Page 16 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

Sneaking into the hotel elevator, I put on my gloves and pressed button four, the floor below the penthouse.

A keycard was needed for the private penthouse elevator. Realistically, I needed an escape plan that didn’t involve being potentially trapped like a rat, but I’d swiped a master keycard from one of the housekeepers earlier, just in case.

When the elevator opened its doors on the fourth floor, I slid into the hallway and paused, listening. All clear. Approaching a hotel room at the front of the property, I knocked once and waited. No answer; bingo. The hall remained empty, so I swiped the keycard and entered the room, closing the door behind me.

I slipped through the French doors and onto the large balcony. Taking out my rope and fold-up plastic grappling hook, I manoeuvred myself onto the stainless and glass balustrade and tossed the hook, which caught neatly on the upper railing. Peeking over the edge to ensure the coast was clear, I hoisted myself up the rope, climbed over the railing, and jumped, landing softly on the balls of my feet to absorb the impact.

I quickly reeled in the rope and tucked it, along with the grappling hook, behind a large planter, to retrieve later. The penthouse terrace was vast and stunning; the panorama was breathtaking, and as the sun caressed my skin, the briny air tickled my senses.

I made my way to the floor-to-ceiling glass, passing sumptuous cream outdoor furniture, a firepit, a pergola, and an outdoor bar, all arranged in deliberate opulence. Picking the lock on the French doors, I eased them open just enough to slip inside. Silence.

‘Damn, this place is something else,’ I whispered, taking in the open-concept living and dining area. The rich palette of materials, colours, and textures throughout the space created a feeling of serenity and a luxurious ambience, with pale wood floors, lush rugs, and swanky-looking furniture. The space oozed wealth and tranquillity.

‘Now to find the bathroom,’ I whispered to myself, and somewhere to stash the dagger and the helmet. I made my way towards one of the numerous doors off the living space. I stopped, suddenly, when I heard a voice. I inched towards one of the doors, which stood ajar, and peeked inside.

Soft light illuminated the tall, well-built man who wore a wetsuit turned down to his waist. He stood with his back to me, a phone pressed to his ear, and a shock of butterflies ripped through my stomach as I drank in the delicious display of back muscles, tattoos, and the way the wetsuit hugged his toned ass.

When he turned around, my pulse raced, wild with want, and heat spread like quicksilver through my body, settling between my thighs. I feasted my eyes on Si Thalassa—on the delectable display of pecs, ink, and washboard abs. He was defined in all the right places. Gods, he was delightful. My tongue almost stuck to the roof of my mouth as my gaze travelled down—the tight wetsuit defined his powerful thighs, putting a very large bulge on display. I stared at that bulge like a total goober. I might have been dribbling… I wasn’t sure.

‘Fine. Make sure it’s there before 3 p.m. latest,’ he said as he hung up the phone and tossed it on his nightstand. My heart stuttered as he turned and walked towards me, and as he passed, he hesitated and raised his nose to the air. A kernel of panic took root—my breath catching in my chest as I froze—until he shook his head and headed to the elevator, disappearing behind the closing doors.

Holy shit.

I tried to calm my rapid breathing and gripped the doorframe to steady myself. My heart beat thundered in my ears. I’d never been this spooked on a job. Something about this one was off; deeply off.

But I had to complete the contract. There was no other choice.

I located the en-suite and tucked the helmet and dagger in a linen cupboard behind a slew of folded towels. Once stashed, I risked the private elevator, slid in the master keycard, and I jabbed “B”. The car glided smoothly down. I needed to find the service lift—the safest way to move through the hotel unnoticed.

I skulked my way into the back-of-the-house area, ducking into a storage cupboard when two chattering housekeepers passed by. Opening the door a crack, I waited for their footsteps to fade, then slipped out and jogged to the service elevator.

I pressed “Garage.” Luck was holding… for now.

When the doors slid open, I stepped into the dim underground parking garage, and melted into the gloom, out of the cameras’ line of sight. By the time anyone bothered with the footage, I planned to be gone.

The security doors opened, and a sleek Bentley rolled in. The valet parked it with practiced ease, then pressed the “down” button on a fob to lower the security doors. He placed the key on the numbered wall board before heading to the elevator. I stayed crouched until the coast looked clear.

Perfect.

Earlier, I’d pickpocketed a fob from another valet while he was busy dealing with luggage. I’d need it later to exit the garage cleanly.

An innocuous, attractive female can get away with murder… literally.

I spotted the car I wanted, an Audi A8. Sleek, low-profile, and boring enough to vanish in traffic. Pulling a screwdriver from my backpack, I removed its registration plate, then walked over to a Mercedes S-Class and did the same. Switching them took under a minute. Hopefully the Audi’s owner didn’t need it back before nightfall.

One more thing handled.

I blew out a steadying breath and headed for the stairwell. The security doors here had digital locks, but they were low-grade. A little tension on the handle and a few strategic presses revealed the four used digits. It took me less than twenty seconds to crack the first one. Up the stairs to the next floor. Another digital lock; same trick. Then I was moving again, climbing steadily until I reached my floor.

I opened the stairwell door and ran a hand through my hair as I nodded to an older couple strolling by—they smiled warmly, and I returned it with a polite curve of my lips.

Once in my room, I closed the door behind me and sagged against it, head falling back, eyes shut. The feeling of dread persisted, tiptoeing down my spine like cold fingers tracing bone. I checked my watch: 2.45 p.m. I had time for a stiff drink, so I grabbed my sunglasses and a baseball cap, turned on my heels, and went to the bar downstairs; I needed some liquid courage, my nerves were frayed.

Sliding onto a high barstool, I caught the bartender’s eye. He was unfairly attractive. Of course he was.

No time for that, Cordie, my inner whiny bitch scolded. Button it, you, I snapped back.

‘An Old Fashioned, please.’ I smiled primly at the hunk before me.