Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  Not that I love Thom. Whoa there. Let’s not go throwing the L word around all crazy-like. So we had good (great) sex for once. He’s being honest with me and showing some emotions. These are all nice things. But it’s still early days. Any attempt at dissecting our relationship is bound to just leave me more confused and it’s definitely too early to get carried away, envisioning shiny happy futures.

  The sad truth is, no matter how much I dig Wonder Woman, this movie is not holding my interest. And flicking between the news channels isn’t getting me anywhere either. Since it’ll be a while before I hear from the menfolk, I need to be doing something more useful than just staring at a screen.

  Or maybe not.

  In movies and TV shows with detectives and stuff, they’re always using CCTV and such to track people down. To figure out their movements. Of course, I don’t have access to that sort of thing. But the internet is everywhere. People are constantly attached to their cell phones. Sure, it’s a little farfetched. I’m probably clutching at straws. Though it’s not like I have anything more pressing to do with my time.

  I switch over to the cell Thom left me in case of an emergency. Easy enough to search #thornbrook and let social media give me an update on Thom and Bear’s whereabouts. Instagram seems the easiest to access without actually logging into an account. Or at least it comes up first. Helpful that the place Thom and Bear are checking out is so popular. There’s a PR pic of a bellboy wearing a black uniform with shiny gold buttons, busy at work with a broad smile. Another of the hotel florist grinning maniacally as she places an arrangement on the front desk. It’s tagged #MollysFlowers and #lovemyjob. Her enthusiasm seems a little hard to take. Floristry’s not a bad job; don’t get me wrong. About the worst part of it is washing buckets and dealing with difficult customers. But no florist I’ve ever met has ever been quite this ecstatic. Maybe she’s on drugs.

  Next is two women taking a selfie in a cool-looking bathroom with a Jacuzzi. A nighttime view from a window with the lights of New York. So pretty. Two men beaming at the camera dressed in tuxedos. I tap on this one. It says “Holy matrimony, guys!” and is also tagged #SteveandDae. Here we go. Plenty of pictures of the two grooms with and without assorted family and friends, all looking delighted. Except for the woman caught shoving a giant shrimp into her mouth. Awkward timing. Don’t get me wrong; seafood is great. But I wouldn’t be down with this particular shot being spread about the interwebs. A three-tier wedding cake, plain red-rose boutonnieres, and elegant table centerpieces in autumn colors. I approve. Lots and lots of delighted guests.

  I study each of the pictures, yet nothing stands out. It was an interesting idea, but this isn’t going to work. Insert heavy sigh here. There’s no sign of Thom or Bear since the bulk of the shots are taken inside a ballroom. Everything else recent and tagged with #thornbrook is either older than tonight or about an organic farm in New Zealand or a men’s shoe designer.

  Time to get more specific. I move on to #thornbrookhotel, and yes, we have a winner. A conference is in full swing and the attendees are apparently filling the bar to overflowing. Bonus points for them being addicted to social media. According to the hotel website’s map, the Uptown Bar opens onto the huge, extravagant marble lobby/reception area. Plush red velvet seating, crystal chandeliers, and lots of people coming and going.

  I study every shot, enlarging them to the point where the pixels go fuzzy. No sign of Thom or…wait. Maybe one of them is in the back of this shot. Yes, there’s Bear. Or at least I’m pretty sure it’s him. The height kind of gives him away. In all likelihood they’re trying to avoid getting caught on camera. Though I’m guessing they’d be more worried about the hotel security system than someone taking a happy snap. After all, it’s hard to be on the lookout for everyone all of the time.

  The shot was posted an hour and a half ago. Perhaps Bear wandered in, sat down with a drink or something, checked out the situation, and reported to his partner. At least, it’s what I’d do if I were an international person of mystery.

  But what the hell do I know about doing reconnaissance (“recce,” I remind myself)? Nada. Hence why I’m here fiddling on Instagram.

  Still no message from Thom on the new clean and secure cell phone he gave me. Of course, it’s only for emergencies. Like someone knocking on the door or a bomb going off. The man even made me pinky promise not to call anyone. As tempting as it is to shoot Mom or Jen a text (which wouldn’t be breaking my word, strictly speaking, because it would be a text, not a call), I don’t.

  After examining dozens of pictures for further signs of my fiancé’s continued existence, I’m about ready to give up. Go back to surfing the news channels or attempt another movie. Maybe just stare dejectedly at the apartment walls. Sounds like fun.

  I reload the screen one more time for good luck. Three new pictures have been posted. It’s a busy night at The Thornbrook Hotel. An expensive bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice. Very fancy. An older couple posing in their hotel room, arms around each other’s waists. They look so happy. I wonder if Thom and I would be all loved-up and gracious if we were still together in fifty years. Though who knows if we’ll even be together next week.

  And the final pic is a couple of dudes hanging out in the lobby. On their way to a concert, apparently. Lots of people wandering past in the background of this one. Along with a figure who seems oddly familiar. Lanky body, sloped shoulders, hands stuffed into his jean pockets. There’s a certain air of skulking. Much nefariousness. His clothes are dark and damp from the rain, hoodie pulled up to cover his head. But his head is turned as he looks over his shoulder. Most likely to check he’s not being followed, or to avoid the security cameras at the entrance to the hotel. Whatever his reasons, he’s almost full-on facing the camera.

  It’s Badger. The supposedly recently deceased Badger.

  “Holy shit. He’s the bad guy!”

  A doorman in one of those black uniforms with shiny gold buttons opens the taxi door as soon as the car pulls up outside the hotel. Despite the crap weather, there are plenty of people coming and going. I stride into the lobby, a woman on a mission. This isn’t a job for the Escada suit, despite the opulent surroundings. I stuck with black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Along with lots of mascara and winged eyeliner for confidence and good luck, of course. Cell phone and some cash are stuck in my back pocket. I try Thom on my cell one more time, just in case. No answer, and no indication that he’s read my message.

  It’s not my fault I broke almost all the rules and left the apartment. Thom needs to be told. If Badger shoots him in the back because he didn’t get warned the guy was still alive and kicking, I’ll never forgive myself. I can’t stay hidden away while Thom’s in danger. So I’m just going to have to be very brave and get this done despite being shit-scared and way out of my depth.

  I do a discreet wander around the main lobby area, searching for a familiar face or two. Music streams out of the crowded bar. A jazz pianist, by the sounds of things. How cool. But there’s no sign of Bear or Thom anywhere. The only thing I know for certain is that they were scouting out this hotel and planning a meet with Helene Sinclair. If the scouting section of the mission is finished, then there’s only one thing for me to do. I need to get up to the penthouse suite and locate Thom there. Hopefully.

  Three people stand behind the reception counter and only a couple are waiting to be served, or checked in, or whatever. Luggage sits at their feet. No one at the concierge desk right now, and this suits me fine. I pick my prey carefully. He’s the youngest one on duty. The newest member of staff, most likely. Also, he seems slightly flustered, frowning at the screen in front of him. Of course, what I’m about to attempt could all backfire spectacularly. Odds are probably about even. But at least I’ll have tried.

  “Hi, I’m supposed to fix the arrangements in Helene Sinclair’s room,” I say, sliding him the business card I picked up from Molly’s Flowers and moving the bunch of white roses that I bough
t from the shop up in my arms a little. I’ve got a whole bullshit presentation thing happening here.

  The young man, whose name tag says “Cory,” just blinks.

  “She’s staying in the penthouse, apparently.”

  Now he frowns.

  “Sorry.” I give him a brief smile. “I’m Liz from Molly’s Flowers. Guess I should have led with that. Anyway, Molly sent me in since she’s at a thing right now and can’t get away.” That part of my story was at least somewhat true. Molly’s enthusiasm for Instagram made her frighteningly easy to stalk. “Apparently your guest has severe allergies, but someone forgot to notify us about it. It’s a disaster. So I need to remove the white oriental lilies and fix things up as best I can, since they can’t get an actual replacement arrangement here until the morning, after we’ve gotten our delivery from the markets. You know how it is.”

  “Oh,” he says, just a dash of panic in his gaze. “Ah…”

  “I know right? Such a pain in the rear.” I sigh. “Can you give me a card to quickly pop up there and get this done, or will you need to escort me? How do we do this?”

  “You work with Molly?” he asks.

  “She’s my boss. You’ve met her? Isn’t she great?” At least she looked nice enough on her website. My smile is all things friendly and inviting as I lean closer. “I’m new there. I guess that’s why I’ve been assigned this task. Everyone has to pay their dues, huh?”

  “Yeah. Tell me about it.” His posture relaxes as he shoots his coworkers farther down the counter disgruntled looks. However, both seem oblivious to his inner pain.

  “The concierge must be off running an errand, and I really can’t wait around.”

  “Just give me a minute.” He picks up the phone and dials Sinclair’s room. For a moment, he just listens. “No answer.”

  “Thank goodness. That means she’s not back yet, and we can get those lilies out before she gets anywhere near the pollen. It’d probably be all our asses on the line if she wakes up tomorrow covered in hives. Moll said she’s some bigwig at the U.N. It’d be a PR disaster if we hadn’t caught this in time. We just dodged a bullet, you and I.” I raise my brows in a phew-type fashion.

  “Okay…um, listen,” he says, also leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “I’m due to go on my break, but I can escort you up there first. That should be fine.”

  “Really? That would be so great.”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks so much, Cory. I really appreciate it.” I was prepared to try and bluff the manager if I had to, but this is ideal.

  There’s a discreet swagger to his step as we head for the row of elevators. I’ve made him feel important. Stroked his ego a little. Now I must find Thom before this all blows up in my face. Inside the exclusive elevator just for the penthouse suite, everything is mirrored and trimmed with gold. Soft music does little to soothe my jagged nerves. My hands are once again shaking and I’m sweating my butt off. But the stupid smile stays plastered on my face. Even when I bust Cory checking out my cleavage. The kid is not subtle. And while using him doesn’t feel good, it is necessary. Lives could very well be on the line here.

  I make good use of his distraction by slipping my gun out, keeping it covered by the roses. Eventually the elevator doors open.

  Time comes to such a sudden stop that I almost get whiplash. In slow motion, my mind makes a whole bunch of useless observations. A large art-deco style room with white walls and luxurious furnishings. A black grand piano. A wall of windows looking out onto the lights of New York. But it’s all just background noise to the shocking scene in front of me.

  There are two dead bodies dressed in suits and leaking blood. Strangers. No one I know. And six people holding guns on each other. Some of them wearing balaclavas. One of them is noticeably smaller than the others. A woman, perhaps.

  On the opposite side of the room, facing toward me, are Thom and Bear, and I can just glimpse another smaller figure, sheltered behind Bear’s huge frame. Probably the boss-lady they’re here to protect. Then there are three men standing with their backs to Cory and me, like maybe they were waiting for the elevator to make their escape. Everyone has weapons out, leveled at each other. Guess it’s a stalemate.

  Thom steals a glance at me, his jawline shifting in apparent anger. But Bear ignores our arrival entirely, keeping his focus on the scene. Then one of the men standing in front of us turns, and it’s Badger.

  All of these details go through my mind in a moment. There’s no time to think them over. No time to assess the situation. I just drop the flowers, aim my weapon at Badger’s center mass and fire. Boom.

  And it begins.

  “What the f—” It’s as far as Cory gets before something pops and a red bloom spreads across his chest and he falls.

  Meanwhile, Badger drops to his knees, gun still pointed at Cory. Then he topples over, dead before he hits the floor.

  “Betty, get down!” yells Thom.

  I do as told and hit the floor as all hell breaks loose. The popping noise of guns with silencers versus the louder thunderclap of your regular pistols. Something I know care of watching too many action movies in my youth.

  Realizing they’re trapped between two sides, Badger’s accomplices dive off to my right, firing as they do. Oh fuck me. I crouch down against the elevator wall, hands covering my ears. The doors try again and again to close but Cory’s body blocks them. Blood is everywhere.

  “Get her out of here!” yells Thom, squatting behind a couch.

  Bear hustles the lady toward me and the elevator. A porcelain vase shatters on a nearby pedestal. White flowers scatter all around us. Chips of the marble flooring fly through the air as one of the balaclava people sprays bullets in our direction. Bits of stuffing from the couches explode out as bullets fly from Thom returning fire.

  One of the bad guys trying to dart to the side wasn’t fast enough. Whoever it is wearing the balaclava in front of the elevator doors lets out a pained grunt and stumbles. Black really does hide the blood. He seems to be falling in slow motion when another bullet hits him in the head. Blood and brains and bone spew out of the exit wound. There’s no hiding that.

  Bear arrives and pushes the woman into the opposite corner of the elevator, covering her with his body. She has gray hair, and she looks elegant, even amid all the carnage. Someone’s shouting. I can’t hear what. Thom jumps out from behind a wingback chair, sprinting across the room as the last living bad guy keeps shooting. I cringe as Bear pushes Cory out of the way. He takes no care with the young man’s body. Not that it matters to Cory anymore.

  But I did that. I got him killed.

  Thom finally joins us, sliding in the blood, almost losing his footing. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, the elevator doors close on the scene. Bullets ping off the metal. One thunks into the wall above my head. All I can smell is gunpowder, dust, and blood. Also, my mind is spiraling. Definitely not keeping up with current events. I notice blood on the white roses. Even discarded and half-trampled, the red speckles on the white petals look kind of pretty.

  “Stay down,” orders Thom. “What the hell are you doing here, Betty?”

  I try to find the words. They’re just kin of, sort of not there right now. Finally we begin to descend. We’re all in there: me, Bear, Thom, and the lady. Safe for the moment. Oh my God.

  “Why did you leave the apartment?” he growls.

  “Had to tell you Badger is alive,” I say, voice choked for some reason. “I saw him in the back of a photo, and I thought he might be the bad guy and might try to kill you and…yeah.”

  He swears softly.

  “That was really scary,” I say, exhaling slowly.

  Thom kneels beside me, holding me tight against him. Then he swears some more. Apparently he’s in a super-sweary mood. I can relate.

  “I shot someone.” The information doesn’t quite compute. Guess my brain still isn’t working right. Mostly I just feel numb. “Killed them.”

  “We’ll talk about it lat
er. Right now, you need to get that gun out of sight.”

  “Right. Okay.” I do as told.

  Bear, meanwhile, has been busy on his cell phone. “Your car is being brought around right now, ma’am.”

  “We’re taking you out the front door,” Thom says to her. “If they got to you up here, it’s likely the underground exit is already compromised.”

  The elegant older woman nods and pats down her hair, pulling herself back together. “My security are dead. I trust you’re available to temporarily replace them starting immediately.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Thom swallows. “Everyone on their feet. We’re going to make our way through the lobby as calmly and quickly as possible. Bear, you take the lead. Mrs. Sinclair, please follow closely behind him. Betty and I will take up the back.”

  As soon as the elevator doors open onto the lobby, Bear is stepping out, confronting the anxious-looking security guards waiting to go up, likely to check out all the noise coming from the suite. Guns are loud. Even the silenced ones aren’t actually silent. Then there’s all of the blood splattered around the elevator.

  “FBI,” says Bear, flashing some doubtless fake I.D. “Step back, please. Keep out of the way.”

  Surprise flickers across the two men’s faces. But they do as told. The nearest one says, “Agent—”

  “Establish a cordon. Allow no one up to the penthouse suite. More agents will be along shortly to handle the situation.”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  We hustle through the space, moving double -time as ordered. The side of my jeans are clinging to my leg, wet with Cory’s blood. All of the marble and crystal and beauty of the place is lost on me. In my mouth there’s an off, sort of sour taste. Violence taints everything. We cut through the crowd, not slowing down for anyone or anything.

  A big black luxury sedan with tinted windows waits for us out front. They weren’t kidding about the car being brought around right away. Though if you can afford to stay in the penthouse suite, you’re probably used to such service.