Chapter 23
KODIAK
Imake it to the Sherman hotel on foot, damn near walking in circles, taking a path twice as long just to keep eyes off me. Sherman informants prowl the alleys, but their own hotel? What kind of fool would cross them then step through their gilded doors?
Turns out, I’m that fool.
Got on my Sunday best—shirt, waistcoat, trousers, derby pulled low.
I whistle a tune like I own the place and stroll in under the glare of that damn painting in the lobby—some mean old general staring down from a gold frame big as a coffin.
The marble under my boots is polished to a mirror shine.
Whole damn lobby looks like the inside of a jewelry box, all velvet chairs and carved columns, every corner reeking of perfume and money.
Place like this, you’d never guess Alice was once a Sherman wife—least not the way they had her slaving in that country inn.
I’m starting to think Joseph was the black sheep of the family, and his brother Virgil’s the one wearing the trousers.
I tip my hat to the watchman half asleep by the pillar and head straight for the elevator—brass gates, slow as honey. Ride it to the top.
Alice left her door open a crack. Inside, she’s twisting like she’s caught in a snare, hands behind her back.
“Oh, thank goodness. Could you please help me out of this corset?”
“Of course, your majesty.”
Hooks, buttons, ribbons—fortress tighter than a vault. I’ve broken into banks with less trouble. Once I get her loose, she near melts, breathing like she’s just remembered how.
After, I haul the trunk into the washroom and dump it quiet, stacking those river rocks in the tub one by one. We gathered ’em ourselves, days back—boots in the mud, laughing like we weren’t planning a crime.
We wait for nightfall, when the hustle downstairs dies down. I go first, dressed in black from crown to cuff, hat pulled low, bandana in place. I move quiet, sticking to shadows.
The lobby’s different at night—same chandeliers, but now they burn low and gold, casting soft shadows across all that polished stone. Piano drifts in from the parlor, mixed with clinks of glass and low laughter from the bar.
I wedge myself in a stairwell, keeping to the dark, hand on my Colt, knife strapped tight. I pray I don’t need either. Not for my sake—for Alice’s.
And then she comes.
She don’t walk—she glides, floating across that marble like some temptress made of magic.
Her satin robe clings to every sinful curve, the slip beneath near see-through, shadows drawing maps of what should stay hidden.
Her slippers whisper against the stone, hem swinging high enough to flash pale ankle and a promise of more.
I swallow hard. God help me.
She approaches the front desk like a vision, voice all soft and trembly. “Monsieur, forgive me for troubling you at such an hour.”
The night clerk damn near falls over himself. Middle-aged, balding, probably hasn’t seen a woman like her outside a dime novel. “Not at all, Madame. How may I assist you?” he asks, all nerves and sweat, Adam’s apple bobbing like he swallowed wrong.
Alice lowers her lashes, eyes glistening like she’s been crying. “It is only that I cannot sleep. My nerves, you see. My family’s treasure is here, under your care, and the thought—” She dabs her cheek with her kerchief, just so. “The thought of it locked away, beyond my reach…”
We’d talked about her being distressed, but I could do without watching the damn flirtation.
“Oh, Madame,” the clerk blurts, leaning in closer. Too close. “You mustn’t distress yourself. The hotel vault is secure. Nothing could happen here.”
She sniffles pretty. “You are kind, monsieur. Truly. But my grandpapa—before the Merak assassinated him—told me to keep it always in sight. And now I am so far from home, with so few comforts. If I might only look upon it, just for a moment, I should rest easier.”
The clerk hesitates, fingers twitching atop the counter, sizing her up her like he’s weighing more than just hotel policy. Alice presses her kerchief to her chest, eyes big and glistening, voice all sugar and sorrow. He nods.
“Oh, monsieur, you are as generous as starlight on a dark night.”
Starlight. That’s the signal.
His smile spreads slow, like varnish on pine. “I’d consider it my honor to be of personal assistance, should Your Grace require anything else…later this evening,” he says, leaning forward. “Perhaps a nightcap?” He sways back and his tongue wets his lip like he’s savoring the thought.
That son of a bitch.
I shift in the shadows, hand tight around my Colt. Blood jumps hot. I slip from the stairwell, keeping low as he fumbles with his keys. Alice trails after him. The sway of her ass in that satin should be punishable by law.
By the time the vault swings open and they’re inside, I’m at their backs.
“Evenin’, folks,” I bark, cocking my pistol in the air.
The clerk jolts pale, mouth open. Alice gasps, clutching her robe shut like a scandalized maiden. “Mercy! Please don’t shoot!”
“Do as I say and nobody gets hurt,” I rasp. I flick my attention to her robe before adding, “Though that chamber-wear’s indecent as sin, lady. You ought to show some modesty.”
Her kerchief trembles at her cheek, eyes wide for the clerk’s sake, but I catch the twitch at the corner of her mouth.
The vault’s lined wall to wall, drawers and steel strongboxes stacked high, shelves loaded with ledgers and pouches. Jackpot.
The man looks back at me, lips quivering, waiting on orders. I point my barrel at him, finger teasing the trigger.
“Open ’em. Start at the top.”
His hands shake so bad the keys near spill. He gets one turned, drawer screeching wide, bundles of notes fat and green staring back.
I retrieve a canvas sack from my coat and toss it at his feet. “Empty it in the sack.”
He hesitates, jaw working like he might argue.
I press the pistol to his head. “If you’re thinkin’ on takin’ a stand, don’t,” I growl. “Ain’t no glory dyin’ over another man’s money. Now move.”
That seems to motivate him. He shovels fast, bills scattering across the floor, and I ease off some, lest the fool piss himself. Alice presses her kerchief to her cheek. “Please don’t hurt him.”
I cut her a look. “Suppose you hope to give this clerk a thrill dressed like that in your night-clothes.”
He flushes red, near drops the lantern, scrambling for the next drawer. Velvet pouches heavy with coin, gilt-edged stock papers—all of it goes rattling into the sack.
“Hurry up, stupid,” I snap. “If you’re dilly-dallyin’ till the law gets here, ain’t nobody comin’ and you ain’t gonna be alive to greet ’em if they were.”
He speeds up, drawers banging, shelves stripping bare one by one. The sack swells fat, clinking with gold, rustling with paper, near to bursting.
I jerk my chin. “Down. On your belly.”
He crouches to the floor, hands trembling.
Alice moves to follow.
“Not you,” I say, grabbing her by the arm and raising her up.
“I may be a mean son-of-a-bitch, but I’m a gentleman.
Now get the hell out of here, go on upstairs, and for God’s sake, put some damn clothes on.
And don’t go looking for the law unless you want your little friend here to get a bullet between the eyes. We understand each other?”
Her brows lift. For half a heartbeat, I catch the ghost of a smile before she masks it with a tremble. “Yes, monsieur.”
But she lingers, turns back. “Please, monsieur, the Kingdom of Mizarra is at war. If my presence here this evening makes the news, surely the enemy will find me.”
The man nods quick, pale as a sheet. “No, Madame. I won’t say anything. You were never here. I swear it.”
“Thank you,” she says, then sweeps out, robe swishing like sin.
I tie the clerk fast, wrists behind him, gag tight between his teeth.
Sack slung heavy over my shoulder, I follow Alice’s path back into the dark.
I haul the sack up the stairs, near dragging with the weight of it. By the time I reach her floor, my shirt sticks damp at the back. Alice’s door cracks open just as I round the corner in the hall outside. She’s already there in her gilded suite, cheeks flushed, robe tied closed.
Inside, the trunk I emptied of rocks sits at the foot of the bed, waiting for our take. I drop the sack in and close the lid. Set my hat on the dresser.
Alice smooths her robe. “That went well.”
I give her a stare from hell, raking my fingers through my hair. “You walked out there half dressed.”
She blinks, all innocence, fighting that damn smirk again. I close the distance, hands clapping hard to her waist. “Slip’s damn near see-through. Huggin’ every curve. That bastard’s ears turned red as a beet, and I near put a bullet in him for starin’.”
Her lips twitch, but she bites it back. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“It worked, but you put yourself on display to do it, and that’s a line you don’t cross without payin’ a price.”
A flush creeps down her throat. “Kodiak—”
I sit on the bed and haul her across my lap in one motion, robe sliding with a hush against me. Heat from her thighs sears through my trousers.
“You knew what you were doin’—paradin’ yourself in front of that man, lettin’ him near choke starin’ at you.”
Her answer comes muffled in the covers. “It was part of the act.”
I yank up her slip, baring her pale flesh.
One hand covers her mouth, and the other comes down powerful, the crack of it filling the room.
She jerks, her wet, muffled cry dying in my palm.
The way the sound hits my ears near sounds like pleasure, but I reckon she’s just gritting through the pain.
Another swat, harder. Satin slides higher, bunching around her middle.
“You belong to me, Alice. Not to some clerk watchin’ what’s mine. ”
Her hips shift, the heat of her exquisite against my palm, and something bursts wide open inside me. I swing my hand harder. Her moan, sweet and shameless, is unmistakable.
“You like this,” I mutter.