afternoon.” His American radar must have been working, because he spoke in flawless English. “How can I help you today?”
Austin took point at the counter. “We don’t have a reservation. Do you have any rooms available?”
“How many do you need?”
“That depends. How many beds are in a room?”
“Let me check what’s available.” The clerk tapped a few commands into his computer, his gaze flicking up now and again as if making sure they hadn’t left. “We have rooms available with two double beds or one king.”
“We’re cool with two doubles,” Navarre said, and Jackson voiced his agreement.
“Can you get us three rooms close together? At least two need to have double beds.”
Another pause while the clerk did his thing. “I have three rooms together, all with double beds, but they’re street-side. Is that acceptable?”
“What floor?” Wade asked.
“Eight.”
“That’s fine.” Austin handed over his credit card, and a few minutes later, the clerk slid three sets of keycards across the counter.
“You’ll be staying in rooms 845, 47, and 49. Elevators are to your left. When you reach the eighth floor, turn to your left. Your rooms will be on the right.”
“Thank you.”
“Dibs on first shower,” Austin said as the elevator doors slid shut. Five people plus bags made for a claustrophobic ride, but they managed to make it work.
“Dibs on the shower in our room,” Jackson added.
Navarre glared at him. “No way, man. I smell worse than a dumpster.”
“And I don’t?”
“Yeah, but I expect that from you.”
Austin chuckled under his breath. If they hadn’t been in such close quarters, Jackson probably would have swatted Navarre.
“Pick a number between one and ten but don’t say it out loud,” Jackson said to Hope, who stood by the panel with the buttons. After a slight pause, he added, “I pick seven.”
“Two,” Navarre said, and then asked Hope, “Who’s closer?”
Her gaze flicked from one man to the other, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Do I have to say?”
Navarre nodded. “First dibs is riding on it.”
She gave Jackson a sympathetic look. “Sorry, it was four.”
Jackson cursed, while Navarre did a fist pump.
A ding, and the elevator doors swooshed open to a wide corridor with beige-painted walls and lots of funky artwork. Bags in hand, everybody poured out and headed for their rooms.
“Be there in a minute,” Wade told Austin, and then walked with Hope to her room. At the door, he held his hand out for her key.
She arched a brow. “I’m capable of opening a door.”
“I’m well aware of that, but I want to make sure the room’s secure.”
Her expression turned to one of annoyance. “What’s the point? Nobody knows we’re here.”
His temper pricked, though he did his best to conceal it. “Humor me, will you? After tomorrow, you’ll never have to deal with me again.”
And why did that bother him so much? He should feel relieved to have her out of his hair. Someplace safe, where she’d be protected. Once she got home, she could rebuild her life, maybe start her very own practice. Hell, she might even find a nice guy to put up with her shit and not drag her headfirst into danger.
And why did that bother him even more?
Forcing the thought from his mind, he took one of the keycards from her and unlocked the door. Inside, he drew his gun from his bag and did a quick sweep, his booted feet moving silently over the blue-gray patterned carpet. The faint scent of cleaning disinfectant lingered in the air from the last housekeeping service. There wasn’t much to check, just a large room with two beds, a closet, a small table and two chairs by the window, and a bathroom. But it was secure and brightly lit, a welcome change from the jungle.
For the first time in God knew how long, she’d be able to get a good night’s rest. After months of captivity, and then being on the run, she’d probably forgotten what that felt like
Satisfied, he flipped the safety on his pistol and tucked it back into his bag. “If you need anything, call my room.”
She didn’t say a word, just continued to glare at him as if he’d kicked a puppy.
This high and mighty act of hers was starting to piss him off. It had been a long day, there was a crick in his neck, his back ached like a motherfucker, and he sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for Dr. Judgmental. “I’m not going to apologize for killing Salazar.”
“That’s probably for the best. Last