“He’s joking!” Tate headed toward the door, “Let’s go!”
Tate stepped into the hall, but Ben approached Tara with a level of lust and playfulness in his eyes she couldn’t ignore.
“I don’t want to be babied now that your buddy is here,” she mumbled.
“We wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t want to be seduced either,” she smirked at him.
Ben hooked his finger under her chin, “Are you sure about that?”
He let his hand hold the side of her face gently before pushing her fingers into her hair and bringing her in for a kiss. One slip of his tongue inside of her mouth had Tara pressing herself against him.
Tate banged against the door loudly before shouting through it, “Ben, let’s go!”
“He’s impatient,” Tara growled.
“He is, but I need you to stay put, please. We’ll do a quick sweep of the floor before we come back. If anyone comes to that door without a key, don’t open it! Use the double door joining the rooms to go in mine if that happens and take the artifacts with you.”
“Okay,” she told him.
One quick kiss sealed their plan as Ben left the room to search the floor with Tate. They split up to go in opposite directions with each one taking a side of the hallway until they both stood in front of an emergency stair exit. They nodded to one another before bursting through the doors simultaneously.
Nothing.
There wasn’t anyone in either staircase. They made their way back to the two rooms.
“Did you book a room?” Ben asked Tate.
Tate batted his eyelashes and plopped his head on Ben’s shoulder, “Don’t you want to sleep with me, honey?”
“And you yelled at me for getting mushy,” Ben shook Tate off of him. “Look, you can snag mine.”
"So, you can share the bed with your client?" Tate laughed.
“Of course not. I’d never sleep with the artifacts.”
8
Tara slept soundly while the loud snores of Tate Calhoon penetrated the door separating the rooms. Ben sat in a chair against the room's door that led to the hallway with his feet on the table across from the artifacts. She tossed and turned, unable to find sleep and those vivid dreams she loved having with those special climactic appearances from Ben. She sighed, yawned, and stretched before sitting up in the bed.
It was barely after three in the morning when she realized something. The boorish grunts of Tate's sleep apnea that lulled them to sleep earlier were now silent. The quiet didn't sit right with her. Ben remained in his chair with his eyes closed and arms folded across his chest as it rose up and down slowly in the darkness.
Tara pushed herself out of bed and eyed the floor in search of her bag. She was sure that she’d tossed her socks on it.
“What’s wrong?” Ben’s voice cut through the night, startling her.
“I’m looking for my socks. Your friend, Tate, he’s not snoring anymore.”
Ben shrugged, still with his eyes closed, “Yeah, that’s a good thing.”
"No, it's not," she huffed, "If he's not snoring, it probably means he's not breathing, or he's awake."
Ben remained drunk with sleep and indifference, “He’s breathing. I’m sure of it. Go back to bed.”
“No,” Tara stated firmly, “Not until I make sure he’s okay.”
“No, I’ll go check,” Ben asserted, pushing himself out of the chair and to his feet. He needed a shot of coffee spiked with some adrenaline. “Get some sleep.”
“I’m not going to be able to until you come back and tell me he’s still breathing in there.”
"I'm going," Ben smirked as he watched her sit on the bed with her arms folded across her chest.
The minute Ben touched the adjoining door, something tingled down his spine. It didn’t feel right as he pressed his ear up against the door. He didn’t hear anything. He didn’t sense anyone in the room. After turning the knob as quietly as possible, he poked his head into the other suite.
The bed had been slept in, but the covers were tossed aside with the door leading to the hallway open with the slightest sliver of light peeking into the room. He swallowed hard as he stepped back into Tara’s room. His shoulder holster sat across the back of the chair he’d been sleeping in.
Tara jumped up, “What’s going on?”
"I should have listened to you. That's what's going on. Tate's not in there. If he's up and about, then there might be a threat. Stay here. I'm going to check it out. When I go into the other room, lock this door behind me and leave your phone on. Keep that chair against the door. You'll know when we come back to you."
“And if you don’t?”
“I’m coming back here, Tara.” His assurance vibrated around the room.
Ben checked the clip in his handgun, added another to his back pocket, and left the room. The adjoining room was dark. He could only hear the sound of his own breaths. Tate was meticulous about order and organization. Every night before he slept, he’d lay his pants across a chair with his boots facing out. Both were gone.
Tate was up, dressed, and out of the room. Ben wondered what drew his friend out of bed in the middle of the night. After a quick search of the area, he took notice that Tate’s gun was gone too. He didn’t like the feeling crawling through his gut.
Ben crept to the door that led to the hallway and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. He wished they had radios to communicate. He also wished that Tate woke him up before he went out on an adventure in a hotel packed with civilians.
Instead of dwelling on the myriad of questions circling his mind, Ben focused his energy on locating Tate. He skulked down the hallway in one direction until he reached the staircase.
Nothing. It was just as before; not a sound to be heard. He
