Page 13 of Protecting You

There were places like that on both ends of the cost spectrum. Cheap by-the-hour dumps, and high-end boutique hotels. At the second, the patrons paid very well to ensure their privacy would be honored above all.

Not that she was a snob, but if she had to choose between the two, she’d take the second, thank you very much.

“Why don’t we go to?—?”

Callan coughed, shaking his head.

Right. Discretion.

She tapped a note on her phone and showed it to him.

He read it, then looked up the place she’d suggested on his cell. His eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“Why not?”

He rubbed his thumb against his fingers, telling her his objection was the cost.

She whispered back, “I got it.”

Not that she could afford the price tag, but Dad had an account, and he’d told her she could use it anytime she needed. What he lacked in affection, he made up for in cash.

Callan didn’t look happy, but he agreed. It was the first battle she’d won since this whole bizarre thing had started.

It took two Ubers, a taxi ride, a quick stop at an office supply store, and a two-block trek. All the while, she worried, tried not to look over her shoulder, and told herself they were safe.

Finally, they reached the place she’d chosen, a five-story brick brownstone in Cambridge that, aside from the small sign outside that simply readRooming House,looked like all the other brownstones on the block.

The door opened as they approached, and a uniformed bellman said, “Welcome back, Ms. Wright.”

She felt Callan’s surprise but didn’t react to it. “Thank you.”

The small lobby tucked into what used to be a sitting room consisted of a tall counter that was either an antique or a good replica. The fifty-something man on the far side gave them a practiced smile. “Good evening, Ms. Wright.”

“It’s good to see you, Jonathan. Is the suite available?”

“It is.” He tapped on a laptop. “Will your father be joining you?”

“Not this time. And we would appreciate your discretion.”

“Certainly, Ms. Crenshaw.” He shifted to the false name seamlessly as he tapped his keyboard. He handed a small folder containing their key-cards to Callan. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Crenshaw.”

They took the elevator to the fifth floor. Though the building looked narrow from the front, years before she was born the hotel had expanded into the brownstones on both sides. It was much larger—and more confusing—than anybody would guess from the street.

Alyssa led Callan along a maze of corridors that had them going through open doors, stepping up in one place, then stepping back down in another.

Callan asked, “Should we drop breadcrumbs?”

“Almost there.” She led him down one more hallway and stopped in front of Dad’s favorite suite.

Callan unlocked it, and she stepped inside and exhaled, blowing out her fear. Nobody would be able to find them here. They were safe. For now.

CHAPTERFOUR

Callan followed Alyssa through a door labeledThe Library. Rich people didn’t need anything so banal asnumbersto differentiate their hotel suites.

He didn’t hate that. Even if Ghazi or his men figured out where they were staying, they’d never be able to locate their room.

“Crenshaw?” Callan asked.

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