The Blonde

of this room. Yep, as he’d figured. Married. Married, and damn near sitting on top of him in the bed. Like, hello? Ever hear of personal space?

“Um, ready to go downstairs, Mr. Eisley? There are plenty of people down there to keep you company.”

2:55  a.m.

Sheraton Elevators, Right Bank, South Side

Jack worked out a plan on the ride down. More or less. Once he got to the lobby, he’d play up the anxiety disorder, make someone sit with him. Then he’d map out a plan. All he needed was proof that Kelly White’s crazy story was true. The fact that hotel security saw some big bastard in a suit jacket show up to abduct her wasn’t enough. He needed proof.

Those files in San Diego, specifically. He had to catch a cab, hop a plane to San Diego, go to the Westin Horton Plaza, grab the files, then call the police, the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, and anybody else who would listen.

Except that he would be dead by 8:00 A.M.

The poison.

The luminous toxin.

He was most likely the only guy in Philadelphia with two things racing around his bloodstream—Mary Kates and luminous toxin—with the potential to kill him. Unless you counted AIDS-ridden crack whores. But even those sorry fuckers didn’t have a time limit of five hours.

Think, Jack, think.

Even if he were in a plane that was taking off at this very minute, there was little chance he could be in San Diego by 8:00 A.M. Local time, sure, but the poison in his blood didn’t care about time zones. When it did whatever it was supposed to do, Jack would be dead.

And that’s even if he managed to stay within ten feet of a person the entire trip.

What if he had to use the bathroom?

With all of this racing around his head, he hardly noticed the elevator doors open. Charles Lee Vincent led him by the arm across the lobby, telling the desk clerk, “He needs someone to stay with him at all times.”

And then the desk clerk was saying something about the Philly PD being on their way. “Christ, what a night. There’s some lady passed out up on five, bleeding from her nose.”

And then Vincent was responding, saying that he was going back upstairs to start looking for this son of a bitch. “Seal the front doors…. Jesus, didn’t I tell you to seal the front doors?”

“I’ve never locked down completely. Where are the keys?”

“In my office, top drawer, lockbox marked with a black X in Magic Marker. You’ll see the master key on the left. Says ‘master’ on it. Hit the revolving door, then the two on the sides.”

“You got it.”

Jack realized what was going on.

“Wait! Don’t leave me!”

“That’s right. You’ve got to stay with him.”

“I’m just going to your office.”

“He’s got…” Charles Lee Vincent started to explain, then decided against it. “Look, I’ll lock up. Stay with him, okay?”

As Vincent walked away, Jack realized that locking the front doors meant he’d be trapped in here. And then the police would arrive, and then, sooner or later, he’d be locked in a room for questioning. They wouldn’t buy the anxiety stuff. In fact, they’d probably gather around the two-way mirror, passing around bags of potato chips, waiting to see him pop.

And that would be the end of Jack.

2:56  a.m.

Sheraton Hotel, Fifth Floor

Diet Coke guy had Kelly’s head in his arms, and he was surrounded by other guests who had popped out of their rooms to see what the screaming was about. He looked up at Kowalski. Disappointment washed over his face when he saw that Kowalski wasn’t an EMT. That quickly turned to rage when he recognized him.

“Hey! What did you do to her?”

Kowalski knelt down to examine Kelly. She was still breathing, but unconscious. Blood had spurted from her nose, ears … and yeah, he could see a little rimmed around the bottoms of her eyes, too. Diet Coke guy had some of it on his hands and lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Brian.”

“Brian, did you give her mouth-to-mouth?”

“She wasn’t breathing. I saved her. And I asked you, What did you do to her?”

Kowalski sighed. “Spare me.”

Brian tried to shove Kowalski backward, and it would have been impressive, had he connected. But Kowalski caught him by the wrist, taking care not to touch any of the blood, then twisted. Kelly’s head bobbed in the guy’s lap as he jolted.

“Ow!”

“See this? My girlfriend here’s got AIDS. She’s maintaining, but she passes out like this all the time when her T-cell count gets low. Wash off all of the blood you can. Scrub hard. Rinse your mouth out, too. You’ll also want to get tested.”

Brian turned white. Good, let him be afraid. Might be the thing that saves his life.

Truth was, whatever Kelly White was carrying, he’d probably already picked it up with the mouth-to-mouth thing. That’s what chivalry gets you these days.

Kelly’s head was gingerly lowered to the hallway carpet. Brian stood up, trying not to touch anything else, himself especially, then backed up and elbowed the up button on the elevator.

“Go ahead, wash up. I’ve got it from here.”

Kowalski looked around the hallway.

“Go back to your rooms, folks. She’s going to be okay once she gets hooked up to an IV.”

He had a decision to make: Take her now, or later? He wasn’t sure Kelly had a chance of making it down to D.C., as planned, without medical attention. Her breathing was shallow, and that much blood from the head was never a good sign. With the multiple distress calls of the past few minutes, the Sheraton was going to be swarming with uniforms. It was going to be tough carrying her out of there, past all of that. And his most recent instructions from his handler covered bringing her in alive, not dead.

The only chance she had was to let the EMTs take over from here. Hook her up, get her breathing stabilized. He wasn’t equipped for any of that.

Kowalski could come back for her later. From the hospital or the morgue, if it came to that. Either would be easier to breach than this hotel in the next ten minutes. City EMT response times varied; he remembered reading that Philly had arguably the worst in the nation. Tonight, he hoped to be proven wrong.

Zero  a.m.