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“Enough to make it worth your time and leave you with a good story to tell.”
He considers that.
“Five minutes.”
“Deal.”
He shakes his head. “Fucking Americans.”
I slide the gun under the passenger seat before getting out.
The receptionist sees me before I reach the desk.
She reaches for the phone. “Ms. Calloway?”
At least I still look enough like myself to be recognized.
“I need a new room key.”
Her eyes make one slow trip from my hair to my dress to the blood on my hands.
“I lost mine.”
That appears to be the part of the situation she finds least surprising.
“Should I call the police?”
“No.”
“A doctor?”
“No.”
Her hand stays on the phone.
“Just a room key would be great, thanks.”
She makes one.
When she reaches across the counter, she hesitates before putting it into my hand.
I look down.
Right.
Blood.
I hold out the other one.
It is worse.
She puts the card on the counter.
“Good enough.”
CHAPTER 49
EMMA
