8. Underestimate Me
Underestimate Me
Hope
The next man who comes through the door doesn’t bring food.
He brings instructions.
He’s older than the first one, late fifties maybe, dressed in a dark suit that fits too well to be hotel security. The younger man follows him in and stays near the door while the newcomer studies me from across the room.
“Ms. Chan.”
I stay seated.
“You understand why you’re here.”
It isn’t a question.
“I understand you kidnapped me.”
His expression barely changes. “Your sister has involved herself with people who have caused considerable disruption.”
Mercy.
HAVEN.
I make myself look confused instead of angry.
“I don’t know anything about what Mercy does.”
“We’re aware.”
That tells me more than he probably intended. They didn’t take me because they think I have information. They took me because they know I don’t.
I’m useful precisely because I’m innocent.
“You’ll be moved tonight,” he says. “Be ready. Cooperate and there’s no reason this needs to become unpleasant.”
My stomach twists, but I lower my gaze and make my voice smaller. “Where are you taking me?”
“You don’t need to know.”
I nod. Compliant. Frightened. Exactly what he wants to see.
The younger man crosses to the windows and closes the curtains, cutting off my view of the Strip. Then he takes the food tray, away minus the food I flushed and including the empty water bottle I poured down the bathroom sink earlier.
If they’re checking whether I’m eating and drinking, I want them believing I’m cooperating.
The older man leaves first. The younger one checks the bathroom before following, and this time he leaves the internal door beside the bar open behind him.
Only for a few seconds.
Long enough.
Beyond it’s a short corridor, another locked door and what looks like a service elevator panel. So that’s how they’re moving in and out without using the main entrance.
The door closes. I count to thirty before moving.
The camera still has me, so I don’t go toward the corridor. Instead, I cross to the coffee table and pick up one of the hotel pens they left beside a notepad.
Cheap plastic. Useful.
I carry it into the bathroom like I’m going to write something down, then snap the clip off against the edge of the vanity and slide the tiny piece into my jeans pocket.
Probably useless. But probably isn’t the same as definitely.
I check the Beacon next. No new message yet. I type quickly.
Second male, late 50s, dark suit. Says they’re moving me tonight. They think I have no HAVEN information. Service corridor behind door near bar, likely private elevator access.
I send it and secure the phone again.
Then I look at myself in the mirror.
Pale. Tired. Scared enough that I don’t have to fake much.
That can work for me too.
When they come back, I’ll cooperate. I’ll move slowly. Ask questions they won’t answer. Look overwhelmed.
And while they’re busy believing I’ve accepted what’s happening, I’ll watch every door they open, every badge they use and every person I pass.
If they’re moving me deeper into whatever this is, they’re also showing me more of it.
That’s their mistake.
Fleur de Lis Penthouse, Fontainebleau Las Vegas. 1230 hours.
Knowing they plan to move me tonight changes everything.
Until now, I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can without giving them a reason to watch me more closely. Now I have a deadline, even if I don’t know what time it expires.
I’ve sent the Beacon message and stayed in the bathroom long enough to drink more tap water. When I come out, I make myself move more slowly than I need to. The camera can see a frightened woman who’s tired, hungry and starting to accept that nobody is coming.
Let them see that.
I sit on the couch and pull my knees up, keeping my attention on the room without looking as though I’m studying it. The curtains are closed now, but I already know what’s beyond them. The balcony. The Strip. The height. If HAVEN comes for me, there aren’t many directions they can come from.
The main door is the obvious one, which probably means they won’t use it.
I think about the service corridor I saw near the bar. If my captors use that route to move me tonight, HAVEN needs to know the second it happens. I can’t stop them taking me through it, but I can keep the Beacon on me and pay attention to every turn.
Unless they search me properly before we leave.
My hand almost moves toward my ankle.
I stop it.
Camera.
I lean back instead and close my eyes.
The exhaustion doesn’t need pretending. I haven’t slept properly since Stanford, and every sound outside the penthouse pulls me awake again. Footsteps in the hallway. An elevator somewhere beyond the walls. The faint click of something near the entrance.
I want my family so badly it hurts. Mom will be frightened. Dad will be trying to keep her calm. Mercy will be blaming herself even though she shouldn’t, and Jax will be doing everything he can to get to me.
I think about Jax. He’ll be doing everything he can to get to me.
And somehow, that makes me think of Forest. Of all people.
I haven’t seen him since Mercy and Jax’s wedding, but I remember him far too clearly. The easy smile. The way he kept making me laugh. The looks we both pretended not to notice.
There was something there. I knew it then, and I’m not going to lie to myself about it now. Why would I? The man’s seriously hot.
The thought of him has no business making me feel better right now.
It does anyway.
That matters.
They know the hotel. The penthouse. The service corridor. They know I’m being moved tonight.
I’ve given them everything I can so far.
Now I need to make their job easier if they reach me. I look around again and start quietly preparing.
My shoes stay on. Nothing gets left somewhere I’d have to retrieve it. I keep the broken piece of pen in my pocket and make sure my jeans still cover the Beacon strap completely. If someone comes through that door and tells me to move, I can be on my feet immediately.
If someone comes through it to rescue me, the same applies.
I don’t know which will happen first. So I make myself ready for either.
Then I sit beneath the camera, lower my head and wait for my captors to see exactly what I want them to see.
A scared woman who has stopped fighting.
They don’t need to know I’m waiting for my chance.
Fleur de Lis Penthouse, Fontainebleau Las Vegas. 1310 hours.
The younger man comes back almost exactly when I expect him.
I keep my head down as he enters, checks the room and replaces the food tray. He doesn’t speak to me, and I don’t give him a reason to.
But this time, I’m watching what happens when he leaves.
He opens the door beside the bar and steps into the service corridor. Before the door swings closed, I see his hand go to the wall.
A badge. He taps it against a black reader beside the elevator. A green light flashes, and the doors open immediately.
I keep staring at the food until the corridor door closes.
That’s different from the electronic lock on the main entrance. He isn’t entering a code or using a key. Whatever controls that private elevator is on the badge he carries.
I wait before going to the bathroom. Shower on. Door closed. Beacon out.
I type quickly.
Same younger male returned. Service elevator confirmed. Uses badge on black reader beside elevator. Green light, immediate access. No code entered. Same badge may control route to penthouse.
I send it.
I stay in the bathroom another few seconds, thinking about what I saw. The badge never left his hand. One tap and the system accepted him.
G will know whether that matters.
I secure the Beacon around my ankle and turn off the shower.
Back in the main room, I sit down and pretend pick at enough of the food to make it look as though I’m eating.
That’s the strange thing about all those Danger workshops. I used to stand in front of groups explaining that surviving long enough to be found could come down to noticing something that seemed insignificant. A vehicle. A sound. A name. Which direction someone turned.
Now I’m doing it myself.
Excellent. Nothing like on-the-job experience.
The replacement tray gives me another opportunity.
I take some food off the tray and pretend to eat it, moving my jaw as though I’m chewing.
Then I take the food in my hand and the water bottle into the bathroom to dispose of the contents.
If they think I’m becoming compliant, I want to encourage that.
The next time the younger man comes in, I don’t glare at him.
I ask quietly, “Can I have some more water?”
He looks at the empty bottle.
“I’ll bring you one.”
“Thank you.”
The words taste awful, but his shoulders relax slightly.
There.
Let him think I’m learning. Let him think fear is making me easier to handle.
Every time they underestimate me, they give me something.
A badge.
A route.
A routine.
Maybe next time, a name.
Fleur de Lis Penthouse, Fontainebleau Las Vegas. 1400 hours.
By late afternoon, I’ve learned something useful about pretending to give up.
People stop paying as much attention to you.
The younger man brings another bottle of water and leaves it beside me. I thank him again, keeping my voice quiet and my eyes lowered. He barely looks at me before heading back toward the service corridor.
That’s progress. Not the kind I ever wanted to measure, but I’ll take it.
Once I’m alone, I carry the bottle into the bathroom, empty most of it down the sink and drink from the tap instead. The Beacon is still secure against my ankle.
There’s a new message waiting.
Hope, we have your updates. Forest is leading the rescue team. Stay where you are unless they move you. Keep observing. We’re coming tonight. We’ll contact you again before extraction.
I read it twice. They’re coming.
What a relief.
I knew they would, but seeing the words is different.
And Forest.
I was just thinking about him.
My captors think they’ve isolated me in a penthouse hundreds of miles from home. They don’t know I’ve been talking to HAVEN from the bathroom. They don’t know I’ve given them the service route, the badge reader, descriptions of two men and the warning that I’m being moved tonight.
They don’t know Forest knows exactly where I am.
I secure the Beacon again and return to the couch.
The fear hasn’t disappeared. Neither has the exhaustion. I’m hungry enough that the smell of the food I’ve been avoiding is becoming its own form of torture, and every time the lock activates, my pulse races before I can stop it.
But fear doesn’t get to make every decision.
The next time the younger man enters, I give him what he expects.
“Do you know what time we’re leaving?”
He glances at me. “No.”
“Should I be ready?”
“You will be told.”
I nod and look away.
He checks the curtains, glances toward the bathroom and leaves. Same route. Same badge. Same confidence that I’m exactly where they left me.
I wait until I’m sure he’s gone before letting myself smile on the inside. Mercy isn’t the only Chan who knows how to fight back.
Then I get up, cross to the windows and grab the curtains with both hands.
I reef them open on one side, then the other, dragging the heavy fabric back until Las Vegas floods into the room again.
Small. Petty. Completely mine.
If they want them closed, they can come back and do it themselves.
I can’t overpower these men. I can’t unlock the doors or climb down sixty-seven floors.
What I can do is make them comfortable around me.
I can listen. I can remember. I can keep feeding HAVEN every mistake they make.
And when Forest comes through whatever opening he manages to breach, I’ll be ready to move.
They wanted a frightened little sister they could use against Mercy.
They got the frightened part right. They seriously underestimated the little sister.
I look toward the view of Vegas.
Somewhere out there, Forest is getting closer. That thought helps more than I want to admit.
I settle back against the couch, slow my breathing and let the camera see exactly what it expects.
Quiet.
Tired.
Compliant.
Inside, I’m counting down the hours until somebody opens the wrong door.