Which is all to say that the exit doors aren’t going to be guarded. Or they wouldn’t be if there weren’t fire and snakes and a stolen necklace. Luckily, I’m familiar enough with this building to know an exit that may have been overlooked—the one used by school groups. Sure enough, it opens and doesn’t set off any alarms.
Once out, we need to find Lars. I hadn’t seen him at the party—presumably, he’d been stashed in some henchman closet. That isn’t a problem. Outside, we swing around to overhear Hector at the front door, where he is, well, hectoring the guards who are under orders not to let anyone leave right now. All we need to do is wait out of sight until Hector’s man has been patted down and allowed to leave. Then we follow.
We’re expecting Lars to retrieve his car from the valet. As he’s waiting, we’ll run to the parking lot, get Connolly’s car—he has another key—and track the guard from there. Which shows how little we both understand evil henchmen. Having your car in the valet lot would be really inconvenient if you needed to make a quick getaway.
We follow Lars to a lot a block away. When he heads in to fetch his car, Connolly flags down a passing taxi. He’s opening the door for me just as Lars’s sedan appears. It veers onto the road without stopping at the curb.
“Follow that car!” Connolly says to the taxi driver.
“Did you just say . . . ?” I begin.
His cheeks heat. “Er . . .”
“You did, and I’m totally swooning.”
He smiles as he shakes his head. “Get in. You follow him while I retrieve my car and catch up.”
“Ooh. Adventurous and practical. I think I’m in love.”
“We’ll plan the wedding later. Now go.”
I can joke about swooning, but honestly, I’m impressed as hell. It takes guts to tell a taxi driver, “Follow that car!” with a straight face. To actually have them do it, instead of laughing you out of the vehicle? Then having the quick wits to realize the best course of action is to split up and fetch your own vehicle rather than both hop into the taxi? It truly is swoon-worthy.
Connolly and I stay in touch by phone. The driver does his job admirably. It isn’t exactly a high-speed chase. In Manhattan, following a car just means trailing it from backed-up traffic light to backed-up traffic light. Here’s where Connolly’s driving skill comes in handy, that ability to swing between perfect gentleman and inconsiderate asshole. He must channel the latter for this one because, within ten minutes, he’s coming up behind us.
“I’m going to switch cars,” I say. “Can I pay before you pull over?”
“I don’t think—” the driver begins.
A horn tap, and Connolly is beside our passenger window. He pulls down his visor, plucks out a bill and presses a hundred to the window.
“Hey, I keep emergency money in my visor, too,” I say to the driver. “Only mine’s a tenner.”
“You and me both, lady,” he says, shaking his head.
I put down the window, reach out and grab the money, which is actually a trickier maneuver than it seems in the movies.
I hand the bill to the driver. “Keep the change.”
“Now I suppose you want me to pull up on his other side so you can jump across moving vehicles.”
“Could you? That’d be kinda awesome.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “If your idea of awesome is spending the rest of your date in the morgue.”
“It could be. Except for the being dead part. I’ll switch cars at the next red light.”
We do that. As I’m leaving, the driver calls, “Enjoy the rest of your date with Mr. Bond!” and I flash him a thumbs-up. I’m barely in the car before the light changes and Connolly’s on the move in hot pursuit of Lars. Well, slow pursuit, but it works. Connolly’s careful to stay a few car lengths back or in another lane, trusting me to keep an eye on the henchman.
After twenty minutes—or about five Manhattan blocks—Lars pulls into a parking garage. It’s a private one, so we can’t follow, but there’s a public one across the road. While traffic is still crazy at this time of night, the garage isn’t full—the nearby buildings are all offices, except for a boutique hotel that’s under renovation. Before Connolly parks, he lets me out.
I start jogging. Then I stop and take off my heels so I can run quietly.
Lars drove into a narrow garage under a building, and it must be for that hotel under renovation, because it’s nearly empty. I need to hide behind a bin to watch. I’m peeking out when I see the decal on the bin.
Voden Construction.
Lars walks to a door, flicks his security card and goes inside. I see the door closing and, with it, our chances of getting in. I dart over as fast as I can and wedge my purse between the door and the frame. By the time Connolly catches up, I’ve replaced my purse with steel from the scattered debris.
“It’s Hector’s company,” I whisper as we go in.
He nods, and the lack of surprise tells me he already noticed a sign—he’s just not taking this detective moment from me. I appreciate that.
Knowing little about construction, I’m not sure what you’d call this. A renovation? A reconstruction? Basically, it looks as if they’re redoing an old office building as a luxury boutique hotel. All I know is that they’re stripping its soul. They’ve torn up gorgeous floorboards, rich with the patina of age. The original wood-paneled walls? Shredded. The intricate brass fixtures? Heaps of scrap metal and broken glass that make my antique-shop-owner heart weep.
This floor of the hotel is in shambles, but footsteps sound overhead. We take the stairs up to find a level near completion. The hall is still ripped up, but an open door shows what will be a very modern, high-end hotel suite. That matches what Hope described.
My sister is here.
I started this evening hoping to get a clue about who might be holding her captive. Instead, not only did I solve that mystery, but I found her. We hadn’t discussed this possibility because it seemed beyond our reach. Yet here we are, with Hope in this very building. An empty building, only one henchman between us and my little sister.
Connolly’s nudge snaps me from my thoughts. Then I realize he’s prodding me toward an open doorway. Lars’s footsteps have stopped, and we don’t want to smack right into him. We step into the room to listen.
Lars has paused around the next corner. Opening a door?
No, not a door. The door to my sister.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I glance away, but Connolly catches the movement.
“Everything okay?” he whispers as Lars begins talking, obviously making a call, his voice too low to hear.
I nod. “Just . . . it’s happening so fast. She’s here, isn’t she? Hope’s here, and we’re going to—”
I press my hand to my mouth. “Sorry. I’m just . . .”
“Your hair looks lovely like that.”
I look up sharply, frowning. “What?”
“Your hair. It looks lovely.”
I stifle a laugh. “It did look lovely, an hour ago. Took an hour to get it pinned up and curled just so, and I don’t want to imagine what it looks like now.”
“Better. It was fine before. This is better.”
He takes out his phone, snaps a shot and then shows me. It’s as bad as I’d expect after fleeing venomous snakes, crawling across museum floors and walking through construction zones. Half my hair has escaped the updo, and the curls are now frizzy exclamation points around my face. Then there’s the dust and dirt and cobwebs.
I press my hand to my mouth to keep from laughing. “Thank you for the cleverly crafted distraction.”
“And thank you for the adorable photograph, commemorating our adventure.” He pockets his phone and takes out something else. “You left this in my car.”
It’s my derringer. Seeing it, I break into a grin.
“Now trade it for your shoes,” he says. “I can carry those.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got them.”
He puts out a hand. “And
leave me defenseless?”
I pass them over, and he wields the heel like a dagger, making me stifle another laugh.
“Thank you,” I say. “You really are something, Aiden Connolly. Something completely unexpected.”
“The good kind of unexpected?”
“The best kind.” My cheeks heat, and I’m thankful for the near-dark.
“So the wedding is still on? My mother will be delighted.”
I choke back a laugh. “I doubt delighted is the word. Now, let’s get out there before Lars finishes his call.”
Connolly lays a hand on my arm. “He didn’t have a gun earlier, but he could have taken one from his car. Be very careful.”
“I will.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
We ease into the hall. Lars is still on the phone, and there’s nothing to hear even once we reach the corner. It’s just yeah and no and grunts from his end. Then, between the noises, I catch the distinct sound of a card gliding through a card reader. He’s opening the door.
Opening the door while on the phone, distracted.
I don’t think. Well, yes, I do. I think, He’s opening the door to my sister while distracted on the phone! Hesitate, and I’ll lose my chance. My personality favors leaping over looking, and this is where I need that recklessness. I zip around the corner and out of Connolly’s reach before he can grab me back.
As I dash, there’s a frisson in the air. A crackle that seems oddly familiar. A scene flashes. The car skidding, an electricity that felt like fear. Only it wasn’t fear. It was luck.
Connolly casts his luck my way, and Lars doesn’t notice movement out of the corner of his eye. That’s all I need. Then I’m out of his sightline and creeping along the shadows, covering the five feet until I’m at his back.
I almost forget to check Lars for a gun. When I lift mine, though, it triggers Connolly’s warning. I glance down. The guy left his tux jacket in the car, and I don’t see a gun in his hand or a holster. I lift mine and press it into his back. Lars freezes. Then he spins, grabbing for me, but I’m already out of the way, ducking to the side, gun raised. He sees the gun and pauses. His eyes narrow.
“That’s not a real—”
Connolly grabs him from behind, his arm going around the man’s neck and yanking him off his feet. Lars stumbles but wrenches free. I’m about to jump in—no idea what I’ll actually do, but I’ll do something—when Connolly punches him. A luck frisson comes again, a little late, or that’s what I think. I’m wrong. The luck boost wasn’t to help his punch, which is perfect. It’s the next bit, where Lars staggers and Connolly hits him again and he falls to the floor, unconscious.
“Nice,” I say.
He flexes his hands and manages a wry smile. “I had a boost.”
“Only in the ‘knocked unconscious’ part. That requires luck.” I turn to the door and inhale, and when I reach out, my fingers are shaking.
“You’ve got this,” Connolly murmurs.
I nod. When I take the doorknob, he says, “You go on. I’ll be out here.”
“No, come in. Please.”
He shakes his head. “Better to leave my temporarily unlucky self out here. If you need me, I’ll be looking for banana peels to slip on.”
I smile. Then I’m inside the room. It’s the sitting area part, lit by the ambient glow of lighting I can’t see and don’t care to find. All I want is the door, which will lead to my sister. I find it in a sweep. It’s closed, and I’m glad to see that. Lars had clearly been coming inside, and the thought of him watching Hope sleep fires a rage that tempts me to go out and give him a kick for good measure. I can only hope that Hector was keeping his men on a short leash and they did nothing more than peek inside to confirm that Hope was still here.
I turn the knob and push the door open an inch. Then I listen. Nothing. My heart pounds, and I shove it and—
And there’s Hope, sound asleep in bed. There’s no light in here beyond what’s coming from the doorway, but I can see her dark hair on the pillow. The covers rise and fall with her breathing. I slip over to her side of the bed. She’s facing the other way, and I blow a breath over her hair.
“Hopeless,” I whisper. “Wakey-wakey.”
She flips over with a groan and—
It’s a guy, maybe my age, with dark hair falling into green eyes. He blinks, and then his handsome face stretches into a sleepy grin.
“Well, hello there,” he says. “Now this is what I call hospitality. So much better than a mint on my pillow.”
I stumble back, gun rising.
His grin only grows. “A hot girl in a slinky dress with a gun? Someone definitely has a dream shaper on staff. Please tell me you also brought handcuffs.”
A commotion from the sitting room. Connolly charges through the doorway. Well, he tries to charge, but the luck-balancing has him staggering and stumbling through. I back up until I’m against him, my gun still aimed on the stranger as Connolly’s arm goes protectively around me.
The guy sighs. “And she’s with my brother. Of course she is.” He jabs a finger at the ceiling. “I thought you people didn’t believe in torture.” He thumps back onto the bed. “Can we restart this dream and leave my brother out of it? Thanks!”
Connolly strides toward the bed. “Rian?”
The guy looks from Connolly to me as I flick on a light. “Not a dream, I take it?”
“If it were, I wouldn’t be covered in dirt and cobwebs,” I say.
Rian grins. “In mine, you totally would. You’d be coming to rescue me, having fought your way past legions of minions. There were legions, right?”
“One. But Aiden took him out.”
“Of course he did,” Rian murmurs. “Because Aiden is amazing and does everything amazingly, including rescuing his screw-up brother. Also, he does it in a tux with a hot chick in tow.”
“Kennedy is not in tow,” Connolly says. “Nor is she a chick.”
“See? I can’t even get away with casual misogyny around him.”
I turn to Connolly. “Can you look after him? I need to find Hope.”
He hesitates, and in that hesitation, my heart sinks.
“You think Hector meant he had your brother,” I say. “Not Hope.”
Still no response, because the answer isn’t the one I want. I’m madly reviewing what we heard. That Hector had something we wanted, something we were going to get by doing what he wanted. A sibling issue. It totally fit if he had Hope.
It also fits if he had Rian. Or it would . . . if Connolly wasn’t buying the necklace to repay his brother’s debt to Havoc. If he was buying it to regain his brother. From Hector.
“You lied,” I whisper, looking at Connolly. “This wasn’t about a debt. You knew what Hector meant.”
His eyes widen. “What? No. I had no idea—”
“You lied.”
“Whoa!” Rian says, swinging out of bed. “I don’t know who you are, but if my brother lied, it was to get me out of here. Which he did. Or he will once we actually leave.”
I spin . . . to see that Rian is naked. My hands fly to my eyes, and I backpedal, hitting Connolly, who tries to grab me, but stumbles, and somehow, not only do I end up on the floor, but he’s on top of me.
“I’d say that’s a sweet move, Aiden,” Rian says. “But I’m guessing it’s a luck balance, ’cause you’re never that smooth.”
“I didn’t lie to you, Kennedy,” Connolly says, his face over mine. “I swear it on my car.”
“Your car?” Rian sputters. “You turn not-smooth into an art form, big brother.”
Connolly ignores him. “I still don’t know what’s going on here. I thought what you did—that your sister was here.”
“Wait,” Rian says. “This is an accidental rescue?”
“Are you dressed yet?” Connolly calls over to him.
“Why? Afraid of the competition?”
“You do realize we’re on the floor because she recoiled in horror, right?”
R
ian laughs. “Ouch, nice one. Yeah, I’m putting on my shorts.”
Connolly rises and helps me up. I let him but don’t speak. I’m not sure what’s going on here, and I’m not fleeing the room, but that’s the most he can hope for at the moment. I want to believe him too much to do it lightly.
Connolly turns to his brother, who is, as advertised, in his underwear. I won’t comment on that because it feels weird to say Connolly’s brother is hot. Okay, I guess I just said it. Still, while I may be biased, he’s not as good-looking as Connolly. I see the resemblance in the face and definitely the eyes. Rian’s taller, broader and dark haired. What I care about right now, though, is that he’s not my sister.
“I’m not here to rescue you, Rian,” Connolly says, “because you aren’t actually here. You’re in Europe, lying low, while we repay your debt, which is to Havoc, not Hector Voden.”
“Huh. Is that what Mom said?”
“Can we discuss this somewhere that isn’t the villain’s lair?” I say. “Or maybe I can let you two work it out while I search, in case my sister is here?”
“There aren’t any other hostages,” Rian says. “Believe me. I’ve been rapping on pipes and shouting when my guards leave. There haven’t even been construction workers.”
Connolly says, “The three of us will still conduct a brief survey of the finished rooms to be sure.”
“Thank you,” I say.
We start for the door. Connolly looks back at his brother. “Clothing, perhaps?”
Rian grins. “Up to your friend there. Does she really want me covering up?”
“She doesn’t care,” I say. “Since she will be busy checking rooms. You, however, may care if you get splinters where you don’t want splinters.”
“That part’s covered.”
“Not well.”
Rian’s grin grows. “You noticed.”
“Trying very hard not to.”
“But your gaze is irresistibly drawn—”
“—to the door. Where I am now heading. In hopes of finding my sister.”
Cursed Luck, Book 1 Page 24
