“Denied,” the voice snaps back. “Secure your location until we track their whereabouts. I need to get higher authority.”

Ben tips his head back to the ceiling in frustration. “How long will that be?”

“We will have an exact location and answer within ninety minutes,” the voice replies.

Ninety minutes. Ninety minutes? That’s an hour and a half. I put both of my hands over my mouth in horror as I try to control my breathing.

“Find them or I will,” Ben snaps before hanging up.

I look up at him. “What now?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, and a heavy frown is etched on his face.

“What now, Ben?”

“I’m thinking,” he snarls.

I run my hands through my hair in a panic. “Oh, God,” I whisper to myself.

“Why did you fucking come here, Bridget?” he whispers angrily.

I shake my head, because all logic has escaped me. I’m wondering that myself.

“This is serious,” he snaps.

“They were going to kill you, Ben,” I whisper. “What the fuck did you want me to do?”

“Call me. Fucking call me. Don’t put yourself in danger like this.”

“I thought they were going to bug your phone, and then I would have been in danger anyway,” I sputter in a panic.

He shakes his head as he thinks for a moment. “At this point they are watching me, not you. They don’t know you are here… yet.” He frowns, deep in thought. “Unless they saw us just then.” He glances at his watch. “It’s 7:35 p.m., so they don’t know that the plan is interrupted yet. They won’t know until after 8:00 p.m.” He brushes his fingers back and forth over his two-day growth as he thinks. “We go back to the room.”

“What?” I frown.

“We go back to the room and you get your things and go to this hotel.” He flicks through his phone and brings up a hotel on the screen. “Go to Mayfair on Ridge—I have a booking in the name of Jones.” He retrieves his wallet and a credit card, and I read the name on it.

I frown. “You’re staying there?” I take out my phone and snap an image of the hotel.

“No, I always book a second hotel in case of an emergency. You’ll need this card to check in.”

The blood drains from my face. “Is this an emergency?”

He looks at me, deadpan. “Could say that.”

I nod frantically. “Yes, okay, okay. So, what then?”

“You wait there.”

My eyes widen. “Why? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to stay here as a decoy.”

“What?”

He opens the door in a rush and walks out.

I run to catch up to him. “No. I don’t want you staying here,” I whisper as we powerwalk in the direction of the room. “Come with me.” I grab his arm. “Ben, you have to come with me.”

He stops on the spot. “You do as you’re told and you get back to that hotel safely now,” he whispers.

“What will happen to you?”

“Nothing. I can handle myself. I will get there when I can.”

“How long will that be?” I frown.

“I’m not sure. If you see someone following your taxi, ask the driver to take you to the police station and run in the front doors and spit in an officer’s face.”

“What?”

“You’ll be arrested and safe until tomorrow. I can come get you from there.”

“Oh, my fucking God,” I whisper as my fingers go to my temples.

This is insane.

We arrive at the hotel room, and he reaches down to grab my hand. He squeezes it in a silent goodbye and I have literally no idea what the hell is going to happen.

He opens the door in a rush. “And the minibar is out, too. Can you restock it, please?” he asserts loudly.

“Of course, sir,” I reply in a fake accent.

He opens the fridge and starts to clang the bottles loudly as a distraction then walks into the bathroom and turns the shower on, soon returning to the bedroom.

I grab my suitcases as quietly as I can, and with one last look at each other I exit the room and gently close the door behind me. I start to powerwalk up the hallway toward the lifts while dragging my suitcase.

Holy fucking hell. What if they are up here? What would I do?

Kick them in the nuts. Okay, I can do that.

I get to the lift and hit the button three times as I look around guiltily. It takes forever to arrive.

Please, please. Come on, come on.

I look around at the empty hallway. I can taste bile in my mouth from my stomach churning so hard.

God, I don’t want to leave him here.

The stupid fuck. How in the hell did he get messed up in this shit?

I’m going to kill him myself when he gets to the hotel.

The lift arrives with a ding and the door opens slowly. I’m relieved to find it filled with people. Oh, thank God. Normal-looking people.

My heart is hammering hard in my chest as we ride to the ground floor in silence. Once to the bottom, I cross the foyer and head out onto the circular entrance way.

The concierge smiles. “Taxi?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

He goes out onto the road and raises his arm. A taxi pulls in immediately. The taxi driver gets out of his car and opens the trunk to put my luggage in while I slink into the backseat.

He jumps into the front seat. “Where to?” he asks.

“Oh.” I quickly scramble through my phone and bring up the image. “Mayfair on Ridge.”

He nods, turns, and pulls out onto the road.

I sit in the dark in the backseat. I don’t know if I’m going to survive this trip. My heart is beating so damn hard. I turn in the seat and peer through the back window, and watch the hotel disappear.

Tears fill my eyes. Is that the last time I’m going to see him?

My leg bounces as I try to control my nerves.

I look around again in a panic and cars are everywhere. How the hell am I supposed to know if someone is following me?

Oh, man.

Ben’s words run through my head. Spit in the policeman’s face to get yourself arrested. I feel faint. I don’t even know if I could physically spit on someone. It’s not like it’s something that I have ever practiced. I shake my head in disbelief. Honestly, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried. I turn and look out through the back window again and just see different cars this time. No single car is standing out, not that I can really see much. I put my hands in a praying position in front of my lips as I think. When we get to the hotel I’ll be able to see if anyone is following us. What do I do if there is? Do I jump back in the car and demand to go to the police station?

Yes.

I nod, as if psyching myself up.

Spit in a face, that’s all you have to do.

Jail is safe. I frown as I realise what a ridiculous notion that is. What the fuck? Jail isn’t safe; someone else could murder me in there.

Holy crap, this is a fucking disaster.

The cab pulls into the large, circular driveway of a fancy hotel, and I sit in the backseat, peering through the window while the driver retrieves my bags.

I look around and can’t see anyone suspicious.

Shit. Do I get out?

I look left, and then look right. No cars pulled in behind us, and the main road is too busy to stop. I think the coast is clear.

I get out and pay the driver, then make my way into the foyer and up to reception. My eyes are darting around like a crazy person, searching for anything out of the ordinary. I glance at my watch. It’s 7:50 p.m.

Oh no, ten minutes before they know their plan isn’t going to go to plan.

“Good evening.” The receptionist smiles.

“Hello.” I retrieve the credit card Ben has given me and slide it over the desk. “I have a booking in the name of Jones.”

“Sure.” She smiles and starts to type in her computer, and I glance around at the swanky surroundings. How much does this place cost per night?

She prints off a key and hands it to me. “You are in room 246 on level four.”

“Thank you, my husband will be picking up another key later tonight when he arrives.”

“Okay, thank you. I will note that down.”

I make my way over to the lift and up to level four, then down the wide corridor. It’s so luxurious; this place is something else.

I get to my room, swipe the card, and close the door behind me, locking it swiftly.

Thank God, I made it.

For a few moments I stand with my back to the door, so relieved that I made it here. I try to catch my breath. It feels like I have been holding it in for hours. I pull myself together and look around.

The room is big, white, and classy. Navy velvet drapes hang to the floor and they match the bedspread, along with two high wing chairs and ottomans that sit near the fireplace.

I walk around to find the bathroom is completely white with brass fittings, and a triple showerhead in the walk-in shower. The left wall has a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

There is a large, fresh flower arrangement that sits on the round mahogany table.

Wow. This is swanky.

I walk over to the window and pull back the drapes to stare down at the bustling traffic.

Darkness is all I see.

What’s going on at the other hotel?

I get an image of Ben fighting with the two men, and I shake my head to chase away the vision.

Stop it. He’ll be fine.

I walk over and recheck the lock on the door, and then I go into the bathroom.

I need a shower so badly. In fact, I need sleep more than anything at the moment, but I can already tell that’s not in my immediate future.

A hot shower, a hot meal, and I’ll be as good as new.

* * *

I stand at the window at exactly 8:00 p.m. and look down at the street as I wait for Jason Steele to surface.

Why do they want you dead?

They want to kill me to cover up that they had anything to do with it.

This was not an approved hit. Who is he and why do they want him dead?

I take out my phone and Google Jason Steele, U.S. Diplomat, and I wait for the page to load.

An image comes up and I study it. Dark hair, in his mid-thirties, good-looking as far as dudes go.

I click on Wikipedia.

Jason Steele, age 37, is an American diplomat, speaking five languages. Educated at Harvard where he graduated with an Engineering, Science, and Bio Chemistry degree.

I frown as I read through. A diplomat is a scientist? Weird qualifications. They usually major in politics. My detective work is interrupted as he walks out, flanked by security guards. I watch from my window position above.

Why does he have such tight security around him?

He gets into a black limo with a security car behind and in front, and I watch them slowly drive away.

I look at the surrounding buildings and my blood begins to boil.

If Bridget hadn’t stopped me, I would have played right into their hands. I had no reason to doubt their intentions or my orders.

They now know their plan didn’t work. I glance at my watch and see it’s 8:20 p.m.

Didge should be safe. Fuck, I can’t stand that she’s here mixed up with my shit. This is my worst fucking nightmare.

I text them, acting innocent.

I’ve got to get out of here.

I put my handgun under my suit jacket and pick up the bag with the hit gun inside it.

First, I need to get rid of this. I walk out into the hallway and put it into the laundry shoot. I then go in and retrieve my suitcases and walk down to reception. My eyes are darting around as I look for my deceivers. I walk to reception and out to a taxi, placing my bags in the trunk.

“Can you take my bags to Mayfair on Ridge and ask them to keep them in reception for me until I check in later?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, of course.”

I hand him one hundred euros. “Don’t tell anyone what I just told you, and don’t return here tonight.”

He smiles broadly at his substantial tip. “Yes, sir.” He drives off in a hurry before I change my mind.

I turn back to the hotel as I struggle to contain my anger.

I could be dead now. Those motherfuckers are going to pay.

I get into the lift and head down to the parking lot. They’ll be down there waiting for me to get in and drive away. I wonder… are they planning on following the car and finishing me off at the crash scene?

My fury bubbles. Let’s just see who gets finished off.

I catch the lift to two levels below the car, and I walk out into the semi-lit parking lot. I put my hand under my jacket and on my gun as I walk along the back row between the parked cars. I walk up the ramp toward where the hired car is parked.

My eyes roam over the parking lot as I look for the traitors.

I hear the double beep of a car unlocking in the distance, and I push myself up against a column in the darkness, my heart beating hard.

A young couple walks hand-in-hand, laughing, deep in conversation as they get in and slowly drive away.

I squeeze my gun and make my way over to the next ramp going up. I’m not sure where the car is parked, but I do know it’s on this level. I’m assuming it will be near the lifts if it has been here for some time. I sink into the darkness along the back wall as I search the parking lot.

There it is. Black SUV. Our standard hire car of choice. Number plates.

I get behind a column in the darkness and wait. For ten minutes I wait, until finally a car pulls up and they both get out. I ready my gun as I watch.

They glance around at the parking lot in search of me, and I’m so damn tempted to step out and shoot the fuckers right now.

You don’t have permission yet, I remind myself.

I squeeze the gun in my hand, itching to pull the trigger.

One of them takes out a large knife and slashes the tyres.

What?

I frown.

What’s he doing?

I watch on as he slashes all four tyres so that the car is unusable. They both get into the car and exit the parking lot.

What the hell is going on? I stare into the darkness as I think.

It’s not me they want dead. It’s Jason Steele.

They want me alive until I can finish the job.

Who the fuck is Jason Steele?

* * *

I wring my hands as I pace back and forth. It’s been three hours since I arrived here, and Ben still hasn’t shown up.

Where the frigging hell is he?

I hear a police car siren in the distance. I run to the window and tear back the curtains to look out.

What’s happened? Is that him? Has something happened down there?

Oh, dear God, my heart can’t take much more of this.

My phone rings and I jump in fright. I scramble to get it.

The name ‘Eric’ lights up the screen.

Shit. Of all the times he chooses to call me back, it’s now, for fuck’s sake.

I can’t deal with him right now. But then I picture him on the other end, trying to call me, and guilt takes over. I quickly pick up.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Hi, Bridge.”

Silence hangs down the line.

I stare at the carpet under my feet because I have no idea what to say to him. I’m in different country, waiting for another man who is probably a criminal and dead in a hotel room under a fake name.

This is as far from his world as it possibly gets.

Who am I kidding? This is nobody’s world, least of all mine.

“I miss you,” he whispers.

I close my eyes in regret. When I saw him the other day, we just played nice and didn’t talk about anything at all, but now it needs to be said.

“Look, Eric…” I pause as I try to get the wording right. “I’m sorry about the fight the other day and the way things turned out.”

He stays silent.

“I never meant for any of this to happen.” Sadness fills me, because I put him through this. He deserves so much better than the shitty girlfriend I was. I haven’t even thought of him since we broke up, because I have been so focused on Ben.

Ben bursts through the door, furious.

My eyes widen. Shit. What’s happened? I need to get off this call.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Who is that?” Ben growls.

I cover the phone with my hand and shake my head. “Goodbye.” I hang up.

“Are you for real?” I yell at Ben. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

He storms into the bathroom and slams the door.

What?

I don’t believe this. I charge in behind him. “What the fuck is going on, Ben?”

“Nothing. Get out.”

My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. “I will not get out until you tell me exactly what’s going on.”

He leans in and turns on the shower. “You’re an idiot. That’s what’s going on.”

My mouth drops open. “Who the hell do you think you are? I just saved your life, and this is the thanks I get?”

He steps toward me. “No, you just put your life in danger without any thought of the consequences—the very life I have been trying to protect for five fucking years!” he screams.

“Cut the dramatics. You kill people? Is that what your…” I put my fingers up to accentuate the quotation marks, “job is?”

“Get out!” he yells.

“No. I will not get out. What the hell is your fucking job, Ben?”

My phone starts ringing again.

“Who the fuck were you on the phone with?” he growls as he gets under the shower and washes himself with soap, completely ignoring my question.

“Are you washing blood off your hands?” I sneer.

His cold eyes turn to mine and I wither a little, but I tilt my chin up defiantly. “I’m not scared of you, Ben.”

“Get. Out,” he mouths.

My eyes fill with tears. I can’t believe this. “So, this is it?” I blurt as I hold my arms out. “This is the reason you left me?” I whisper. I screw up my face in pain. “You would rather kill people than be loved by me?”

His face falls, and he drops his head in shame.

That hurt him, but I don’t care. Tears run down my face.

“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Please… don’t cry.”

“Don’t cry?” I scream, losing all control. “I can’t be with you, Ben. I can’t be with someone who does this.”

He shakes his head and the room is filling with steam. “No… Bridget. Don’t go.” He shakes his head, suddenly panicked. “Don’t leave me. I love you.”

I step back from him and I shake my head. This is too much. I need to get out of here.

Am I even safe here with him?

“You said you loved me,” he murmurs as his eyes search mine.

The water trickling down the drain is the only sound I can hear.

I stare at him for a moment before I whisper the depressing truth. “I don’t even know you.”