she should have been uncomfortable with two total strangers in her hotel suite, but for some reason, she wasn’t. In fact, she felt the opposite. After two days of being scared for her life, she felt strangely confident—as though everything would be all right.
“Fine,” she said. “You guys can stay the night, but I’m locking my door.”
Payne smiled and secretly pointed at Jones. “That’s fine. So am I.”
By five in the morning the suite was filled with sunlight, a byproduct of the White Nights. But it didn’t bother Jones, who was curled up on the beige couch. His guns sat next to him on the coffee table, and his shoes were on the floor. Other than that, he was fully dressed, ready to spring into action if someone breached the front door. Jones could nap on a mortar range and not even bat an eye, but a squeaking floorboard would pull him from the deepest REM sleep.
Thankfully, nothing woke him until nearly ten, when Allison wandered into the small kitchen. His left eye popped open and then his right. He glanced at her, looked at his watch, then decided he should wake up. They had a long day ahead of them, and a lot of decisions to make.
“Morning,” he said as he sat up. “How’d you sleep?”
“Not too bad. How about yourself ?”
“Better than Jon.”
“Really? Did you talk to him already?”
“No. But I always sleep better than Jon.”
He didn’t explain his comment as he trudged into the guest bathroom, carrying both of his guns and a black travel bag. Allison shook her head at the sight. Weapons had always made her uneasy, but Jones handled his like they were a part of his morning routine. Some people carried coffee and a bagel. He carried two semiautomatics and a toothbrush.
Who in the hell were these guys?
Allison needed to find out before they left the suite.
She was wearing the same clothes as the night before with one addition: a casual white blouse covered her T-shirt. It was the same outfit she had worn to the Peterhof; the same clothes she had worn for two straight days. Everything else—her suitcase, her personal items, her research—was at a different hotel, waiting for her return. After the shooting, she had been forced to leave everything behind, afraid that someone was watching her room, afraid that she might be murdered. So for two days, she made do with the clothes on her back and a hotel robe.
Glancing through the mini-fridge, she realized they needed food. Lots of food. Payne and Jones were big guys who looked like they could eat a lot. So she took it upon herself to call room service. Two days of dining had made her familiar with her options. She ordered half the menu and told them to hurry, hoping brunch would arrive before Payne and Jones emerged from the guest wing. Their timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Jones heard the front door as he exited the bathroom. She assured him it was only room service, but he took no chances.
He ordered Allison into the main bedroom, then closed the door behind her. Meanwhile, Payne emerged from the guest room and checked the peephole. He saw a waiter in his mid-fifties. No one else was in the hallway. Payne opened the door while Jones covered him from the back of the room. Everything went smoothly, and within five minutes, they were helping themselves to a huge Russian breakfast—boiled eggs, cheese, black rye bread, cold cuts, oatmeal, fruit, and a pot of Nescafé. Their favorite item, by far, was the blinis, yeast-leavened buckwheat pancakes served with sour cream, smoked salmon, caviar, and an assortment of fruit spreads. Jones went the American route, stuffing his with eggs, cheese, and cold cuts, while Payne and Allison opted for the more traditional Russian toppings.
They ate their meal at the dining room table, anxious to learn more about each other.
Payne said to Allison, “I’m glad you’re wearing the same clothes. That means you followed my advice and came straight here.”
She nodded. “I did everything you told me. I wasn’t taking any chances.”
“That’s good to know. If you keep that up, you’ll be fine.”
“About that,” she said, not quite sure how to word things, “don’t be mad at me, but I need to go back to the other hotel. Just for a minute or two.”
Payne shook his head. “No way. You can buy new clothes.”
“It’s not my clothes. I couldn’t care less about my clothes. It’s my