Page 27 of A Touch of Treachery (Section 47 #3)
I turned off the engine and looked at Charlotte. “No matter what happens, all I care about is making sure we both live through this. Just you and me from here on out, Numbers. That’s the most important thing.”
Charlotte’s aura burned a bright, steady blue over her heart, and she grabbed my fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Just you and me, Dundee—no matter what.”
We stared at each other a heartbeat longer, our mutual promise lingering in the air. Then we opened the doors and got out of the sedan.
I grabbed our luggage while Charlotte checked her phone. “Diego is set up in the surveillance van on the other side of the lake, and Gia says that strike teams have been positioned all around the area, ready to move in when we give the signal.”
I fiddled with the sapphire pin in the center of my tie. “Comms check.”
“Comms are live, and the signal is good.” Gia’s voice sounded in my ear. “You two be careful.”
Charlotte snorted. “Sure thing, Mom.”
Gia’s laughter filled my ear.
Charlotte took her suitcase from me, and together we fell in with the stream of people heading toward the far end of the parking lot.
Most were dressed in either expensive winter gear or even more expensive suits, just like Charlotte and I were, while the workers sported puffy green jackets bearing Henrika Hyde’s personal logo: two large, swooping, interlocking H s stitched over their hearts in white thread.
Several folks were taking golf carts to the resort, but Charlotte and I trailed after the people walking across a wide stone bridge. Excited chatter filled the air, along with the pleasant buzz of people’s auras.
“. . . can’t wait to try the new desserts in the restaurant . . .”
“. . . got to win my money back from last year’s casino night . . .”
“. . . can’t believe these idiots are paying to do a polar-bear plunge for charity when they could jump in the lake for free . . .”
Charlotte and I reached the other end of the bridge, where more golf carts were waiting to whisk folks to their destinations.
The sprawling Glittertop Resort was about halfway up the steep slope and overlooked the lake that curved around this side of the mountain like a dark blue crescent moon.
The resort’s hotel was made of gleaming gray stone, dark wood, and acres of glass windows.
Walkways led from the central hotel to similar buildings up and down the mountainside like a spider’s legs jutting out every which way.
Wide, flat terraces had been carved into the slope and featured everything from restaurants to pools to hot tubs with steam that wisped up into the chilly air.
A chairlift churned up the incline, hauling skiers and snowboarders to the top of the mountain, where snow sparkled like a carpet of white diamonds.
According to Section files, the resort used to be a small, family-owned business, until Henrika had swooped in about ten years ago, bought out the family, and spent an obscene amount of money expanding and renovating the guest rooms, ski shops, and more.
Charlotte and I rolled our suitcases up a cobblestone driveway to the nine-story hotel, which glowed like a gray pearl in the late-afternoon sun.
Floor-to-ceiling windows ringed the bottom floor, while crenellated balconies adorned with snarling gargoyles jutted out from the upper levels.
The interlocking double-H logo had been carved into one side of the hotel, stretching up more than three stories.
“Henrika’s not very subtle, is she?” I murmured as we headed toward the entrance.
Charlotte snorted with derision. “If you looked up the word ostentatious in the dictionary, a smiling picture of Henrika would be right next to it.”
Glass doors whooshed open at our approach, and Charlotte and I stepped into the lobby.
The double-H logo stretched across most of the gray marble floor, while more Hs were stamped into the square columns that supported the ceiling.
My steps quickened. I was already tired of seeing that symbol, and I was more than ready to get on with the business of confronting—and killing—Henrika Hyde.
Charlotte and I stepped up to the check-in counter.
“Name, please?” the clerk asked.
“Desmond Macfarlane,” I replied.
Since Henrika was auctioning off her Redburn formula, Gia had decided that I should use my most common alias, Desmond Macfarlane, a paramortal arms dealer who bought, sold, and delivered weapons to shady groups and individuals around the world, as well as used them in his own criminal enterprises.
“And you, miss?” the clerk asked.
“Charlotte Locke,” she replied in a cool voice.
Charlotte had decided not to use an alias, arguing it was pointless since Henrika already knew exactly who we were. I agreed with her logic, but I still found it hard to abandon my undercover identity.
The clerk tapped a few more keys, then looked up and gave us a wide smile. “Ah, yes! Mr. Macfarlane and Ms. Locke.” He practically cooed our names, much friendlier than before. “Ms. Hyde requested that you be put in our most luxurious honeymoon suite.”
“Did she, now?” Charlotte said, her voice even cooler than before. “How thoughtful of her.”
The clerk wilted a little under her icy glower, but he handed us both keycards stamped with the room number.
He snapped his fingers at a nearby bellman, who scurried forward.
“Your luggage will be taken to your suite. You are just in time for the cocktail hour Ms. Hyde is hosting for her special guests.”
Cocktail hour? Murder party was more like it.
The clerk gestured to the right. “Those guards will escort you to the penthouse.”
Two men wearing dark suits stood in front of an elevator tucked into the back corner of the lobby. Each man sported an earbud with a white wire trailing down the back of his neck, and the guns holstered to their belts were clearly visible beneath their open jackets.
The two men were almost as wide as they were tall, with thick, blocky bodies packed with muscle, and bright yellow auras pulsed over their hearts, indicating that they were both paramortals. Enduros, if I had to guess. Henrika seemed to have an endless supply of them.
Charlotte and I handed our luggage off to the bellman, although she kept her purse, which hung off her shoulder.
Then we headed over to the guards. One of the men punched a button with a beefy finger, and the elevator opened with a whisper.
The other guard jerked his thumb, silently ordering us to step inside.
Charlotte and I did as commanded, putting our backs to the wall.
The two guards stepped inside the car, one to the right and one to the left. The first man punched a button, the door slid shut, and the elevator started to rise.
Charlotte and I eyed the two guards, who returned our hostile looks with suspicious stares of their own. The mortal hotel workers might think Charlotte and I were honeymooners, but these two men knew exactly who we were, and they were prepared to attack us—kill us—for the slightest offense.
But nothing happened, and the elevator floated to a stop on the top floor. The door opened, and the two guards backed out, keeping their eyes on us. Charlotte and I followed them.
We stepped into a large foyer. One of the guards gestured toward the open double doors at the far end, and Charlotte and I headed in that direction.
None of us had spoken a word the entire time, and I saw no reason to start now.
These men were just pawns Henrika had set on her game board, and sooner or later, I would knock them down to get to the queen.
Charlotte and I stepped through the double doors into a living room. The instant I crossed the threshold, a strong electrical current swept over my body, making the back of my neck tingle. A faint, high-pitched whine also filled my ears.
Charlotte grimaced and rubbed her temples, as though she had a sudden headache. She’d sensed the electrical field too.
I reached out with my galvanism. My phone still had power, but I was willing to bet the signal was being jammed.
And my comms were completely dead with no current or charge.
The electrical field must have fried the devices.
With no energy in those devices for me to manipulate, I couldn’t make my comms functionable again. Frustration rippled through me.
Henrika had realized we would be wearing comms and cameras, and she’d taken countermeasures to bug-proof the penthouse so that Gia, Joan, Diego, and the General wouldn’t be able to see into her inner sanctum. Section 47 tech was hard to beat, but Henrika had managed it, probably with Bryce’s help.
One of the guards moved over to the right and knocked on a set of closed double doors. A muffled voice told him to enter. The guard twisted the handles and threw the doors open.
Together, Charlotte and I moved forward.
The doors led to a massive library that took up most of the penthouse.
Gold chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling, and thick rugs in shades of gray and green covered the hardwood floor.
Similarly colored leather couches and cushioned chairs were scattered throughout the room.
Stained-glass lamps perched on wooden end tables, casting warm pools of colored light down onto crystal bowls filled with pinecones that perfumed the air with a sharp, tangy scent.
Smaller gray marble versions of the snarling gargoyle statues on the outside of the resort flanked a fireplace, and tables filled with food and drinks were set up in the corner.
A few books perched on the shelves that marched down one wall, but most of the space was taken up by glass cases filled with rings, necklaces, and bracelets that sparkled and shimmered on colored velvet backdrops.
Even some tiaras glittered among the impressive jewelry collection.
A desk holding a laptop, monitor, keyboard, and mouse was situated in front of glass doors that led out to a balcony. A second, even larger desk in the far corner was covered with beakers, burners, test tubes, and other lab equipment, making it look like a mad scientist’s workstation.
Anger flooded my veins, and my fingers clenched into fists. I wanted to charge across the room and smash every single beaker and vial to smithereens. Charlotte sidled closer, as if she knew what I was thinking. I breathed in the cool, soothing blue of her aura and steadied myself.
A man and a woman were speaking in soft voices by the glass doors. They broke off their conversation to look at Charlotte and me.
The man was wearing a navy suit that was almost identical to my own, right down to the paisley-patterned vest. My gaze traced over his familiar features—dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, tan skin, and a white scar that slashed through his left eyebrow and down into his cheek.
Bryce Finkley smirked at me, but I ignored him and focused on his boss.
The woman was in her mid-forties, about ten years older than Charlotte and me, and her wide, satisfied smile mirrored Bryce’s smirk. Her light brown hair had been pulled up into a high bun, with a couple of pieces left loose to frame her face and draw attention to her pale, luminous skin.
The woman’s dark green turtleneck sweater accentuated the matching color of her eyes, while her pants were a lighter mint green.
An old-fashioned gold skeleton key with a square emerald set into the hilt hung from a thick braided gold chain around her neck, as though she was the keeper of a castle.
Despite her elegant facade, black flecks swirled through her dark green aura, indicating just how dangerous she was.
We’d finally reached the venomous spider in the center of this gilded web: Henrika Hyde.