Page 43 of Destroyed With You

Beside him, Linda bit back a laugh, then reached for his hand. Their fingers brushed, and then she looked down. Her lips parted, and she mouthed, “Sorry,” before tugging her fingers back.

He nodded like it was no big deal, but it was. One simple, unthinking touch, and it brought back a flood of longing so intense it felt like a physical weight bearing down on him.

To cover, he reached for the water bottle in the console, then took a long sip as he scoped out the area. They were on Highway 71 now, almost to the exit for the airport. As far as he was concerned, they couldn’t get there fast enough. He wanted out of this car. Needed to be moving and working. At the very least, he needed just a hint of space between them. Because while his head might be fully with the we’re-just-working-together pact, his body craved a full reconciliation. Or maybe just closure.

Hell, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he still wanted her. And damned if that wasn’t distracting as hell.

“No luck,” Emma said, the words a welcome interruption to his jumbled thoughts. “Not on any flight that’s departed in the last few hours. Checking reservations … nothing … nothing. And—oh. Here we go. Thomas Bartlett. Departing tomorrow morning. First flight on Southwest to Dallas. Probably going to connect from there, but I don’t see another reservation.”

“That’s good enough,” Winston said.

“Can you check the airport hotel?” Linda asked. “We know he’s there right now, but the tracker can’t narrow it down to a room.”

“Hang on … yeah,” she said after a long pause and the clicking of keys. “Room 512. I’d hack in and send you a key code, but that’s above my pay grade. Want me to get Denny or Mario on it?”

“No,” Winston said, hating the word. Denny Walker and Mario Lombard were probably the best hackers in the business, and he trusted them both completely. But this had to stay contained, and, dammit, he couldn’t take the chance that they were too close with Seagrave.

“We’ll handle it on this end,” he said as Linda took the exit for the airport, then made the next quick turn toward the hotel.

The airport had been converted from a former Air Force base, and the main administration building had been repurposed as a hotel. The place was round, reminding Winston of a coliseum, and he hoped that wasn’t a portent that they’d be on public display or end up locked in combat with the world looking on. They let the valet take the car, then hurried inside.

“Keep an eye out,” Linda said as they headed toward the elevator bank. “He could be in the bar.”

They saw no sign of him in the bar or the main open area, though, and as soon as they arrived at the fifth floor, they followed the curving perimeter toward Bartlett’s room, passing a maid’s cart on the way.

When they reached 512, Linda kept her weapon in one hand and pressed the forefinger of her other over the peephole before knocking. “Housekeeping,” she called, her voice pitched so high Winston wasn’t sure he’d have been able to identify her with his eyes closed.

Hopefully, neither would Tommy Bartlett.

He waited beside the door, his gun ready. Except the door never opened.

“Hiding or not in there?” Linda whispered.

“We’ll find out.” Winston answered with an equally low voice, before raising it. “Dammit, sweetheart, I asked if you had the key before we left the fucking room. If I have to go all the way down to the lobby because you were too empty-headed to—”

“No,” she said, her voice shaky as she played along. “Baby, it’s okay. I’ll get us in. I saw a maid right back there.”

She scurried that direction as Winston paced and scowled for anyone who might be watching on video. Hopefully Linda’s acting skills would suffice. If not, he assumed her pickpocketing skills would fill the slack.

Apparently acting won out, as she returned with the maid. He could see that her eyes were red and damp when they approached the door, and she offered him a thin smile and an even thinner voice as she said, “See, honey. I told you we’d get back in.”

He huffed, then waved toward the door. “Well, go on then.”

The maid hurried to unlock the door, and as he pushed inside, Linda offered a flurry of thank-yous to the woman.

The door fell closed behind them with a definitive click.

“You make a very convincing asshole,” she said, after they’d both swept the room and re-holstered their guns.

“Might be in the bar,” Winston said. “We know he’s in the hotel. Or at least we know the tracker is,” he added.

“I was just thinking that,” she said, then looked in the closet. “Empty.”

“Bathroom.” He brushed past her to check. Sure enough, the coat was hanging behind the door.

“Maybe he did go down to the bar,” Linda said. “We could have missed him. Or he picked someone up, and he’s in her room.”

“Could be,” Winston said as he stuck his hand in the jacket pocket. He grimaced, then pulled out the contents—the tracker and a piece of paper. He winced as he skimmed the scrawled words.