Roxanne Fosch Files Collection

Chapter 9

I woke up to a dark room. For a disorienting moment I had no idea of where I was. Then it all rushed back with a shock, like a cold bucket of water had been dumped on my head.

The sound of even and low snores came from beside me. The question of where Logan would sleep was answered. My outrage at his audacity squelched rapidly, giving way to urgency. This was my chance to escape. I eased out of bed, aware that we had slept all day long. Creeping to the bathroom, I grabbed my denim jacket and shrugged it on. I had slept dressed in the jeans and shoes that sank into the thick carpet and muffled my steps. I hurried for my duffle next, took the wallet that contained my rapidly waning emergency money and Dr. Maxwell"s journal. The latter I placed on the inside pocket of my jacket and promised myself I"d burn it the first chance I got. I already memorized it letter by letter, and I didn"t want anyone getting hold of it. I didn"t want to leave my belongings behind either, but I knew sooner or later I"d have to.

I was ready to leave when Logan stirred and sat up.

I cursed and moved to the window, as if it had been my destination all along.

Had he been aware of what I was doing, faking asleep to see what my next move would be?

What a SOB.

I parted the curtain and glanced outside at the dark night, acting as if I hadn"t yet noticed he was awake. If only I"d woken up earlier… I cursed myself again and felt the weight of his eyes on me. The window I chose overlooked the front of the hotel, and I watched as a black sedan parked by the entrance. I couldn"t see auras from afar, so the only thing that set my alarm off was the bulge under the jacket of the three hulking men that climbed out. I stiffened. The sheets rustled as Logan got out of bed. He was beside me in an instant, but the men had already disappeared inside. I knew that brusque pace and stiff, straight posture. I"ve seen it so many times.

“I gotta get out of here. Now.”

For some reason I"d question later on, he put on his shoes and wool coat and followed me out of the room. He called both elevators, although we silently agreed they were out of the question, and moved for the stairs at the opposite end of the hall.

I opened the heavy door slowly. We both listened for sounds of footsteps coming up before moving. On the landing of the third floor we heard footsteps hurrying up at a fast clip.

Logan pushed me to the corridor and knocked on the first room facing the stairs.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath and tried the door knob. It was locked, of course. The moment the door opened a c***k, Logan pushed himself inside—my forearm held firmly in his grip—and locked the room behind us. He halted the man"s protest with a glare and a hundred-dollar bill that appeared like magic. He searched my face, then bent to whisper low in my ear, “You okay? Can you run if you need to?”

I straightened my shoulders and smoothed my grimace, setting my expression into a blank mask before giving a small nod. Whatever happened next, this man had an agenda that involved me being well and rested.

I told him in a low voice there were three men. Because I knew what these men were capable of, I knew I"d need Logan if I wanted to get rid of them. Maybe if I was at my best… or maybe if there was only one of them… but I wasn"t, and there wasn"t.

Logan fumbled inside his pants pocket and surprised me by handing me the keys to the Range Rover. “I want you to go ahead and start the car if I have to distract them. Turn it around and keep it idling, ready to go. Can you do that?”

Of course I could. I hoped he took a very long time distracting them.

Before I could give him a reassuring response, we heard footsteps going up to the fourth floor. But it was one set only.

Logan took out his g*n and held it at the ready. The other man backed away, heading for the phone on the stand. Probably going to call security. The dollar note though, was nowhere to be seen.

The cautious opportunist.

Logan opened the door a c***k, checked, then we moved out of the room. I followed him down, both of us moving as quietly as possible. We veered left at the lobby, spotted the man blocking the entrance at the same time. He stood, head lowered, one hand pressed to his ear, the other hovering near the bulk of his unbuttoned suit jacket, eyes scanning ahead. There was a wire spiraling down from his ear, disappearing inside the lapel of his suit. Three golden, starry buttons adorned the lapel, arranged to look like a golden triangle.

A PSS Elite guard.

The kind that had guarded me my entire stay at the PSS. A tremor ran down my spine and I clenched my fists. I was no longer a victim, a prisoner, a freak.

I would fight back and, if necessary, I would not hesitate to kill. I was no longer that frightened and disoriented teenager. They didn"t abide by the law, something they had proven many times in the past, and I vowed to myself neither would I.

They made me what I was today.

The Elite, at first glance, had blue auras just like every ordinary human, but if one concentrated a bit, the aura would seem somewhat blurry. I already knew they were stronger and faster than the ordinary guard and doubted this was all.

And the bulge under their jacket still gave me nightmares. Instead of live bullets they had tranquilizer darts. God only knew what they did to an unconscious, uncooperative subject. If they saw us, they would shoot first. No questions asked.

Because they were faster than the average human, we wouldn"t be able to disarm them before getting shot. No, they were trained to avoid hand-to-hand combat, though they were all well trained in that area as well.

We quickly ducked and backed away, moving in the other direction, going for the back entrance. Past a set of double doors, down a narrow corridor where a maid pushing a cart stopped us. Logan shot her a lopsided, dazzling smile, explained to her because of his skin condition the receptionist suggested we hit the parking lot from the back. If she paused to process his words, she"d have known the lie for what it was considering it was dark outside.

Logan continued his charming explanation, “But I guess we misunderstood the directions …” he made a frustrated gesture, and I watched, vaguely amused as the woman"s friendly smile was replaced by a sympathetic one.

She motioned us to the end of the hall and indicated a set of double doors on the other side.

“That"s the kitchen. If you go that way you"ll find a back door for the kitchen staff, but you"ll probably get in someone"s way.” She pointed a bright red painted fingernail to the left. “But, if you follow the hall on the left and take the door to the right, you"ll exit between the employee and guest parking lots.”

Logan thanked her with a sheepish expression and waved her a thank you before taking my hand in his.

As soon as she was out of sight we hurried our steps to the end of the hall and veered left. There were three doors at the end. The one to the left was unmarked. The one directly across had a small plaque that read “janitorial”, and the one to the right read “exit”.

We spotted the third guard the same time he saw us. He stood by the exit door, slightly angled so he could watch both the exit we emerged from and the kitchen"s entrance farther down. Logan moved fast, almost in a blur, kicking the man"s hand away before he reached his g*n. If we emerged from the kitchen door, he"d have enough time to have drawn and shot us. Logan followed with a punch to his stomach, not giving the man time to recover. The guard doubled over, and for an instance I thought the fight was over, that Logan would either kick the guard in the head or punch him unconscious. Before he could deliver either move, the guard stood, producing a long knife seemingly out of thin air and catching Logan in the stomach. Logan jumped back in a blur, touching his stomach through his split shirtfront. If Logan hadn"t moved out of the way, that would have been a fatal wound. As it was—I noticed with a jolt—his front was rapidly getting soaked in blood, though somewhat obscured by his dark, unbuttoned coat.

The guard backed away, putting some distance between them, his knife at the ready. When he changed the knife to his other hand, I knew what he was going to do.

Without thinking twice, I jumped in and head butted the guard, making him stagger away. And just in time too. A stray tranquilizer dart was fired, vaguely in Logan"s direction. Even before I fully straightened, Logan tackled the guard to the ground. The tranquilizer g*n was nowhere in sight.

I took a step forward to help and Logan shouted for me to go, and after a brief hesitation, I went. I ran to the black Range Rover and, for a precious moment, just sat there blankly.

Why was he fighting The Elite Team if he worked for them?

Did the time limit of his contract expire? Or was it an elaborate scheme for me to trust Logan and… and what? There was the possibility that Logan wasn"t working for the PSS, but that possibility didn"t give me any comfort.

I started the car and pressed the gas pedal too hard. The car jumped once and died. I took a long breath for a clearer head before trying again. This baby wasn"t the tough case Thunder had been. I started the engine again, the smooth purring like an alien between my hands. My ribs gave me frequent pangs with each press of the pedal, but adrenaline was a wonderful d**g. I caught a glimpse of Logan and the guard still rolling on the ground, and the beginning of a crowd by the kitchen"s entrance, as I backed out and drove away.

* * *

I drove fast, checking the rear mirror for any tailing vehicle, found none. I didn"t relax. I had to keep telling myself Logan would be alright, that he was a big boy and could take care of himself or I"d turn and go back for him. Well, not really, but I was feeling sort of guilty and I didn"t like it.

“Don"t be a fool,” I muttered to myself. Whatever reason he had to help me, I reminded myself the man had an agenda. The telltale lights of a nearby city illuminating the horizon also helped with the guilt. So far, I passed a few establishments, some hotels and restaurants, and a few fenced in private driveways that hid fancy mansions from prying eyes.

I drove fast, slowing only when I spotted road signs, a feeling of wonder beginning to replace the guilt. Because, voila! I was entering Las Vegas.

voila