Three cars were parked in the visitor spaces in the front circle; I didn’t remember if they’d been there before. I pushed through the heavy glass doors and started for the elevator. Halfway there I stopped short.
The reception desk was empty. Rebecca was nowhere to be seen. How long had we been gone? Ten minutes, tops. She could have gone to the bathroom, or maybe out to smoke a cigarette. My gut told me she hadn’t, though. I walked behind the desk.
She was lying on the floor, a bloody bruise swelling over the right side of her face. I dropped to my knees beside her and reached out to turn her over. When I touched her, her eyes opened and she jerked away from me as if I were the physical form of whatever evil had been dancing through her unconscious mind.
“It’s okay,” I said. Her eyes were foggy. They reminded me of the eyes of addicts and winos I’d seen in my days on the force, eyes that saw a world separate from reality. She started to drop her head back to the ground, but I caught it and forced her to look at me. “Where are they?”
She blinked hard, trying to come back to full consciousness. Blood was dripping from the cut on her cheekbone to my hand. I looked at it, felt its warmth on my skin, and was stirred by a seething, burning anger. She had nothing to do with this, but they’d hurt her anyhow. I removed my gun and slipped the safety off. Julie had asked if I could kill to protect her daughter. The Russians damn well better believe I could.
“Where are they?” I asked again, stroking Rebecca’s cheek with my thumb, trying to keep her conscious.
“Sent ’em… your room,” she stuttered, her eyes fluttering and rolling like pinballs. She was about to pass out again. I gave her a gentle shake, and her eyes rolled back into focus momentarily. “I sent them to your room. They took my master keycard.” Each word was an effort. “I wasn’t going to give it to them, but… they hit me,” she said, and her tone changed, as if she wasn’t telling this to me but was telling it to herself and was surprised by the news. They hit me. A group of strangers walked into this hotel and hit me.
I eased her back to the ground and looked around. She needed medical attention, but I needed that tape. The Russians were on the second floor now, though, and when they realized it was empty they’d be coming back down with more questions. And they’d be angry. I couldn’t leave Rebecca here.
I set the gun aside and lifted her, holding her easily in both arms, and walked into the manager’s office behind the reception desk. There was little more than a desk and two file cabinets inside. The door would lock, though. I set her on the ground, picked up the phone on the desk, and dialed 911. I dropped the receiver back to the desk, knowing they’d have to send an officer out to check on the call if no one spoke. I didn’t have time to give them a rundown, either. I pushed the lock button on the inside of the door and pulled it shut behind me, then tried the knob. It was locked. The door wouldn’t hold if the Russians tried to force it, but at least she was out of sight and help would be on the way. I ignored the elevator and went for the stairs.
I ran up the stairs with the type of desperate panic that would carry people down them if a fire broke out in the building. By the time I reached the seventh floor, my heart was pounding and my pores had opened up, releasing a fresh, cold sweat. I pushed the door open and pivoted into the hall, gun drawn. I was staring at a group of four middle-aged women. They saw the gun and started to scream hysterically. I froze for a moment, then ignored them and ran for Julie’s room, fumbling in my pocket for the keycard. The women kept screaming as I opened the door and slammed it behind me.
The room was empty. I left the light off and crossed to the couch, then dropped to my knees and felt under the couch with my hands. Nothing was there. I slid my hand farther under the couch and drew it slowly from one end to the other. Nothing. My throat tightened. Where the hell could it be? I dropped the gun to the floor and hooked my fingers under the edge of the couch, dragged it away from the wall, then lifted it and tipped it over on its side. There was the tape, pushed to the far corner beyond my reach. I picked it up and slipped it under my shirt and into the waistband of my jeans.
Outside, the screaming reached a higher pitch. I turned to the door and switched the gun to my right hand, dropping into a crouch. The red light of the electronic lock glowed back at me, telling me the door was still locked.
When Randy Hartwick died in front of me, I’d watched a red dot appear and disappear on his chest. Now, as I watched this one, it disappeared as well, then turned green. Someone had slipped a keycard into the lock.
I went down on one knee and sighted the gun on the door as it swung open. The first thing I saw was not a person but the barrel of another gun, and then the room erupted into a clatter of automatic gunfire. I squeezed off two return shots, then threw myself on the floor, rolling behind the upturned couch as bullets splattered into the walls around me, showers of glass raining down when the balcony door shattered.
I slid my head past the edge of the couch and looked at the door, surprised to find it was closed again. The shots were being fired from the hallway, through the door and the walls. Maybe one of my bullets had found its mark on the man who’d pushed the door open. I put two more rounds through the door, and then the shots from the hall ceased.
I fired four more shots, taking my time with these, and then got to my feet and stepped through the hole of jagged glass where the balcony door had been. The men in the hallway were regrouping, but they would undoubtedly open fire again soon. There was no time to hesitate; it was get out now or die later. I pushed the gun back into my waistband, next to the videotape, and put both hands on the railing. It was only seven stories up, but seven stories looks like a lot when you’re about to swing your body over the edge of a railing. If I had any doubts, though, they ended when gunfire opened up again, punching into the walls behind me. I swung over the edge.
I slid my hands down the rails until I was hanging by the bottom bar. My body was suspended seven stories above the concrete surrounding the pool. Shots were being fired into the room again, and a few of the bullets banged off the railing above me, dangerously close. I kicked my feet backward, pulling my body away from the balcony, and then swung my body in an arc, releasing my hold on the rail as the momentum brought me back toward the building. I made it just over the railing of the balcony below me, landing awkwardly, my feet tangled with one of the plastic chairs.
In my landing the videotape had fallen free, but it was within reach, and thankfully the gun hadn’t discharged into my ass. I gathered the tape up and looked inside the hotel room. It was dark. The glass door to this balcony was open, but the screen was closed. No one was home, but they’d still wanted the fresh air circulating while they were out. I appreciated the choice. I put my foot through the screen and then used my hand to tear it loose. Above me, I heard a door slam against the wall, then more shots. They’d entered the room. That meant in a few short seconds they would know I’d jumped off the balcony. When they didn’t see my corpse on the pavement, it wouldn’t be hard to guess what I’d done. I pulled the room door open and ran into the hallway.
I considered the stairs, but the elevator was right in front of me with the doors standing open, so I jumped inside. If they had men in the lobby, they’d be waiting for me whether I took the stairs or the elevator. I stood to the side of the elevator car, in a shooter’s stance, and waited while the doors opened slowly. The lobby was empty. Behind the desk, the door to the manager’s office was still closed. Rebecca was safe for now. I ran out of the building. As I went through the front doors, I heard another door bang open as someone stepped out of the stairwell. They would expect me to run toward the street. I ducked to the right and ran around the side of the building, toward the beach and away from the street. And right into two armed men.