waved me toward the exit. “It’s okay. Go on, don’t keep ‘em waiting.”
Barely able to believe my good fortune, I took my bedsheet from the laundry cart and tottered toward the door. “I’m just going to leave the cart here until I find out where I’m supposed to go.”
“No problem, I’ll make sure nobody moves it on you.” He smiled, his kind brown eyes bracketed by laugh lines. “Break a leg.”
“Thanks.” I cranked the wooden corners of my mouth into the best imitation of a smile I could muster, and stepped through the door.
A guard was striding down the hall only a few paces away. Clutching the bedsheet to my chest, I hurried in the opposite direction. My back crawled with the expectation of a sudden shout or a restraining hand descending on my shoulder, but nothing happened.
Heart pounding, I sneaked another glance at my watch. Eleven minutes.
Why hadn’t I taken more time with Kane? I could have teased him longer; slowed him down, dammit.
The memory of his roar of passion made me shiver. Or maybe not.
Shut up and focus.
The trip through the convoluted corridors seemed to take forever. Each time I came to a corner I braced myself for a confrontation, but none came. At the server room door I checked my watch again. Ten minutes left.
No time to put on Harchman’s fingerprints. Thank God I’d already disabled the scanner from inside the network.
Using a corner of the sheet to shield the door handle from my own fingerprints, I eased the door open a crack and peeked in. Between the shelves of rack-mounted servers I glimpsed the uniformed guard sitting in front of the security console, his attention glued to the screens.
Shit, had he noticed that some of them were on a continuous loop?
Fumbling Chow’s magic pen out of my hair, I rotated the clip and inserted the point through the crack before pressing the activation button.
A one-second burst should do it…
Nothing happened. The guard yawned, stretching and scratching his head.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
Shit, was the battery dead? Tension knotted my belly.
One more attempt netted no results.
Dammit!
I must be outside the ten-foot effective range. Or maybe the beam was being blocked by the server racks.
I couldn’t keep trying. Only seven more uses left in the pen.
My back prickled as though there was a target on it and I shot a frantic glance around me. I couldn’t hang around out here; I’d get caught for sure.
But if I went in and the guard spotted me he’d be able to identify me when he recovered.
And even if I shot him in the back with the trank pistol he’d remember the impact of the dart, and the Harchmans could easily figure out which of their guests was most likely to be carrying some kind of designer weapon.
And once they realized I’d been in their server room, they’d double-check everything and find Spider’s back-door software. My cover would be blown, along with Kane’s; and maybe even the entire Department’s. Not an option.
Dammit!
Ransacking my bedsheet, I extracted Chow’s nasal filters and stuffed them up my nose, then drew the trank pistol and fitted its muzzle to the crack of the door. Heart pounding, I aimed for the back of the guard’s chair and pulled the trigger.
He went limp, and I spared a moment of thankfulness for the hum of the servers that had hidden the ‘pfft’ of the gun’s propellant and the pop of the trank chamber exploding against the back of his chair. He’d never know what had happened.
I checked my watch again. Nine minutes left. The aerosolized trank would keep him down for three to five. Maybe that would be enough.
Clamping my lips shut, I slipped into the server room and closed the door behind me.
The suffocating sensation struck immediately. Sucking air desperately through the filters, I pulled the spent dart out of the chair and positioned the pen beside the guard’s head.
Two-second burst this time, just to be sure.
Nothing happened.
My pulse ratcheted up even higher and sparkles appeared in the edges of my vision.
Heart beating too fast. Need air…
I drew harder through the nasal filters, fighting panic.
USB stick. Into the nearest server. Red light flashing.
Oxygen…
My mouth opened involuntarily, sucking in life-giving air. The floor rushed up to meet me.
I never felt the impact.
Dizziness rocked me and I groaned, blinking blurry eyes. My nose felt stuffed with cotton and I pawed at it with uncoordinated hands.
What…?
A jolt of memory drove me up to my hands and knees.
Server room.
The guard still sprawled unconscious in his chair.
I squinted at my watch, concentrating fiercely on numbers that wavered in and out of focus.
Five and a half minutes left. I hadn’t gotten a full dose of the trank mist, thank God. It must have dissipated by the time I took my first breath.
I staggered to my feet and shoved Spider’s USB stick into the next machine, clinging to the rack to balance my still-shaky legs.
After the longest ten seconds in history, the red light stopped blinking and I repeated the process with the next server. While I waited I plucked out the nasal filters. After a moment of indecision, I tucked them into my bra to dispose of later.
Beside my knee, the guard’s dangling hand twitched.
Come on, buddy, stay down. I didn’t dare fire another dart in the enclosed space. I’d have to press one into his skin to inject the longer-acting tranquilizer…
Next server.
Then the next.
The guard groaned.
Shit shit shit…
With trembling fingers, I ejected the trank magazine and took out a dart.
Twenty minutes of unconsciousness was far too long. Somebody would come in, try to rouse him, and get suspicious.
But I couldn’t let him see me.
The guard’s eyes were still closed. Next server.
Only one left…
Another groan sent my heart rate into the stratosphere and I inched closer to the guard, dart poised.
The USB stick stopped flashing and I chanced a quick lunge to pull it out and stuff it into the last server.
“Wha…?”
I spun in time to see the guard’s eyelids flutter. Then he fell out of his chair and landed face down on the floor, spraying vomit in all directions.
The fucking pen had worked, just not while he was unconscious.
I’d punch Reggie Chow for not telling me that little detail.
A few seconds later the file transfer was complete and I snatched up the USB stick. The guard lay motionless facedown, groaning between retches and, with any luck, oblivious to everything but his own misery.
My bundled bedsheet lay inside the splatter radius. Avoiding the vomit-smeared parts as best I could, I scooped it up, stuffed my weapons into it, and slipped silently out the door.
Three and a half minutes.
Afraid to attract attention by running, I powerwalked back to the service entrance clutching my soiled sheet. I was almost to the service door when another guard approached in the hallway.
“Hey, what are you…” he began.
Face turned away, I thrust the malodorous bundle toward him. “Sick guest.”
He recoiled and I scurried past, heart pounding.
When I jerked open the service door and dove through it, my brown-eyed man-mountain looked up from the dregs of his coffee.
“So, how did it…” he began.
“You were right, I was supposed to be in the guesthouse!” I squawked. Pitching my bundle onto the laundry cart, I seized its handle and sprinted down the corridor.
At the two-minute mark, I slammed the cart back into its berth in the service alcove.
God, what if I’d miscalculated the length of the recording? If it reached its noisy conclusion before I sneaked back into the room, there would be nothing to conceal the sound of the door opening and closing.
I peeled off the torturous jacket, wincing at the abrasions on my arms.
Shoes off.
Pants.
The zipper stuck.
“Fuck!” I jerked at the recalcitrant tab, then abandoned the effort and clenched a side of the waistband in each fist. With a gargantuan yank the zipper parted and I peeled the pants down, hopping and staggering while I flailed my feet out of them.
One minute.
No time.
I stuffed the ruined uniform under the dirty laundry and flung the soiled bedsheet on top. Tearing into it, I grabbed my purse, weapons, and clothes, then snatched up my shoes. A moment later I burst out the door in my underwear, snapping a wild glance around the quiet corridor.
No witnesses. Thank God.
Run.
Panting up to Suite 108, I seized the door handle, then let out a whimper.
Locked out. My temporary bypass had ended.
My cardkey was in my purse.
I fell to my knees to ransack it.
The surveillance cameras would come back online in seconds. Please don’t let me get caught kneeling out here in my underwear…
Thank you, Lord, my hand clenched around the cardkey.
Resisting the urge to slam it into the reader, I kept my movements smooth and quiet.
A slow turn of the latch; a quick shimmy inside clutching my clothes and weapons; a soft closure of the door behind me…
A savage roar from the darkness nearly stopped my heart.