Page 135

Story: Love Loathe Devotion

Her smile falters. “I—sir, I can’t—unless there’s an emergency, or the authorities are—”

Nico steps forward before she finishes.

Calm. Measured. Deadly.

“Move.”

Her eyes go wide as he comes around the desk, all six-foot-something of cold precision. She stammers something as he brushes her aside with as much care as he might give a lamp.

“You can’t go in there! Sir, you can’t—!”

But he’s already past the door, disappearing behind a wall marked Staff Only.

I follow, fast.

We push into a small hallway, then into the security room—walls lined with monitors, screens flickering in grainy black-and-white.

A guard stands from his seat, wide-eyed. “Hey, what the hell—?”

Nico draws a weapon from inside his jacket. Not a threat. Not a flourish. Just quiet, efficient steel. The barrel rests against the side of the man’s neck.

“Sit down,” Nico says. “Pull up this morning’s entries. Access logs. Card swipes. Show me Randy Calhoun’s room.”

The guard is already trembling, hands flying over the keyboard. “O-okay, okay—”

I pace behind them, fists clenched, pulse thrumming like a war drum in my ears.

I can feel her.

She’s here. I know it.

“Got it,” the guard blurts. “He used a staff-access key—VIP clearance—about 8:27 a.m. Room 1807. Elevator logs confirm it.”

“Name?” Nico demands.

“Guest record shows it’s in the name of Jay Rhodes. But Calhoun swiped in with that card.”

Nico jerks his chin toward the screen. “Lock the elevators. Disable the keycard. Now.”

The guard stares.

“Now.”

The guard scrambles to obey, sweat pouring down his face, especially when Nico grabs his security badge and I.D.

“I would highly suggest you don’t call the police, Gerry Loomus, because if you cause me problems youwillregret it.”

The guard nods, as if sensing Nico is some other kind of predator that normally only works inside the shadows, rarely venturing out into the daylight.

I’m already turning, heart crashing in my chest.

Room 1807.

Laney. I’m coming.

Room 1807.

I repeat it over and over like a prayer. A curse. A goddamn war cry.