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“Pete? Are you okay?” I say into the mike.

“All good.” His voice comes down the line. “But stand by. That mad Irish bastard is setting another one off.” A moment later, I hear the faint sound of another explosion and smile darkly.

“You’re clear for now,” Paddy says calmly. “The triad boys are out of action. We’ll get moving, see if anyone is on our tail.”

“Right.” I lean forward over the scooter, willing the fucking thing to go faster, though it’s doing about as much as possible given the insane traffic. “Pete. Did the bar girl give you numbers? Any idea what we’re walking into?”

“No.” He sounds pissed. “Mr. Irish here blew shit up before she started talking.”

“Hotel you’re heading to has three entrances, according to Google,” Paddy says, ignoring the jibe. “It’s on a corner, so one from each road and one from the carpark. Carpark is out. You’ll need a pass to get into it, and it’s underground, so it will cut radio signal.”

I think quickly. “We need to find out what room she’s in without alerting the front desk. Luke, you hit the bellboy. Give him cash and a story, see if you can find out what room she’s in.”

“Copy that.” His answer comes instantly. “The lift upstairs won’t work without a room pass, though.”

We’re approaching a set of lights. “I’ll take the stairs,” I say, “and start searching floor by floor.” We pull up on the red, and I nod at Luke. “The hotel is on the next block. You take the north entrance.”

“Don’t forget to take the keys with you,” Luke says as the lights change and he peels off in the opposite direction. “Theseare top scooters, and they’ll be nicked in a hot minute on these streets. Meet point is Paddy’s apartment if we get split up.”

“Scrap that.” Paddy’s voice comes over the radio. “I’ll make sure we’re not being followed, then give you a meet point.”

“This is your plan?” Pete’s voice is incredulous. “Just walk right in? Seriously? We don’t know what you’re walking into—”

“And there’s no fucking time to find out,” I snap as I pull the scooter up on the sidewalk and kick the stand down, pocketing the keys. “Going in now.”

“Jesus,” I hear Pete mutter.

Yeah, well. Welcome to the shit show, Pete.In my experience, these things never go the way you want them to.

I wince as I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass windows.At least I look like a tourist.

The doors slide open, and I walk in, keeping my head down. Fortunately the front desk is busy, and there are enough people walking in and out to make my entrance unremarkable. I aim for the exit sign at the rear of the foyer, breathing a sigh of relief when the door opens onto a stairwell.

“Sawasdee,” I hear Luke greet the bellboy respectfully in Thai. “I wonder if you might be able to help me find my sister? I can pay. This is what she looks like.” We all have a picture of Abby on our phones. “Her friends think she was roofied in a bar by someone who is staying here,” he says. “I’m so worried about her. Is there any chance you’ve seen her?”

“Um.” The bellboy sounds nervous. “I think maybe you talk to front desk.”

I push open the door to the first floor and walk down the corridor as if I’m supposed to be there, keeping my eyes and ears open. But there aren’t any doors with security standing outside, or the sounds of a struggle from within. It also strikesme as an odd place for a criminal to pick. It’s neither luxurious nor seriously run-down.

It looks like the kind of place accountants would pick for a fucking convention.

“She’s my sister, man.” Luke is still trying to persuade the bellboy, with increasingly large donations, from what I can make out. “I don’t want to give this guy a heads-up that I’m onto him. Here. Let me make it really worth your while.”

I leave the first floor and head to the second, glancing at the emergency fire plan as I go.

“There are twenty-six floors, Luke,” I mutter. “Stop fucking around.”

I step out of the stairwell and see a maid’s cart beside an open room.Bingo.

“Sawasdee.” I smile at her, making the same prayer gesture I saw Paddy make earlier. “I was wondering if you could help me?” I show her Abby’s photo. “It’s my friend’s sister,” I say. “She was drugged in a bar nearby, and we think she was brought here.”

Best to stick to the same story.

“Oh, no!” The maid’s face is a picture of concern. I hand her a roll of notes, and she waves me away, frowning. “No, I don’t want money for this. Yes, I see your friend’s sister, in the elevator. She don’t look good.” She looks at me anxiously, and my heart leaps.

“Where?” I ask hoarsely. “Where is she?”

“Tenth floor. I help you on lift.” The maid leads the way to the elevator and swipes her card, her face creased in concern. “You want I call the police?”