“It might as well be. Just a little town—Brady—south of Tulsa.”
“You’re kidding me! Tulsa,” he said, tapping his chest. “That’s where I grew up—until I was sixteen anyway, and we moved here. Broke my heart. I had to leave the girl I was sure was the love of my life. I can’t believe it. Brady, Oklahoma, and she sits down with her amazing pink shoes right in the same hotel bar. I have to buy you a drink.”
“Oh, um—”
“Come on, Okies have to stick together.” Careful, he told himself, and simply shifted to face her more directly. “Matt Beaufont.”
“Eloise. Eloise Pruitt.”
“It’s a pleasure, Eloise. So, is this your first time in Dallas?”
He engaged her, made her laugh, made her blush. He paid for his drinks and hers when the waitress made the next round.
“Look, do you mind if I join you, just until you have to go?”
Before she could answer, he grabbed his drink, rose. He moved fast, sliding his chair over next to hers, boxing her in.
“I really should—”
“Sit very still, and keep smiling at me. You feel that, Eloise? That’s a knife. If you make a sound, a move, I’m going to have to put it in you.” Her eyes were so wide, so shocked. Another thrill. “It’ll ruin the line of that dress, and get blood all over your amazing pink shoes. We don’t want that.”
“Please.”
“Now, I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t. I want you to give me that giggle, like you did before. Give me a giggle, Eloise, or I’ll cut you.”
She managed it—a little high, a little shrill. He got his hand on the prepared syringe in his pocket. Leaned in as if whispering in her ear.
“Ow.”
“Oh, that didn’t hurt. And it’s just a little taste, to help you relax. That and the drink will do it.”
“I feel . . .”
“Drunk, oh yes, you do. What room are you in, Eloise?”
“I’m . . . sixteen-oh-three. I’m dizzy. Don’t hurt me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m just going to take you up to your room. I bet you want to lie down.”
“I need to lie down.”
“Put your arm around me, Eloise. Give me that giggle.”
She swayed a bit when he got her to her feet. Smiled when he told her to smile, leaned on him as they crossed the lobby.
“I don’t feel right.”
“I’m going to make it all better. You just have to do what I tell you. Exactly what I tell you.”
He got her in the elevator, told her to put her arms around his neck with him keeping his back to the camera. “Push sixteen, Eloise, and smile for me.”
“I have to meet my friends.” She missed the button twice, then hit it.
“That’s for later.”
No one got on. His luck still ran true. In the corridor of sixteen, he danced her down the hall, her stumbling, him laughing.
“Need your key, baby doll.”
“Key?”
“I’ll get it.” He braced her against the door, caging her in again as he took her purse, dug out the card. “Here we go!”
The minute they were inside the room, he let her drop to a heap on the floor.
“Well done, Eloise! Now, we have more work to do.”
Carlotta Phelps got off on sixteen. She’d been with hotel security for three years, and this wouldn’t be the first time she’d assisted a drunk guest. And since her shift ended in ten, unlocking a bathroom door and recoding a key wasn’t a tough way to end the day.
She knocked briskly on 1603. “Ms. Pruitt, hotel security.”
There was some fumbling at the door. Carlotta kept her face blank, but inside she smirked, and hoped Eloise from Oklahoma had some Sober-Up with her.
The woman who finally got the door opened looked a little mussed, a lot drunk, but matched the ID on file. She said, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem. You reported a lost key and a locked bathroom door?”
“I . . . that’s what I said.”
“May I come in?”
“I . . . please.”
Eloise took an unsteady step back, and Carlotta moved through the door.
As it shut behind her, she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, had half a second to react before the syringe punched against her throat.
“There now,” McQueen said cheerfully. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He gestured with the point of the knife. “Now get on the bed, Eloise, facedown.”
“Please.”
“You’re so polite. Please, please, please. Sit down or I’m going to open that pretty cheek of yours all the way to the bone.”
She did as she was told.
“Duct tape,” he said as he used it to secure her hands behind her back. “Low-tech, easily available, and so very versatile.” He continued on to her ankles while she shuddered and wept.
“I could smother you. No blood that way, but to be honest, Eloise, I’m just not that interested.” Tired of her blubbering and pleading, he slapped tape over her mouth. “There now, some peace and quiet.”
Pleased, he turned to the woman on the floor. He rolled her over, took her master, her communicator, personal ’link, earbud, and as he’d done with Eloise, whatever cash and jewelry she had.
Waste not, want not, he thought.
He bound her, gagged her for good measure though he expected she’d be out for an hour, then replaced the tape roll in the briefcase. He’d have preferred to simply cut off her thumb, quick and easy. But so messy.
Instead he took the time to press her thumb to a strip of foil, carefully fixed it to his own, sealed it.
Pumped with success, he strolled over to the bed. “Maybe I’ll smother you anyway. Really with that hair, that pathetic use of enhancers you probably don’t deserve to live. Just kidding!” he said, laughing uproariously as she squirmed and struggled to scream. “Well, not about the hair and makeup. Bye-bye, Eloise—and you’re welcome. You’ll be dining out on this little adventure for years.”
He stepped over the guard, considered a moment. Taking out his jammer, he eased the door open a crack for line of sight. Best not to be seen, if anyone bothered to glance at the right monitor at the right time. He counted off a three-second disruption as he rushed down the corridor to the stairwell.
A long climb, he thought as he started up, but the prize at the end, so worth it.
He broke a sweat, but considered it a byproduct of good, healthy exercise.
He paused outside the stairwell door on fifty-eight. He’d need the jammer again. The master and print would get him in, but the use of it would trigger a record and alert.
Anything over a ten-second disruption would trip another alert and result in a standard check. So he’d have to move fast.
He hit the jammer and bolted. Swiped the card, pressed his sealed thumb. Nothing.
They’d just had to send a woman! One with small hands, little digits.
Cursing, sweat rolling now, he forced himself to steady, did the swipe a second time, and with more care, more delicacy, pressed the print to the pad.
The light went green.
He shoved inside, flicked the jammer off even as he shut the door.
