Logan
Sleepless nights or limited sleep was not a big deal. On some of our missions I think we stayed awake for thirty-six hours before crashing and even then we only got a few hours of shuteye. Part of the deal. Until I was done protecting Maya or at least found the sick bastard who mutilated defenseless birds, I wouldn’t rest comfortably.
My guys had arrived right away with some of Sutton’s crew and had everything checked out and cleaned, leaving the room pristine as if nothing had ever happened. I was happy that Maya didn’t put up a fight about me moving into the room not far from hers in the suite or going back into her room to get some shuteye.
“If I was to avoid places where I received fucked-up deliveries, I’d have to move out of my house and that’s not an option. I love my house.” She smiled up at me and I had the overwhelming urge to kiss her forehead. Fortunately, she said goodnight and went off to her room.
I stayed up for a while, sat at the dining table and viewed information that was being sent to my laptop. Just as I had thought, the dominant fingerprints on things belonged to me or Maya. The sender possibly wore gloves, but the delivery had been made by the hotel staff for it to make it into her room. His fingers had to be the last set besides ours and who knew how many hands touched it.
With the help of videotapes we could maybe pinpoint the timeframe the box was delivered and when someone was in the elevator. Most elevators were outfitted with cameras and some hotels had them in their hallways. Many did not because of privacy issues. I hoped that we got lucky on both locations. We did get a clear shot of a man in a hotel uniform in an elevator with the box in question in the right timeframe. He didn’t appear nervous and wasn’t treating the box with any special treatment which most likely meant he thought it was nothing more than chocolates.
Over the years of training and watching behaviors of our subjects, it was often easy to spot people that were up to no good or simply lying. Body language could be instrumental. Unsteady facial expressions. Voice tones that wavered. Then there were obvious signs like sweating and shaking.
So we knew he wasn’t our guy and had no idea where the chocolate box came from since we were able to see he went from the front desk to the elevators and then disappeared for a short time before he was back in the elevator heading down.
Dead end!
For the moment.
With my hotel room not in use, it allowed me to move another guy in for extra eyes. That was something I decided to keep to myself. The less Maya knew the better. Let me and my guys focus on the sicko and let Maya focus on doing her job and maybe enjoying herself.
The weather was great and there shouldn’t be any reason for her to stay cooped up like a prisoner because she was afraid. She needed to use me to the fullest and it started with getting her up for a run once the sun came up. I had observed how she looked outside while she ran on the treadmill. Nothing matched the great outdoors.
Well, crawling in bed next to Maya—who had her perfect breasts on display when I walked in to wake her—may have ranked above all else. Being a gentleman or fool, I covered her upper half with the robe I had handed her the night, or hours, before, prior to waking her.
The memory of her glorious body was already permanently burned into my mind for all eternity. And nothing could ever shake it loose which was probably not the smartest idea. She had made me forget all about a certain part of my training that involved being focused on the target and objective. For once, I was thinking about breaking all of the rules that had been entrenched in me…or not—I was on the fence.
“Rise and shine! It’s oh seven hundred! Daylight is burning!”
“Please don’t tell me you have a bugle and are about to play Reveille.”
I laughed, remembering my great grandfather’s bugle and his Navy stories about playing his bugle on the USS Idaho in the South Pacific during World War II. He played the bugle on occasion for us when I was little. He always raised an American flag in his front yard every day until the end of his life. My mom has that brass bugle sitting on a bookcase in her house not far from his encased burial flag.
“You’re safe. I never learned to play my great grandfather’s bugle. But you do need to get your butt up or you’ll be stuck inside on that boring treadmill.”
That seemed to spark a flame under her. “Go! I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
Waiting with two sports bottles of water, Maya did as she promised, emerging dressed in a fitted turquoise tank top and black running pants with her dark auburn hair in a ponytail sticking out the back of a grey baseball-style cap, rocking dark sunglasses and wearing bright lime green running shoes.
Hot in and out of clothes!
Riding the elevator down to the ground level, we walked over to a grassy area and began to stretch for a few minutes before taking off on foot at a slow pace.
“I’m not a fast runner but I can last an hour.”
I was running with her, for her benefit. “I can go your pace. We’ll run a half-hour in one direction and then turn back using another street that runs parallel,” I said, setting a timer on my ever-present watch.
“Sounds perfect. I’m just thrilled to be outside.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Fresh air instead of stale hotel air is divine. Thank you so much. It means the world to me… You have no idea.”
I loved the smile she gave me when I added, “It’s all about you.”