Chapter Eighteen
“Well,” Baxter said as he closed the hotel room door behind them, “I’m really glad we got to finish that delicious meal, because otherwise I’d say the day has been a bit of a waste of time. The bloke had a meal and has now gone to bed—not even a sniff of illegal activity.”
Mallory shot him an amused glance as she took off her backpack and put it down on the sofa. Then, remembering that was Baxter’s bed for the night, she moved it onto the floor. “It’s not all guns, jet-setting, secret lairs and hot chicks, you know. We’re not in a James Bond film.”
He crossed the room, shucking his own backpack, and placed it beside hers. “Oh, I dunno,” he said with a shrug, “I’ve had a hot chick on my arm all day, and now I’ve got her all alone in a lovely hotel room with a four-poster
