Page 82 of Swerve
We study the dinner menu in slightly awkward silence while she goes off to get our drinks. The words blur before my eyes, and I finally look up and say, “What exactly are we looking for here?”
“The next dot,” he says, meeting my gaze with a level stare.
“How will we know it when we see it?”
“We might not. No sign of the Range Rover when we came in. So he might not come back here.”
Just hearing the words makes my heart drop. We have no other lead. This one just has to pan out.
“While we’re waiting for our drinks, I’m going to take a look around,” Knox says. “You’re good here?”
“Can’t I come with you?”
“I think it’s better if you stay here. I won’t be long.”
I want to argue, but I know he’s right. This whole thing might be a wild goose chase, but on the off chance that it’s not, we need to look as normal as possible. “Okay,” I say. “Be careful.”
He considers my words, as if they’ve surprised him. “I’ll be back.”
Knox
“Sooner or later the universe will serve you the revenge that you deserve.”
?Jessica Brody
HE CAN’T PUT his finger on it, but something about this place gives him a weird feeling.
He walks out of the restaurant and heads down a hallway marked by a brass plate that reads GUEST ROOMS. The hall is wide, each room door a heavy walnut. The floor is made of wide wood boards with raised nail heads marking each corner. His steps make a not unpleasant squeak, the kind that defines a historic building.
He reaches the end of the hall and finds a wide set of stairs that lead to the next floor. He walks up and follows the hallway of the second floor. The doors are the same as those on the first floor. He’s yet to hear sounds coming from any of the rooms, a television turned on or people talking. The place is eerily quiet.
At the end of the corridor, a woman appears. She’s tall, over six feet in low heels. The wordimposingpops into his head. Her black hair is pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, and her cheek bones are harshly prominent. She’s dressed in a black suit with a dark-red blouse. She smiles at him, but it’s a gesture that does not reach her eyes.
“Good evening,” she says. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“No,” he says, meeting her gaze with the awareness that she has singled him out for questioning. “I was just looking around.”
“You’re not a guest at the hotel.”
Statement, not question. “Just having dinner in the restaurant.”
“Ah. And what is your conclusion of the place?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Lots of history here, I would imagine.”
“Yes. When I bought the place, the bones were visible, but it took some vision to restore it to what it was.”
“How long have you owned it?”
“Fifteen years.”
“It’s quite a jewel.”
“Thank you. I hope you’ll come back for a stay at some point.”
