She rolled her eyes. “He watches too much TV.”
“What he lacks in imagination he makes up for with a nice, fat discretionary spending budget. If I didn’t like the money he’s paying me, I’d have to kick his ass.”
“If you let yourself get lured into another poker game, I’ll have to kick yours.”
Deuce grimaced. “Don’t worry, I’ll never make that mistake again.”
While the bellboy was away fetching their things, Cooper said, “The good news is, Warlock hacked the hotel’s reservation system and switched us to a four-bedroom suite on Favreau’s floor. The bad news is, it’s across the hall instead of next door, so setting up surveillance could get complicated.”
“Why couldn’t he get the suite next door?” Deuce asked.
“It’s been occupied for the last month by some British rock star I’ve never heard of. Except for the parade of groupies going in and out of the room, he’s holed up in there like a hermit.”
Deuce sighed. “I knew I should’ve kept up those guitar lessons.”
They took the elevator to the tenth floor, and made their way down a wide hallway with more leather club chairs and a hand-tufted, black and cream Art Deco carpet. It was clear to Alex why staying here cost a small fortune. This stuff didn’t come cheap.
As they approached their room, Cooper nodded toward the corner door at the end of the hall to their right, indicating Favreau’s suite. Without better surveillance access, they’d have to get creative. Hopefully the new guy, Warlock, had the goods.
“I think Favreau may be a hermit, too,” Cooper whispered as he unlocked their door. “He’s had the Do Not Disturb sign on since he got here and hasn’t left the room.”
“That could be a problem,” Deuce said.
Cooper nodded. “We’ll just have to give him a reason to go out.”
They stepped inside their suite and found themselves in a small foyer with yet another Edgar Brandt table along the wall, this one tall and narrow with a mirror above it. After stepping around a corner into the living room, Alex couldn’t help but pause. The room was an immaculately furnished Art Deco wonderland. The walls, the curtains, the flooring, the furniture all screamed “luxury accommodations.”
Unfortunately, the pleasing visual line was interrupted by the presence of a large rolling metal cart in the middle of the room, and the slender, leather-jacketed street bum slouched on a stool in front of it.
Sitting atop the cart was an open laptop and three monitors mounted side by side on a stand. The street bum — Warlock, Alex assumed — was so wrapped up in whatever he was typing on the laptop that she wasn’t sure he even realized they were there.
“Hey, Warlock,” Cooper said as they approached. “I want you to meet Alexandra Poe and—”
Without moving his gaze from the screen, Warlock raised an index finger to silence him.
Cooper, Deuce, and Alex exchanged looks as Warlock continued to type for a moment, then finally looked up and said in a thick British accent, “Sorry ‘bout that. I lost the connection to the CCTV feed and wanted to…”
He paused, eyeing Alex as if he had only now noticed her, then broke into a grin. There was a sparse patch of beard on the point of his chin, while his hair looked as if he’d recently been caught in a windstorm. He reminded Alex of Scooby Doo’s friend Shaggy, and if she had run into him on the street, her first thought would’ve been heroin addict.
The only thing that shattered that notion was the sleek, futuristic pair of glasses he wore.
“Hold on now,” he said. “What’s this?” He gave her the once-over. “I heard you were a looker, but you’re a right fit bird, aren’t you?” He got off the stool and offered a hand to shake. “Alex, right? I’m Warlock.”
She shook the hand as he lowered his gaze slightly.
“And if you don’t mind my saying, that’s a cracking pair of baps Mother Nature blessed you with.”
Alex frowned, not quite sure she’d heard him right. “What?”
He wagged a finger at her chest. “Baps. Bristols. What I believe you Americans call hooters, although yours are more like delicate—”
Alex had her hand around his throat before he could finish the sentence. She flung him backward onto the sofa and pinned him there by the neck, his glasses askew, his face turning red as he tried to breathe.
“Listen to me, you little shit…”
“Alex…” Cooper said.
“…You talk to me like that again…”
“Alex…”
“…and I swear to God you’ll find yourself sipping your dinner through a…”
“Alex, enough. We need this guy.”
She held on a second longer before letting Warlock loose. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, coughing and staring at her with wounded, disbelieving eyes. “Bloody ‘ell! What was that for?” His voice was a strangled rasp.
She glared at him. “You seriously don’t know?”
He pulled off the glasses and inspected them as if they were a precious heirloom, then turned to Cooper. “This slag is mental. You expect me to work with her?”
“If you want to get paid, I do.”
Deuce smirked and sank into a nearby chair, crossing his ankles as he leaned back. “Have we got any popcorn in this joint? I think I’m gonna enjoy this show.”
“He keeps talking to me like that,” Alex said, “I guarantee you will.”
“Talking to you like what?” Warlock slipped the glasses back on and pressed a button on the frame. “I don’t know if you realize it, but I was trying to give you a compliment.”
“If that’s what passes for a compliment in your world, then…” She paused as she noticed his eyes widening slightly, his gaze now fixed on the upper right corner of the glasses, as if he saw something moving there.
Cooper noticed it, too. “What’s wrong?”
Warlock gestured to the cart. “Seems our boy Freddy is on the move.”
They all looked at the computer screens, each showing close-circuit shots of the hallway they had just traveled through, the center camera facing the right corner door. A slightly overweight man in chinos and a navy blue polo shirt stepped into the hall, checked the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the knob, and started the trek toward the elevator.
Frederic Favreau.
Cooper and Warlock moved to the rolling cart, Cooper snatching up a black plastic packet and tossing it to Deuce.
Deuce nearly fumbled it as he got to his feet. “What’s this?”
“Comm set. We’re running the surveillance.”
“Where’s mine?” Alex asked.
He scooped up another packet and tossed it to her. “You’re on comm, but you’re staying here. You can help Warlock.”
“You’re leaving me with him?”
“You want this ruse to work, don’t you? We can’t risk Favreau seeing you yet.”
She understood his reasoning, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. She nodded, reluctantly, and threw a look at Shaggy’s evil British twin, who was busy pulling a metal case from the bin at the bottom of the cart.
Cooper checked the monitors, then handed Deuce a holstered SIG Sauer and gestured. “He’s nearing the elevator. We’d better get moving.”
Deuce tucked the rig into his waistband at the small of his back and popped in a miniature earbud. The earbud was so tiny it could only be retrieved by the short piece of nylon thread attached, and was invisible to the naked eye.
He grinned at Alex and Warlock. “Keep it civil until I get back, kids. I don’t want to miss anything.”
Alex showed him a middle finger and he laughed as he followed Cooper out of the room.
She turned to Warlock, who was laying the case on the sofa she had pinned him to.
“Okay, genius, so what’s our plan?”
“I take it we’re calling a truce?”
“If you can keep your so-called compliments to yourself, we’ll be just fine. What’s the plan?”
As if all were forgiven, he grinned at her and threw the metal case open to reveal a stockpile of miniature cameras and microphones and other surveillance goodies Alex wasn’t familiar with.
“I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a very serious desire to invade Freddy boy’s privacy.”