Read Online Femme Fatale by Virginia Kantra, Doranna Durgin, Meredith Fletcher - Free Book Online
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Beth and Chandler hadn’t been spotted yet, but it was only a matter of seconds.
“Damn,” Beth said. “You couldn’t have chosen some little out-of-the-way hotel? Some place inconspicuous?”
“We’d be safe enough in my room if you’d come with me,” he said, matter-of-factly enough so she had to admit to herself that he was right. “Anyway, this place has tea makers. And a trouser press in each room.”
“Mustn’t be without those,” Beth murmured, and was a little surprised to see that twitch of amusement at his mouth. Not such a stuffed shirt as he liked to seem, after all. Momentary regret squeezed her along with a surprised realization that they might have worked well together.
But here came her chance to escape and continue work on her own, and it looked like she’d better grab it. She wouldn’t do Stony Man any good at all, sequestered somewhere in thirty-two stories of Holiday Inn withloose-lips drugs in her system and a thorough search turning up the mini CD she still carried.
Chandler leaned close, murmuring, “I don’t think they’ll start anything so publicly. They’ll try to bluff us out of here first.”
With real apology in her voice, Beth said, “I’m sorry.”
He gave her a startled look, a big question mark of an expression.
Still apologetic, Beth said, “ I’m going to start something.”
And she did. She bent to grab the little S&W at her ankle, thoroughly alarming the perfectly nondescript trio. As they hastened to reach the lobby, Beth flung her cuffed hand up against the square pillar behind them, bringing Chandler’s hand with it. She jammed the gun up against the links connecting the bracelets and fired, blasting the cuffs apart while the bullet buried itself in the pillar. The blast of sound sent people screaming and diving. Chandler snatched at her as she flipped over the back of the couch, catching only a brief handful of her parka before she ripped free and sprinted for the curving staircase at the back of the lobby.
They weren’t after Chandler. They probably didn’t even know about him. They’d followed her, and therefore him…and now, as she pounded up the stairs, she’d given him a choice. He could chase her down, or he could delay the men who’d come for her.
As she gained the second floor and raced across the open space for the exit sign she thought would spill her out into the street behind the hotel, she heard the sounds of fighting. Fists meeting flesh, bodies hitting the floor, furniture breaking. She glanced over the edge of the second floor balcony and saw two nondescript men reeling while a third hit the floor. She smiled, the smallest curveof her lips, and sprinted away. Two men from the disrupted meetings along the row of balcony conference rooms tried to stop her, blocking her way in the officious way of men who don’t have authority but take it anyway. They thought better of it at the last moment, simultaneously spotting her revolver and throwing themselves aside. She hit the stairwell, bounded down the stairs three and four at a time, and landed at the bottom to come up still running.
And all the while, she kept that little smile on her face.
Chapter 4
O nce on the street, Beth raced around the nearest corner, took the first opportunity to double back, and spent long moments watching the hotel’s main entrance and garage ramp. She saw nothing of Chandler or his silly yellow motorbike, but after ten minutes, a dark, tinted-window sedan drove up the ramp at carelessly high speed and made a fast and equally careless turn onto Strand Street. Beth secured her revolver in its ankle holster, rued the loss of Wyatt and her fanny pack, and turned away from the hotel, jogging along the side street at a decent clip.
He’d chosen to protect her from the nondescripts. From the CIA mole’s people, who might even have been bona fide CIA, misled by the mole. Chandler could have chanced it, gone after her himself…and hadn’t.
No doubt there
“Damn,” Beth said. “You couldn’t have chosen some little out-of-the-way hotel? Some place inconspicuous?”
“We’d be safe enough in my room if you’d come with me,” he said, matter-of-factly enough so she had to admit to herself that he was right. “Anyway, this place has tea makers. And a trouser press in each room.”
“Mustn’t be without those,” Beth murmured, and was a little surprised to see that twitch of amusement at his mouth. Not such a stuffed shirt as he liked to seem, after all. Momentary regret squeezed her along with a surprised realization that they might have worked well together.
But here came her chance to escape and continue work on her own, and it looked like she’d better grab it. She wouldn’t do Stony Man any good at all, sequestered somewhere in thirty-two stories of Holiday Inn withloose-lips drugs in her system and a thorough search turning up the mini CD she still carried.
Chandler leaned close, murmuring, “I don’t think they’ll start anything so publicly. They’ll try to bluff us out of here first.”
With real apology in her voice, Beth said, “I’m sorry.”
He gave her a startled look, a big question mark of an expression.
Still apologetic, Beth said, “ I’m going to start something.”
And she did. She bent to grab the little S&W at her ankle, thoroughly alarming the perfectly nondescript trio. As they hastened to reach the lobby, Beth flung her cuffed hand up against the square pillar behind them, bringing Chandler’s hand with it. She jammed the gun up against the links connecting the bracelets and fired, blasting the cuffs apart while the bullet buried itself in the pillar. The blast of sound sent people screaming and diving. Chandler snatched at her as she flipped over the back of the couch, catching only a brief handful of her parka before she ripped free and sprinted for the curving staircase at the back of the lobby.
They weren’t after Chandler. They probably didn’t even know about him. They’d followed her, and therefore him…and now, as she pounded up the stairs, she’d given him a choice. He could chase her down, or he could delay the men who’d come for her.
As she gained the second floor and raced across the open space for the exit sign she thought would spill her out into the street behind the hotel, she heard the sounds of fighting. Fists meeting flesh, bodies hitting the floor, furniture breaking. She glanced over the edge of the second floor balcony and saw two nondescript men reeling while a third hit the floor. She smiled, the smallest curveof her lips, and sprinted away. Two men from the disrupted meetings along the row of balcony conference rooms tried to stop her, blocking her way in the officious way of men who don’t have authority but take it anyway. They thought better of it at the last moment, simultaneously spotting her revolver and throwing themselves aside. She hit the stairwell, bounded down the stairs three and four at a time, and landed at the bottom to come up still running.
And all the while, she kept that little smile on her face.
Chapter 4
O nce on the street, Beth raced around the nearest corner, took the first opportunity to double back, and spent long moments watching the hotel’s main entrance and garage ramp. She saw nothing of Chandler or his silly yellow motorbike, but after ten minutes, a dark, tinted-window sedan drove up the ramp at carelessly high speed and made a fast and equally careless turn onto Strand Street. Beth secured her revolver in its ankle holster, rued the loss of Wyatt and her fanny pack, and turned away from the hotel, jogging along the side street at a decent clip.
He’d chosen to protect her from the nondescripts. From the CIA mole’s people, who might even have been bona fide CIA, misled by the mole. Chandler could have chanced it, gone after her himself…and hadn’t.
No doubt there
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