Page 47 of Heart Stopping
That was more poetic justice than they deserved.
"Then we'll do what we can to take them down," he said. "You, me, that Boner guy and your computer geek friend. Was he sure about what he saw on the schedule?"
"I saw it too," I said. "Granger Fairfield will be in the city for two nights a week from now. That's when we'll deal with him."
Archer nodded slowly. "Okay. Let's go and deal with Taylor-Francis first. Then we can think about Fairfield." He brushed his lips over mine, soft at first but then deeper and more demanding. Hungry like he'd been holding back for the longest time.
I found myself kissing him back, letting his tongue slide between my lips and tasting my mouth. Then we were both stepping back, catching our breath and turning in the direction of the stairs.
"Let's end this asshole," I said.
"That's my girl," Archer said approvingly. "One dead asshole, coming up."
He gripped my hand again and we headed toward the stairs.
CHAPTER 18
HARLOW
The corridor was silent except for the creak and groan of water passing through the pipes, and the buzz of electricity. Can lights illuminated the ceiling every few feet with a dim, cool glow.
Behind one of the doors, someone spoke in a low voice. They got louder for a few moments before dropping down again. Talking on their phone while pacing back and forth, unless I missed my guess.
The voice got closer again. "That's it baby, touch that clit for me. I want to hear you come…" His voice faded again.
I glanced over at Archer and grinned, even though he wouldn't see my mouth behind the mask I'd just pulled on. Two o'clock in the morning was as good a time as any for phone sex.
Archer shrugged and led the way to room six-six-nine. Out of his pocket, he pulled a card.
"Universal key," he whispered.
"I need one," I whispered back. Being able to get into any hotel room in the city would be useful.
He swiped it over the reader until it flashed green and clicked. Pushing his shoulder into it, he opened the heavy door slowly.
I followed him in, careful not to let it slam behind us. A door this heavy would wake the dead, much less Wolfgang Taylor-Francis.
The curtains were open, letting in the light from the city. Illuminating the entryway and stand that held a suitcase with the initials WTF embossed on them. Confirming we were in the right room.
Walking lightly on the carpeted floor, we made our way to the bedroom. A man lay half under the covers. A woman beside him.
She was naked, curled up like she wanted to make herself smaller. Her arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes wide open, staring at us. Her eyes were huge in her dainty face. Skin a pale contrast to dark hair.
Shit.
She lifted her head, but dropped it back down and curled up tighter. It was then I saw the bruises and the shine in her eyes. The fear, but not of us. She was terrified of the man who lay beside her. The marks he'd left on her body.
I held my hand out to her. She wouldn't want to see what we were about to do. She might have lain here night after night, wishing for it to happen, but the reality would haunt her. If I could save her from that, I would.
She glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping man before sliding out of bed and grabbing up something from the floor.
I was about to go for my knife when I saw her pulling on a dress, jamming it over her head and tugging it into place. She reached out and took my hand, squeezing it hard, her expression earnest, grateful.
I squeezed her hands back. She was young, no more than her early twenties. Familiar. His young wife or fiancée, unless I was mistaken.
She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "Please, make it hurt." Before I could respond, she darted into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
"I like her," I whispered.
