Page 65 of The Grave Artist
The groom was too shocked to muster more than a feeble protest. “Hey ...”
Jake followed, clutching the wine and fruit.
A slender woman about the same age with long blonde hair was tying the sash of a matching plush robe around her waist as she emerged from the bedroom. “What’s going on, honey?”
“They’ve brought us more stuff, but ...”
His voice faded as Sanchez reached behind the starched white apron at the front of her maid’s uniform, pulled out a slim leather badge case and opened it. “Agent Carmen Sanchez, Homeland Security Investigations.”
The groom blinked, then recovered, his expression morphing from shock to amusement. “You’re punking me. Who put you two up to this?” He focused on Jake. “Was it Todd? Because that asshat is going to pay when I—”
“This isn’t a joke,” Jake said evenly. “You might be in danger.”
That stopped all traces of humor.
Sanchez said to Jake, “We’ll have to move fast. Real employees would only be here ten minutes, tops.”
They had to assume HK was somewhere nearby, watching his prey and preparing for the attack.
Sanchez outlined the situation, leaving out references to a serial killer. He was impressed with her storytelling ability, making the whole thing sound like a follow-up to a singular but nonspecific threat.
“Have either of you seen anyone who might be watching you? White male, average build, dark hair?”
Jake added, “He’d have been paying a little more attention to you than normal.”
Robin and James looked at each other. The groom ran his hand through his mussed hair. “No.”
His bride agreed.
Sanchez frowned in thought and said, “I’m curious. You mentioned not wantingmorechampagne or anything else. Some was delivered before?”
The bride’s mind seemed elsewhere—digesting the news of the threat, undoubtedly. James answered, “Somebody at the hotel missed the note that Robin’s diabetic. We got a box of chocolate anyway, along with champagne.”
Jake’s eyes snapped to Sanchez. Hotels rarely missed information about medical conditions and allergies. The risk of liability was too great.
Sanchez asked, “Where’s the candy and wine now?”
James opened the door to the minifridge. A bottle of California sparkling wine and a box of Godiva chocolates sat inside.
“They were delivered after you checked in?”
“About an hour ago.”
Sanchez pulled out her cell phone, tapped in a number and put it on speaker. “Mr. Zebrowski. Agent Sanchez. We’re in the suite. Robin and James are here. Everything’s good. But I have a question. Did you send another bottle of champagne and some chocolates an hour ago?”
“Let me check.”
After an eternity, the manager came back with a response. “No one took anything to that suite. They’re scheduled for an excursion in a glass-bottom boat tomorrow morning. No one is supposed to contact them until then. And there’s a note to the restaurant and room service that Ms. Schwartz is diabetic.”
So HKishere.
“This is Jake Heron. Can you connect me with your security cameras? I’ll need the IP addresses of the ones focusing on the shore near the honeymoon suite and the lagoon between the two locations.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
“Call it in to Agent Sanchez’s number.”
“My God, this is serious!” Robin was visibly shaken.
