Page 15 of Her Guardian
At eight o’clock, I’m sitting in the café next to the lobby at the Salvalagio Hotel and Casino.
The seat across from me is empty.
“Where the fuck are you at, little girl?” I mutter, glancing at my watch. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
Five minutes pass. Then ten. After fifteen, I’m feeling genuinely agitated, but I try to keep my composure. I said eight, but maybe she’s the fashionably late type.
Every time the elevators open, I glance over at them, expecting to see Sarah. Instead, all I see are tourists excited to begin their adventure in Las Vegas and a few that look like Vegas may have already taken a toll.
The minutes tick by. At eight forty-five, she’s well past fashionablylate, and I start to worry. We were at Rafferty’s last night. It’s neutral ground, but the clientele is made up of guys who wouldn’t like their stories being turned into a podcast series. What if someone overheard something? Followed us?
“No, I got eyes in the back of my head. I’d notice if we were being followed,” I say, trying to reassure myself. “Where the fuck are you, Sarah?”
I can’t bother the boss with this. Not unless I’m sure something has happened to her. And if it has, that’ll blow back on me. I’mthe one responsible for Sarah, and her safety is implied, even if Massimo didn’t say it.
“Fuck!” I snarl, getting up from the table.
I walk to the front desk. There are several people working and a number of guests. I want to storm past them all, but I wait my turn. A guy in his twenties finally looks up and motions for me.
“You’re next, sir!” he says cheerfully. “Do you have reservations with us today?”
“No,” I grunt. “I work for Mr. Morandi. There’s a guest here named Sarah Parker. I need her room number and a keycard.”
“Oh, uh…” His cheerfulness fades. “You work for Mr. Morandi? Uh, we don’t usually…”
“I know,” I interrupt. “Just fucking give me the room number and the keycard. I don’t have time to discuss your procedures.”
I stiffen my back and glare at the young man behind the desk. If he’s been working here longer than a few days, I know he’s seen me around. I stick out in a crowd. It’s obvious I work for the Morandi family.
“Y-yes, sir,” he stammers, then turns and types on his keyboard. “Sarah Parker is on the sixth floor, in room two-thirty-six. Give me one minute to make another keycard.”
I drum my fingers against the counter while the guy synchs the keycard. Once the machine beeps, he yanks the card free, puts it in a small envelope, and slides it across the counter.
“Thanks,” I mutter, snatching it up.
I look around the lobby, the café, and the casino. There’s still no sign of Sarah, so I head to the elevators. My worry settles in mystomach and leaves some bitterness I try to swallow. If I fucked up this assignment, I might as well pack my damn bags. I’ll never be trusted again if something happened to the boss lady’s best friend on my watch. I’m fucking finished.
But I care more about making sure Sarah is safe than my position in the Morandi family. If someone laid a finger on that hot little blonde, I’ll tear them apart piece by piece, and it’ll be a long fucking time before I let them die.
“Damn it,” I hiss when the elevators open.
I march straight to room two-thirty-six and swipe the keycard. The light blinks green, so I reach for my Glock as I push the door open.
The room is dark. The curtains are closed. I don’t see any sign of a struggle. There are clothes on the floor, Sarah’s phone is on the nightstand, and there’s a lump in the middle of one of the beds. A beautiful lump with a blonde bob and some skin peeking out from under the covers that I notice once my vision comes into focus.
She’s fine. She’s still sleeping. I let out a breath of relief and shake my head.
“Time to get up, little girl!” I say loudly, then kick the bed hard enough to shake it.
“What the fuck!” Sarah sits up like she’s been shot out of a rocket. Her eyes fly open, and I can tell she’s struggling to see in the dark. I wait for her vision to focus. “Boyd? What are you doing in my room?”
“It’s after nine,” I growl, looking at my watch. “We agreed to meet at eight.”
I walk over to the curtains and yank them open. The sun floods her room and when I turn around, Sarah has her hand up to cover her face, which has let the blanket slip far enough for me to see the outline of her tits against her sleepshirt.
“Oh, god, I’m sorry!” Sarah yanks the blanket up and grabs her phone. She fumbles with it and then lets out a loud groan. “I set the alarm for eight p.m. instead of a.m.!”
“I guess you really did need some rest,” I say, relaxing a little now that I know she’s safe. “But it’s time to get up.”
