Chapter 43
Reeve
Iwake to the smell of bacon, cinnamon, and fried capers. An odd combination until I open the door separating the bedroom from the sitting area and uncover a breakfast spread fit for a small family. There are a dozen plates, two jugs, and one thermos.
Although my stomach rumbles, I leave the food behind to go in search of Electra. I check the bathroom. Find it empty. I try to call her, but my phone’s battery is dead, so I call the reception instead and find out she left in a cab three hours ago.
I’m not usually a heavy sleeper, which leads me to leap to an insane theory—that Electra somehow found my text to Trenton, or recognized Lara, and put two and two together, and drugged me.
What am I going on about?
She wouldn’t have fucked me—and six times at that—if she knew I was a Holy Hunter. Much less, ordered me breakfast.
I plant my naked ass on a sofa worth more than my Woody and rub my palms down my face. I’ve lost control—of myself, of this mission, of her.
Although my nerves are shot and my stomach snarled, I devour the banquet, needing the calories, if only to fuel my misfiring brain and get it to think clearly.
How do I save Quinn without dooming Electra?
As I shovel in bite after bite, possibilities play out in my head. Most of them involve me torturing some lowly Holy Hunter until they confess where Trenton is keeping Quinn. Except the lowest rungs in the organization’s ladder don’t have that sort of clearance.
I doubt even Lara has that sort of clearance.
I cut through the crisp, layered avocado toast, then spear a huge bite with my fork. The flavors hit my tongue at the same time as an idea hits my brain. And that idea isn’t to visit every tower in the Holy Hunter’s possession.
No, my idea is so much better.
However, my idea needs a cell phone with a viable battery.
I call the reception and ask for a charging cable, only to be told the clock on the nightstand doubles as a charging dock. I stick my phone on the base as I jump into a hot shower, working the bergamot soap into a thick lather.
I’d like to say I’m beyond stealing, but the toiletries smell too damn good to be left behind.
Besides, they’d just be thrown out when the room is serviced.
So I toss them inside my bag, along with the disposable toothbrush and a comb that manages to sail through my hair that’s one inch away from being a manbun.
Once I’m dressed, I seize my phone, which has gained a whole seven percent.
Memory has me pounding Hudson’s phone number and raising the phone to my ear. My call goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a message. I call again. And again. Until I erode my stepbrother’s patience and he finally picks up.
“Hud, are you busy?” I ask.
“Don’t use my fucking name,” he hisses, before adding, “I’m always busy. What do you want, Cook?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Hire a shrink.”
I grab my mug of now-tepid coffee and take a swallow. “A shrink can’t help me with what I need to discuss. Only you—”
“If it’s about Fox—”
“It’s not.”
“Then what’s it about?”
“The plan.”
A pause. “What about the plan?”
I down my mug, then zip up my bag and shoulder it on the way to the door. “Can you meet me today or not?”
“I have some time this afternoon. Let me loop in Messiah and get you another check-in location.”
“No. I want to meet just us,” I say.
Hudson remains silent for so long that I end up checking my phone to see if the call dropped. It hasn’t.
“Giving Fox your package didn’t make me your bitch,” my stepbrother says, just as I reach the valet to ask for my vehicle.
“As I said, this isn’t about Fox or a delivery.”
“Messiah warned me you’d try and get me to run another errand for you.”
I pick a new angle to work from. “No wonder he thinks he’s the boss.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You let him walk all over you. Talk down to you. Control you. Your father would’ve hated it. He wanted you two ruling together. Don’t you want that?”
The valet arrives with my station wagon, which cuts a pitiful figure beside the red Ferrari parked out front.
“I could help you…rise.”
Silence.
“Higher,” I add.
Come on… Bite.
I fish a bill from my pocket to tip the valet before realizing the amount I’m holding might be viewed as mildly offensive in such a high-end establishment. So I double it before trading it for my keys.
“Tell me what you’re thinking over the phone, and I can tell you whether I’m interested.”
I get behind the wheel of my car and start the engine. “In person. If you’re interested in hearing what I have to say, meet me inside the Central Library in Copley Square at three. Once you’re there, text me, and I’ll direct you to the aisle where I’ll be waiting.”
I hesitate to tell him to come alone, but that might give him cold feet. Besides, Hudson is skittish and doesn’t go anywhere without a small entourage, so he’ll come accompanied whether I ask him to or not.
I pull up my message thread with Electra.
ME: Babe, call me when you land. We need to talk.
I press send just as my battery dies. “Fuck.” Did the message even go through?
At the red light, I root around for the charging cable I keep plugged into my car. It’s not there. I twist around but it’s not in the backseat either. Where the hell did I put it?
The driver behind me lays on his horn. I power across the intersection. Instead of ransacking my vehicle while driving and getting into a fender bender that would cost me every dime in my pouch, I decide to get back to my parking spot and search for the cable then.
Fifteen minutes won’t make a difference.
The neon strips along the ceiling flare as I pull into the covered lot and drive to my spot. I put the car in park, get out, then drop into a crouch to inspect the footwell.
I spot the tail end of the cable just as the air shifts behind me. I sweep my hand under the dashboard for the switchblade I keep there, then, with feigned nonchalance, I twist my head and peer up.
I brace myself for Trenton—or for one of his lieutenants. But that’s not who I find.