Read Online The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) by Jonas Saul - Free Book Online Page B

character. He was chipper, seemed permanently elated about something, and smiled wide at everybody. Nothing you would expect from an ex-Navy Seal hitman.  
     
    “Name, sir?” the clerk asked.
     
    “Ford, Peter Ford.” He gestured at the computer. “You probably have me in the system.” He clucked his tongue. “Ford. Like in Rob Ford. Ex-Mayor. Rest his soul.”
     
    The clerk—Karen by the name tag—squinted at the screen at the mention of Rob Ford. She used her finger to follow something, then stopped.
     
    “Here it is. Got it. You’re in room 1034.”
     
    “Oh, how perfect.” He offered her a wide grin. “Is that facing the airport?” he asked, knowing full well it was.
     
    Karen smiled back, probably relieved they weren’t talking about Rob Ford anymore. “It does,” she said. “Now, if I could just get your credit card—”
     
    “Go ahead.” Ansgar pushed the card toward her. “Your tag says Karen but the last name is scratched off.” He squinted and leaned in. “It looks like Karen Dove.” He stood up straight. “I have to ask.” He reared back in glee. “Is your last name Dove?”
     
    Color rose to her cheeks at his odd attempt at merriment. She tilted her head sideways, eyebrows raised, an embarrassed smile on her lips.
     
    “It is.”
     
    “Well, I’ll be,” he said. He clapped his hands together once. “I just love doves.”
     
    She handed him back his credit card and a paper to sign. All business.
     
    “I put a preauthorization on your card for the room.” She moved back to her computer screen and typed something. “Will you be parking a car with us?”
     
    “Yes ma’am. I have a rental out back.”
     
    “There’s a ten dollar a day parking fee.”
     
    “That’s no problem. Just add it to my bill.”
     
    As she placed a room key card on the counter, the TV in the lobby rose in volume. The family of four waiting with luggage for a ride to the airport had turned up the TV. The screen was filled with firemen in their gear as the anchor spoke of terrorism on the streets of Toronto. The father of the family shook his head slowly, a worried look on the mother’s face.
     
    “Here’s your ID and your room key, sir.” Karen Dove moved everything across the top of the counter toward him. “Is there anything else you’ll be needing?”
     
    “Dinner and wine sent up to the room would be great.” He offered her a final grin that could not be contained. One fueled by how perfect he was. To kill as easily as he did. To blow buildings up and have everyone running around panicking as they thought a terrorist had done it was hilarious. He danced from one foot to the other.
     
    “The restaurant is just down the hall and they do room service.”
     
    “Thank you so much. I think I’ll get settled in the room and then call down.” He pocketed his ID, grabbed the backpack off the floor and shouldered it, then started for the elevators. “Enjoy your evening,” he called over his shoulder.
     
    “You too, Mr. Ford,” Karen shouted back.
     
    Once the elevator doors closed, his face fell. Ansgar was back. Sure Peter Ford was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but he could only act that way in snippets.
     
    On the tenth floor, he entered his room. After several minutes of setting things up for Clara Olafson, he pocketed the twist ties, the ball gag, and the pepper spray, then stepped back into the hallway.
     
    It was time to meet his victim.
     
    Clara Olafson. Apprehend her. Contain her. Keep her alive. Then dispose of the body. Five days in the hotel. Room service. Do what he wanted with the woman. Any damage, physical or mental meant nothing to the client. The more the better in fact. Just make sure she was available for a phone call throughout the five days—if one was needed.
     
    Ansgar Holm could do that. And he would enjoy it. He was a man after all. He only hoped Clara was hot. It would be all that much more fun.
     
    The tenth floor corridor was empty. He