Page 16 of Destroyed With You

Unless the laptop wasn’t here, either…

The thought made Winston frown, then glance at his watch. They might already be on their way, but he needed to know. He shot a quick text to Noah, who responded almost immediately, assuring Winston that Bartlett hadn’t stored a laptop in the hotel vault, nor was there one logged in with the bellmen.

He also gave Winston the override code for the guest safe located in the closet. But before Winston could access that vault, he heard the snick of the lock on the door. He eased all the way into the closet and carefully slid the door closed. The panel was louvered, giving him a striated view of the room. And the bed.

“Oh, this really is nice.” Linda’s voice preceded her into the room, and Winston stiffened, stepping back as they passed in front of the door. “I’m so glad you invited me up.”

Bartlett was laughing as he stepped into view. “Funny. I could have sworn you invited yourself up.”

“Oh, did you notice that?” She moved to stand in front of Bartlett, the two of them positioned sideways in front of the closet. “I hope you don’t think I’m too forward.”

Bartlett cleared his throat. “Not at all.”

She slid her hands around his neck. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

From his vantage point, Winston could see her fiddling with the ring, obviously judging when to dose him. Winston was certain that the drug was intended to make Bartlett pliable enough to reveal the laptop’s password. But that type of maneuver was always dicey. Give too much, and your subject could pass out before revealing any information. Give too little, and they wouldn’t be susceptible.

And there was the small matter that the computer wasn’t in plain sight.

“You must be doing more relaxing than working,” she said. “I assumed an accountant would be surrounded by papers. At the very least, I would have thought you’d have a computer.”

“It’s in the room safe. I trust hotels, but not maids.” He stood up. “Besides, who wants work around us while we’re sharing some wine and what? Oysters? Dessert?”

“Either sounds wonderful.” She was practically purring, and Winston wasn’t sure who he wanted to strangle more—her or the accountant.

He leaned forward as if to kiss her, but she pulled back, then pressed her fingertip over his lips. “I like anticipation,” she whispered, and it took all of Winston’s strength to keep himself from bursting out of the closet and confronting her right then. How many collective hours had he spent in a sensual haze, his cock hard as steel, his body hot with need. “I love feeling like this,” she’d tell him. “Needy and desperate. The buildup of anticipation. Don’t you?”

God, yes, he’d loved it. So much that it became a sensual game for the both of them. Out in public, on the couch watching television. Any time one or the other had the urge, they’d start an hours-long sensual dance that would end with a wild, explosive taking, all the more potent because they had held back for so long.

It had been intimate and intense. And, he’d believed, only for them.

“Anticipation is good,” Bartlett whispered.

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

“Why don’t you get comfortable? There’s a robe on the back of the bathroom door.”

“Is there?” She glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowed slightly. Winston was certain she was weighing her options, an assumption that was proved when she said, “But if I go in there, you might forget all about me.”

“I won’t think about anything but you, and how I’m going to make you feel for the rest of the evening.” He grinned, all smug and confident. “Anticipation, right?”

She turned back to him. “You are a fast learner,” she purred, and though Winston hated himself for it, he felt the cold fingers of jealousy crawl up his spine.

As Winston watched, Bartlett nodded toward the bathroom. “Go on. I’ll order.”

She hesitated, and Winston was certain he knew what she was thinking. If he were in her position, he’d be weighing the same options. Was it better to play this out or to show her hand now?

As he would have done, she headed toward the bathroom. Until she actually accessed the safe and saw the laptop, she couldn’t rely on what Bartlett had told her. Better to keep her cover until she had full certainty that the mission could be completed.

And that, of course, was why he was still standing behind the louvered door, watching the drama play out in front of him.

He heard the click of the bathroom door and watched as Bartlett loosened his tie. The man had been a little shy and awkward in the bar, but in this room he was full of confidence. The prick.

Now, he walked to the closet. Winston tensed, then stepped to the side as one half of the door slid open. Bartlett took a step forward, and Winston moved fast, grabbing the accountant’s arm, flipping him around, and trapping him against the metal frame in which the closet doors slid open.

“Wh—”

Winston clapped his arm over the man’s mouth, then whispered. “Quiet. I’m not going to hurt you. I have a gun, but I’m not using it. I’m here to help you. The woman you’re with—she’s not what you think. She’s a professional assassin, and Hawthorne sent her to kill you.”