Page 4 of Slumming It

When the phone kept ringing, I let out a low curse.Do Not Disturb. I'd requested it for a reason.

With a grunt of annoyance, I looked away.Let it ring.

Wrong number, right number, I didn't care. Maybe the hotel had voicemail. Maybe it didn't.

Either way, not my problem.

I was here on the sly and planned to keep it that way, so instead of answering, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell. When the intrusive ringing finally stopped, I scrolled to my favorites and hit the number-one spot.

Slade answered on the third ring. "Yeah?"

"You called?"

"Sure, yesterday." His voice hardened. "Took you long enough."

Slade was my brother – not by blood, but the next closest thing. "Quit your bitching," I told him. "You sound like Rita."

He didn't.And he damn well knew it. But this was Slade. Nothing fazed him – not my moods and not a little ribbing when he had it coming, which he did now, considering that I had been clear up-front.Any updates would come when I was good and ready.

On the phone, Slade replied, "Andyousound pissed."

Pissed.He didn't mean drunk. He meant pissed off. Angry. Annoyed. No booze required. But if Iwaspissed off, this shouldn’t have been a surprise.

When I said nothing in reply, Slade asked, "So what's it like?"

I looked around, taking in the thread-bare carpet and faded wallpaper – some floral pattern with twisted vines. My eyebrows furrowed.Fucking wallpaper.I hadn't seenthatsince the moth-eaten resort we'd renovated in Reno.

I told Slade, "The place is a dump."

"The town or the hotel?"

I gave it some thought. "The town's alright." I leaned back on the bed, making the bedsprings creak as I settled against the headboard. "But the hotel – it's a fucking shithole."

For some reason, this made him chuckle. "Hey,you'rethe one who wanted to stay there."

True.But I had my reasons, which no one needed to hear. "Yeah, well, we've all gotta slum it sometime, right?"

"You?" He made a scoffing sound. "You haven't slummed it since Sentry Street."

Sentry Street – nowthathad been a shithole, a fact that all of my brothers knew firsthand. "Andyouhave?"

"No. That's the point." His tone became serious. "So, what aren't you telling us?"

I stiffened, not liking the question – or the answer, assuming I wanted to give one, which I didn't. Still, I kept my voice level as I replied, "Nothing you need to know."This was no lie.I wouldcut off my own arm before betraying my brothers, but there were some things that were best left unsaid.

"Fuck needing," Slade said. "Let's call it wanting – as in, we want to know what the fuck you're doing in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere."

Fuck.

Yeah, I could say it, too. But I didn't.

By "we," Slade meant himself and our two other brothers. The four of us had come a long way since Sentry Street. Back then, we'd had no money, no clout, and no team of experts eager to do our bidding. But there were some things a guy didn't farm out, and this was one of them.

I replied, "I'm doing research, like I told you last week."

"And like I toldyou, that's what we pay people for."

I shrugged against the headboard. "Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to do it myself."