the bed with a bounce. The other
guy took hold of her upper arm and opened the door.
She pulled out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me,” she
said.
“Fine. But if we’re holding hands, they’ll look
less seriously at you.”
She huffed out a breath and grabbed his hand.
He rolled his eyes and looked down the hallway in
both directions before leading her to the left. When the door closed behind
her, she felt like a lifeline had just been cut, and she was left to trust some
short dude with a five o’clock shadow that only grew in patches, even though he
had to be thirty years old.
They took the elevator. It was empty.
“I wish I had some sunglasses,” she said aloud.
Patchy shook his head. “No, you don’t. They make
anyone look suspicious.”
She really didn’t want to admit he was right, so
she tried not to speak to him at all.
After they passed the mezzanine level, he nudged
her. “We’re going to walk straight out the front door like we’ve got somewhere
to go, but all day to get there.”
The doors opened. Her heart jumped when one of
Lacrosse’s goons, whom she recognized from her own apartment, stood there with
a phone to his ear. She couldn’t see his eyes because of his sunglasses.
Patchy gave her a smirk, then pulled her forward.
“Pardon us, mate,” he said, stepping around the
goon and guiding her along behind him.
The goon turned to look at her and smiled. She
sucked her top lip into her mouth, hoping it distorted her face enough to make
him doubt. Then she realized he was watching Patchy and not her. The Aussie
accent must have amused him.
She hoped, when he closed his eyes that night,
he’d see her face and realize what he’d done. But hopefully, not until then.
She followed Patchy like an obedient dog but only
because it would draw attention to them if she recoiled from him like she
wanted to. His all-day-to-get-there plan seemed to be working. Few faces turned
their way as they made it past the grand fountain and ever closer to the exit.
Her imagination got a little carried away with movie scenes where a character
was released from prison just to be shot outside the gates. And she realized
the gross, cold slick of sweat between hers and Patchy’s hands was probably
coming from her.
The doorman stood before the revolving door and
pointed his arm to the right. “Sorry, folks. This one’s out of order at the
moment. You can exit right over there, if you will.”
Patchy steered her toward a single door where
another of Lacrosse’s goons stood in a long black coat holding several pages in
his hands. She sucked in her top lip again and pulled hard on it. She could see
the tip of her nose lower, and held it that way.
The goon looked at Patchy first, then consulted
two of his papers. He then narrowed his eyes at Macey. She narrowed hers back.
He glanced at his last page, then waved them past.
She didn’t let go of her lip until they’d crossed
the street. Her mouth ached like she’d been punched in the mouth, but she was
pretty sure she’d just saved her own butt with the little trick.
They walked half a block, then turned into the gap
that led to the parking lot for Hotel Lusso. The same black van with tinted
windows waited for them, the side door open wide.
She pulled her hand from Patchy’s grip. “Wow. I
guess tinted windows are about as inconspicuous as sunglasses.”
He snorted and tried to put his hand on her back,
probably so he could keep steering her around. But she stepped to the side and
stopped.
“Look, dude. You are going to have to stop
touching me. It’s not like I’m here against my will, okay? So just back off.”
“Better put your hands in your pockets, Gammon.”
Dave emerged from the far side of the van. “Unless you want to lose a finger or
two.”
Macey smiled, relieved to see a friendly, familiar
face, even if it belonged to a guy she couldn’t quite trust.
She held up her hand and wrinkled her nose. “He
made me hold his hand.” She
guy took hold of her upper arm and opened the door.
She pulled out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me,” she
said.
“Fine. But if we’re holding hands, they’ll look
less seriously at you.”
She huffed out a breath and grabbed his hand.
He rolled his eyes and looked down the hallway in
both directions before leading her to the left. When the door closed behind
her, she felt like a lifeline had just been cut, and she was left to trust some
short dude with a five o’clock shadow that only grew in patches, even though he
had to be thirty years old.
They took the elevator. It was empty.
“I wish I had some sunglasses,” she said aloud.
Patchy shook his head. “No, you don’t. They make
anyone look suspicious.”
She really didn’t want to admit he was right, so
she tried not to speak to him at all.
After they passed the mezzanine level, he nudged
her. “We’re going to walk straight out the front door like we’ve got somewhere
to go, but all day to get there.”
The doors opened. Her heart jumped when one of
Lacrosse’s goons, whom she recognized from her own apartment, stood there with
a phone to his ear. She couldn’t see his eyes because of his sunglasses.
Patchy gave her a smirk, then pulled her forward.
“Pardon us, mate,” he said, stepping around the
goon and guiding her along behind him.
The goon turned to look at her and smiled. She
sucked her top lip into her mouth, hoping it distorted her face enough to make
him doubt. Then she realized he was watching Patchy and not her. The Aussie
accent must have amused him.
She hoped, when he closed his eyes that night,
he’d see her face and realize what he’d done. But hopefully, not until then.
She followed Patchy like an obedient dog but only
because it would draw attention to them if she recoiled from him like she
wanted to. His all-day-to-get-there plan seemed to be working. Few faces turned
their way as they made it past the grand fountain and ever closer to the exit.
Her imagination got a little carried away with movie scenes where a character
was released from prison just to be shot outside the gates. And she realized
the gross, cold slick of sweat between hers and Patchy’s hands was probably
coming from her.
The doorman stood before the revolving door and
pointed his arm to the right. “Sorry, folks. This one’s out of order at the
moment. You can exit right over there, if you will.”
Patchy steered her toward a single door where
another of Lacrosse’s goons stood in a long black coat holding several pages in
his hands. She sucked in her top lip again and pulled hard on it. She could see
the tip of her nose lower, and held it that way.
The goon looked at Patchy first, then consulted
two of his papers. He then narrowed his eyes at Macey. She narrowed hers back.
He glanced at his last page, then waved them past.
She didn’t let go of her lip until they’d crossed
the street. Her mouth ached like she’d been punched in the mouth, but she was
pretty sure she’d just saved her own butt with the little trick.
They walked half a block, then turned into the gap
that led to the parking lot for Hotel Lusso. The same black van with tinted
windows waited for them, the side door open wide.
She pulled her hand from Patchy’s grip. “Wow. I
guess tinted windows are about as inconspicuous as sunglasses.”
He snorted and tried to put his hand on her back,
probably so he could keep steering her around. But she stepped to the side and
stopped.
“Look, dude. You are going to have to stop
touching me. It’s not like I’m here against my will, okay? So just back off.”
“Better put your hands in your pockets, Gammon.”
Dave emerged from the far side of the van. “Unless you want to lose a finger or
two.”
Macey smiled, relieved to see a friendly, familiar
face, even if it belonged to a guy she couldn’t quite trust.
She held up her hand and wrinkled her nose. “He
made me hold his hand.” She
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