Crossing Lines by Adrienne Giordano

16

“His order is in.I just saw it on the computer.”

Rory stood, hands braced against the bar as Shane slid onto the stool he’d occupied two hours earlier. Beside him, Faith, her head topped with her new Cubs baseball cap, did the same. If Rory was curious about her lack of blonde hair, he kept it to himself. Still, Faith could have easily explained it away by admitting she’d donned the wig hoping her rat bastard ex, if she should see him, wouldn’t recognize her from a distance.

Apparently the spec ops gods didn’t feel it necessary to give them a fucking break by having Brutus leave the hotel for dinner. They’d spent the last ninety minutes on two plans, one that included grabbing Brutus off the street when he headed out for dinner and taking him to the mausoleum for an extended conversation. If the man gave them the information they wanted, i.e., whether or not Alfaro knew Shane’s identity — and location — they’d kill him and be done with the piece of shit once and for all. Killing him bought them time to figure out a plan for Faith while Alfaro regrouped.

Plan B, the one they’d hoped not to use but were now forced to, consisted of getting into Brutus’s room, escorting him out of the hotel without calling attention to themselves and then taking him to the mausoleum.

In short, it would take a fucking miracle to pull off Plan B. Shane’s guess? They’d have to kill him in his room at the hotel. Brutus wouldn’t let himself be taken to a secondary location. He’d put a bullet in himself first.

Shane shook off his thoughts and glanced around the bar. Considering the dinner hour, the place hadn’t picked up much. A couple of full tables and folks scattered at the bar. Two, four, six . . . Twelve people.

No wonder Rory was appreciative of Shane’s earlier two-hundred-dollar tip.

Shane leaned closer to Faith, half whispering so the guy two stools down didn’t overhear. “For a Michelin-starred establishment, the place has foot-traffic issues. Or is this separate from the one on the front side of the hotel?”

During their recon of the building, they stopped to check out the menu for a restaurant that shared the front entrance to the hotel.

“This one isn’t on the list. Only the one up front. This is considered casual dining. I suppose guests can call room service and order from either menu.”

Ah. Now that made sense. And something he should have known had he not been distracted by . . . well . . . everything.

“I thought I told you that,” she said. “Sorry. Anyway, I’ll use the ladies’ room in the lobby and scope out the stairs. Then we can head up. We need a look at the second floor for spots to hunker down.”

No kidding, but they weren’t taking that chance. It would be their luck for Brutus to step into the hallway for ice. “Let’s find out where his room is in regard to the elevator.”

“Hang on.”

Faith pulled her phone from her backpack. She tapped the screen a few times. “Here we go.”

“What?”

“There are pictures on the hotel website.”

She held the phone between them. On screen, a photo revealed a long hallway lined with doors and a seating area in front of the elevator bank.

All good, but who the hell knew when or where those pics were taken. “We don’t know which floor that is.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hey, it’s a start.”

Rory came by to check on them and Shane dropped a couple of twenties on the bar. Cash was king and he was going through a lot of it.

“Question.” He gestured to Faith’s phone. “Is this the layout of the second floor?”

Rory checked the screen. “Yeah. Every floor is the same. Just different colors. Are the cops coming for him?”

Um, no.The cops weren’t coming for him.

But Shane and Faith were.

Shane lifted one shoulder. “We called the sheriff’s office. Waiting on a call back.”

Which was a load of crap, but as long as Rory didn’t have a friend or relative who happened to be an employee of the Cook County Sheriff’s Department, it might fly. Because the truth was, Shane had no idea, not a freaking clue, how one went about having a deadbeat dad arrested.

Rory wandered down the bar to check on his customers and Faith slid from her stool. “I’m hitting the ladies’ room.”

“Be careful.”

Be careful? What the hell did that even mean at this point? He blew out a soft breath as Faith exited the bar into the lobby area. The minute she was out of his sight, his stomach pitched.

This whole shitshow wore him down. He’d been living with uncertainty for two years now. More or less, he’d gotten used to it. This was different.

This was Alfaro possibly knowing his identity and Shane being forced to pick up his life, abandon his business and run.

Again.

And that pissed him off.

All the time spent building his business and getting regulars who loved his mom’s cheddar burgers. Day by day by day gaining — and sometimes losing — customers.

He didn’t make huge money, but his profits were up 16 percent so far over last year. If the trend continued, he’d carve out a decent living.

Leaving would, in short, suck.

“Hi.”

He lurched from his thoughts to a brunette sliding onto Faith’s stool. He almost laughed. Almost. Was this chick seriously going to hit on him? Just as they were about to do a takedown?

“Uh.” He pointed to Faith’s glass. “I’m sorry. That seat is taken.”

“I know.”

The brunette looked over her shoulder toward the street entrance, then back at him. In the dim light he couldn’t tell the color of her eyes, but they were giant saucers and most definitely spooked.

He swiveled to face her. “Are you okay?”

“Can I sit here a minute? I just got off the bus and I think some guy is following me.”

Well, shit.

But — hang on. She could be playing him. Maybe Brutus had spotted them and, like Leslie once did, this woman worked for him?

She checked the door again and came back to him. He sized up her stiff shoulders and pinging gaze. Spooked. If she was playing him, she deserved an Oscar. At least a nomination.

Then again, so did he and Faith.

Liars everywhere.

He’d like to tell her to call the authorities, but the last damned thing he wanted was a couple of cops showing up.

Faith appeared beside him, eyeing the woman. “I’m gone three minutes . . .”

The woman shook her head, started to stand. “No. I swear. I’m not hitting on him. Someone is following me. I figured if he saw me with someone he’d leave me alone.”

Shane glanced at his watch. 6:13. Time to get rid of this woman and get Operation Brutus in motion. He stood. “What does the guy look like?”

“Tall. Dark hair and round glasses. He’s wearing jeans and a jacket. Blue maybe?”

“He’s outside?”

“He was behind me before I ducked in here. I don’t know if he’s still out there.”

Beside him, Faith gave him the tiniest of head shakes. Her not-so-subtle warning that he shouldn’t leave his wingman. How ironic considering her penchant for going rogue.

And, yeah, they were close on time. What was he supposed to do? Leave this woman when she needed help?

“I’m gonna go check this out,” he told Faith. “Wait for me.”

The man had losthis mind. This might be their only chance at Brutus and he wanted to play hero?

No sir.

In typical Shane I’m-in-charge fashion, he marched toward the door while Faith’s blood simmered to a boil. All that planning and badgering her into promising she’d follow said plans to the letter and he goes rogue?

“I’m so sorry,” the woman told Faith.

She wasn’t the only one. Damned Shane.

But what could she do? After having been attacked by violent men and experiencing that fear, that gut-shredding anxiety, Faith couldn’t tell the woman to bugger off.

“It’s not a problem.”

Yeah, it is.

Pivot. That’s what she’d do. She glanced at the door Shane had just exited through and checked her phone.

Getting close. 6:16.

But she’d been working alone for years. She could easily get a jump on things and head upstairs. By the time the waiter brought the food up, Shane would be done with his superhero mission and they’d resume their plan.

Easy.

She tightened her hold on her backpack, hooked her thumbs into the straps and faced the woman. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” She gestured to Rory. “The bartender is a good guy. Stay here until it’s safe. When my boyfriend—” And how weird was that? “comes back, tell him to meet me upstairs.”

The woman bobbed her head. “I’m so sorry. I really am.”

Faith squeezed her arm. “It’s okay. We just want you safe.”

Before leaving, she peered at the street entrance. No Shane.

Dammit.

He’d hate this. Would probably lecture her endlessly about going rogue. Well, so had he and they couldn’t lose Brutus. Not when they were so close.

Faith climbedthe last few steps to the second floor with her eyes locked on the hallway door. Assuming there were cameras on either side of the door, she kept her hat pulled low and head down.

Modern security being what it was, they’d match her clothing to images from the bar cameras, but she’d at least try to hide her face in this part of the operation.

Certain things, she couldn’t control.

Gun. She pressed her arm to her waist, took refuge in her 9mm holstered there. She’d checked the magazine earlier, replacing it with a full one.

She wouldn’t mind one last check, just to make sure that baby was ready to go. With her luck, a security guard monitoring the cameras would see her with a weapon and bolt on up. Plus, she couldn’t stand here long.

Thinking, thinking, thinking. Too much of it never amounted to anything good. Not in her world.

Time check: 6:19.

Six minutes to Brutus’s dinner delivery and no Shane.

She had to move. Figure out a spot where they’d be in close enough proximity to catch Brutus’s door when the waiter left.

Damned Shane. Their perfect cover would have been as a horny couple, groping each other in the hallway because — oh my goodness, Mr. Security Officer, we just couldn’t wait until we got to our room.

Roll with it.

That’s all she’d do. Like every time before.

She opened the door, took half a step and peered down the hallway. No activity. Excellent.

The elevator dinged and she scanned the area. Nowhere to hide. And ducking back into the stairwell would be a giant, waving I’m-up-to-no-good flag.

Another step got her into the hallway, where she slid her phone from her pocket and pretended to read.

The clink of glassware sounded. A waiter with a room service cart exited the elevator and headed the opposite direction.

Was that Brutus’s order?

If so, they were early. Of course they were. Why should anything go according to plan?

She remained in her spot, now pretending to send a text while keeping an eye on the waiter. Thirty yards away, he came to a stop in front of a room, glanced down at something on the cart and then knocked on the door.

Go.

Too far. She needed to get closer. Time it just right so when the waiter walked out she'd pop her foot in the door, slide in and once out of view of the hallway cameras, rip her gun from her holster.

No. What if Brutus, after allowing the waiter in, spotted her?

She’d have to time this right, staying far enough away that Brutus wouldn’t see her, but close enough to catch that door when the waiter left.

Lord, it better be Brutus’s room.

She walked quickly, her steps silent against the carpet.

Where the hell was Shane? Without him the whole op came apart.

But this was her chance. Maybe the only one she’d get to eliminate Brutus and give herself an opportunity to run. To hide from Alfaro.

Ten yards from the waiter, she slowed and dropped her hand to her side, ready to pull her weapon. Not yet.

She leaned against the wall, pretending to check her phone. The door opened and the waiter nodded at whoever stood inside the room. “Good evening, Mr. Ortega,” he beamed. “I have your meal.”

Bingo, bingo, bingo.

Adrenaline tore through her like water through a broken dam. She eased out a breath, stole a glance at the door.

No Shane. She should wait. Let this go.

“Thank you,” a man said, his Spanish accent barely perceptible.

The waiter pushed the cart into the room and her pulse pounded. Bam, bam, bam. Focus. That’s all she needed to do. Stay on task. Using her thumb, she pretended to answer a text that was nothing more than random letters that wouldn’t be sent.

The clink of glasses brought her attention back to where the waiter disappeared inside the room.

She drew a long breath, taking in the stale air-freshened air, let it flow through her nose and out her mouth. If she could finish this…

Freedom.

Finish it.

She gave up on her phone and walked past room 232, pausing two doors down to check her phone again and go through the whole pretend texting routine. Behind her, the ka-chunk of a lock disengaged. She angled back to where the waiter exited the room. Another juicy burst of adrenaline plowed her forward.

The waiter headed the opposite direction toward the elevator.

Go, go, go.

She hustled, quickening her pace. Two more steps and she’d be there. She kept her hand at her waist, ready to pull her weapon. She pictured it. Jamming her foot in the door, sliding through while drawing her gun and . . . surprise!

Brutus wouldn’t know what the hell to do. Chances were, he wouldn’t have a weapon in hand while a waiter brought his food.

She hoped.

She’d keep him at gunpoint until Shane showed up. Which had better be damned fast.

Too much thinking. She could do this. She took the final step, focused on the door — go, go, go — and watched it close.

In an action movie,Faith’s planned entrance might've been Oscar-worthy.

In real life?

She stood in the hallway cursing a closed door.

Regroup.Walk away, find Shane and try again tomorrow.

No. Brutus was right there, on the other side of the door enjoying his gourmet meal. She had him.

And as much as she wanted to be a team player, this was her chance to end this thing. She could still use the element of surprise and hold Brutus at gunpoint until Shane arrived.

All she needed to do was get in. As simple as it was, she’d knock and hope he opened the door. She glanced at the door across the hall. No peephole. Finally, a break. She’d knock, pretend to be housekeeping and — voila! – when the door came open, she’d push her way in.

She drew a long breath. Yes, she could do this.

Before lifting her hand, she checked her phone again. No messages. She shot off a text letting Shane know she was going in.

He’d hate it, but he should have considered that when he’d left her in the bar. Text sent, she tucked the phone back in her pocket.

A muffled voice came from the other side of the door and then the handle moved. Moved.

Panic shot from her core, sending hot shocks shooting through her limbs. The door flew open. “You forgot salt,” a man yelled.

His gaze landed on her and he halted. Tall and dark-haired, he loomed over her, his eyes nearly bugging out. For a second he stood, clearly as stunned as her. Slowly, like a building wave, his features smoothed and a small smile slid across his face.

She'd only seen photos, but this was most definitely Brutus. And, unless she’d completely lost her edge, he’d just recognized her.