From Manhattan With Revenge Boxed Set (12 page)

Where are you?
she wondered.

“The bathroom is through there,” he said.
 
“You’ll find a robe and toiletries.
 
Extra pillows are in this closet.
 
I also comped you on room service, so if
you’re hungry in the morning, indulge yourself.
 
Get the blinis with caviar.
 
You won’t regret it.”

“You’re very kind,” she said.

“It was my pleasure, Carmen.”

“Would you like a drink?
 
I’m sure there’s something in the fridge.”
 
She went to the small refrigerator that
was tucked beneath the work desk and opened it.
 
“And there is.
 
They have everything.
 
Would you care to join me?
 
Vodka?”

He walked over to the door and put his hand on the
doorknob.
 
“I should be leaving.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.
 
“You’ve probably been on your feet for hours.”
 
She smiled as she crossed the distance
between them.
 
She looked into his
blue eyes and was about to shake his hand when she reached up, grabbed each
side of his head and jerked it so sharply, his neck broke.

There was no struggle.
 
Just surprise in his eyes before they became dilated with death.
 
He slumped forward and fell hard at her
feet.
 
His legs quivered for a
moment, a rush of air escaped his lungs and then he went still.

She looked down at him.
 
“I never told you my name, Jon, so they must have told you.
 
And that means they also know where I
am.”
 
She shook her head at
him.
 
“What a waste.
 
Are they waiting for you
downstairs?
 
Of course, they are.
 
I bet they’re waiting for you to return
so you can bring them up here.
 
Then
you’d be expecting the rest of the money they promised you.
 
That’s where you weren’t thinking.
 
You’ve seen their faces.
 
Already, you know too much.
 
They would have killed you even if I
hadn’t.
 
Then they’d leave here with
me.”
 

She put her hand in her coat pocket, felt the Glock and edged
open the door.
 
No one in the
hallway.
 
The service elevators were
straight ahead of her, but they were at the opposite end of the hall.

She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she needed to leave before
they came on their own.
 
She pulled
Jon’s keys out of his pants pocket, left the room and started moving quickly
toward the elevators, listening for any sign of one coming her way.
 
On one level, she wished that was the
case.
 
That way, she could take the
stairs, bypass them and grab another elevator on another floor.
 

But they were waiting for him.
 
They needed him—at least for
now.
 
How long would they wait
before they decided something was wrong?
 
Ten minutes?
 
Fifteen?
 
If she were them, that’s how long she’d
wait.
 
Then she’d worry.
 
Then she’d act.

At the service elevator they exited earlier, she tried three
keys on his keychain before she found the correct one, turned it in the lock
and was able to press the down button.
 
The doors slid open, suggesting that no one had used the elevator since
they left it.
 
She stepped inside
and pressed “K” for kitchen.
 
The
elevator plunged.
 

She tried to still her nerves, but it was difficult.
 
How would she get out of here?
 
Some of them would be waiting in the bar
area while others would be guarding the building’s exits.
 
She looked up at the dial and her mind
raced while the floors sped by.
 
Soon, she’d be next to a room filled with kitchen staff.
 
If they saw her, they wouldn’t just
question why she was there again.
 
They’d also want to know why she wasn’t with Jon.
 
What would she say if someone asked?
 
Worse, because Jon had escorted her so
quickly through the kitchen, her scan of the place was too brief to see if
there were any cameras tucked in the corners.
 
She didn’t know if she was about to be
on surveillance or not, but if there were cameras in the kitchen and depending
on where they were located, she could be.

The elevator slowed.
 
The doors slid open to the sounds of talking, laughter, the clatter of
trays and the clinking of glassware and silverware.
 
With the bar and restaurant closed, the
atmosphere was more relaxed than it was before.
 
The evening was winding down.
 

She looked up at the ceiling for a camera, but there was
none.
 
At least not here.
 
The kitchen was something all together
different.
 
She knew there were
cameras in there somewhere.
 
There
had to be.
 
The moment she entered
that kitchen to escape, she would be recorded as she tried to leave unnoticed.
 
Not that it mattered much.
 
She walked through the kitchen
earlier.
 
They already had her on
tape.

She looked left, saw her first obstacle, and also noted how
fleeting her anonymity would be.

The doors to the service elevators were now open.
 
The interior room was no longer private.

A man standing at a stainless steel table with a butcher knife
in his hand looked up at her.
 
Medium height.
 
Blondish
hair.
 
Maybe forty.
 
On the muscular side.
 

In spite of the kitchen noise, he must have heard the elevator
doors slide open.
 
He was wearing a
white uniform spattered with blood.
 
The ends of the sleeves were wet with it.
 
On his head was a tall chef’s hat.
 
It was pristine in ways that the rest of
him wasn’t.
 

On the table were several long tubes of whole filets encased in
plastic wrap.
 
To his left were
stacks of freshly cut steaks, unwrapped.
 
Earlier, when Jon led her through the kitchen, she hadn’t noticed him,
so it was unlikely that he had any context of who she was or that Jon had
called out to the group that she was his girlfriend and that he was helping
her.

Their eyes met.
 
There was a moment when it appeared that he was going to put the knife
down on the table.
 
But he
didn’t.
 
This was Manhattan, after
all.
 
To him, she was an intruder,
someone who had no business being here.
 
So, why was she here?
 
And
how did she get inside that elevator without the required key?

He came around the table with the knife at his side and a
questioning look on his face.
 

She stepped out of the elevator and moved into the interior
room.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

She put a finger to her lips, removed the Glock from her coat
pocket and pointed it at him.
 
“Maybe,” she said.
 
“Let’s
find out.”

CHAPTER FI
VE

She motioned for him to come inside the room.
 
For a moment, he didn’t move.
 
Then he took a long look at that gun and
decided that he better.
 

Carmen stepped back to minimize the chance of being seen by
others.
 
“Back here,” she said.
 
“With me.”

He moved closer.

“If you cooperate, I won’t kill you.
 
If you do something stupid, I’ll take
everyone out.”
 
She nodded at the
butcher knife.
 
“Put it down.”

He hesitated, but then did as he was told.
 
He put it down on one of the empty carts
next to him.

She looked beyond him into the kitchen.
 
It was only a matter of time before
someone walked over and spotted them.

Move.

“I need a jacket like yours,” she said.
 
“Not clean.
 
Filthy.
 
And I’ll need a hat.
 
Can you find something that will fit
me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“There’s a laundry chute in the locker room.
 
At the end of our shifts, we drop our
whites into it.”

“Then step into the elevator.
 
I’ll have to use what you’re wearing.”

Here, just off the kitchen, a key wasn’t necessary to open the
elevator doors, so she pressed a button.
 
The doors beside her slid open.
 
She cocked her head toward the empty elevator and he stepped
inside.
 
She put her foot in front
of the right door to block them from closing while keeping her gun trained on
him.
 

He took off his chef’s hat, then started to unbutton his
jacket, which went just above his knees.
 
“It’s too large for you,” he said.

“I’m not going for couture.”

That stopped him and he looked at her with new eyes.
 
For him, humor was unexpected in a
situation such as this, but then he didn’t know Carmen or how she viewed the
world.

She started to twist her hair into a chignon, which was
difficult considering she was holding a loaded gun.
 
Still, she’d done it before and she did
it now.
 
It wasn’t exactly as neat
as her mother taught her when Carmen was a teen in Spain, but in this situation,
it would do.

He handed her the jacket, which had the coppery scent of blood
on it.
 
“I assume you want the hat?”
he asked.

“I do.”

He gave it to her.
 

“Step back,” she said.

He did and she slipped into the jacket.
 
It was huge on her, but she didn’t plan
on being seen long in it.
 
With the
gun in her hand, she struggled with the buttons while also keeping an eye on
him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“Don’t talk.”

“It’s a simple question.”

If she told him, it might keep him quiet for another minute,
which is all she needed.
 
“There are
people here who want to kill me.
 
I
need a disguise that will get me out of here.
 
This is as good as it gets.”

“Who wants to kill you?”

“Does it matter?”
 

She put the hat on top of her head, but it was too big.
 
The bonus?
 
It was made of paper.
 
She took it off, folded a section in the
back and ran her bloody sleeve inside the crease.
 
She pressed down and held it for a
minute to make sure it would stick.
 
It did, but for how long?
 
Blood was like glue, especially when it started to congeal.
 
She felt it might work, but who
knew?
 
There was no certainty in
situations such as this.
 
Gently,
she put the hat back on her head and this time, it fit.

“I might be able to help you,” he said.

“I had a similar offer tonight.
 
Didn’t work out.”
 

“Look, if someone here is trying to kill you—”

She stepped forward and swung her gun at him in an arc that was
so swift, it connected the butt of her gun against the side of his temple
before he knew what hit him.

She could have killed him, but she didn’t want to.
 
Unlike Jon, he’d done nothing to betray
her.
 
He’d be able to identify her,
but so would the hotel’s security cameras, which were worse because of the hard
evidence they offered.
 
Even though
she hadn’t seen any cameras, that meant nothing.
 
She knew that somewhere during her time
here, she’d been captured by them.
 

She reached out and caught him as he fell.
 
She hit him just hard enough to knock
him unconscious.
 
She leaned him
against the corner of the elevator.
 

“You’ll be all right,” she said.
 
“Take a Tylenol when you wake up.
 
Maybe three.
 
And thanks for not making a scene.
 
Most would have.”

She turned to the panel behind her and pressed the button that
would take him to the forty-seventh floor.
 
She stepped out as the doors slid shut, she heard the elevator lift and
then she turned her attention to the kitchen.
 

*
 
*
 
*

There was only one way out and it was through the service
entrance.
 
Would they be waiting for
her there?
 
Absolutely.
 
But they didn’t know when she’d come
through the door, which gave her the edge.
 

So did the bloody chef’s jacket and hat she was wearing.
 
They wouldn’t be expecting her in either
of them.
 
The disguise might buy her
time, but it wouldn’t buy her much.
 
It would take a moment for it to register, but after a moment, they’d
recognize her face.
 
And when they
did, they’d act.
 
She didn’t know
what their orders were.
 
Shoot her
right there?
 
Bring her in?
 
She had a feeling it was the
latter.
 
Katzev would want his say
for her part in killing Laurent—if that even was what this was about.

She needed something more.
 
Something that would shake them and distract them.

What she considered was risky, but it might work.
 
She pulled out her cell, which was no
ordinary cell.
 
It was a satellite
phone, which looked like a cell, only with a thick antenna on top of it.
 
With it, nobody could trace her.
 
She dialed 911 knowing that.
 

The line rang once.
 
When the dispatcher came on the line, Carmen saw another
opportunity.
 
She entered the kitchen
with the phone concealing the left side of her face and walked straight across
to the double set of doors that led to the stairwell and ultimately to the
service entrance.
 
People along the
periphery.
 
Her step was relaxed,
not rushed.
 
Nobody stopped
her.
 
Nobody said anything.

But the dispatcher was talking.

“What’s your emergency?” the woman repeated.

Carmen waited for the doors to swing shut behind her before she
descended the stairs and told her about the tragedy she’d just come upon.

*
 
*
 
*

At the base of the stairs was the door Jon told her about
earlier.
 
It was bolted shut, but
she had his keys.
 
After several
tries, she found the right one and then waited for the sound of sirens to
arrive outside.
 

It took five minutes and when they came, they arrived in
force.
 
As she knew they would.
 
She did, after all, call in a triple
homicide.

She told the dispatcher that there were multiple stabbings on
the sidewalk between St. Bartholomew’s Church on Park and 50th Street.
 
“You’ll find them on 50th,” she said
breathlessly to the dispatcher.
 
“Right across the street from the Waldorf.
 
Three people on the sidewalk.
 
I think they were robbed.
 
One might still be alive.
 
Please, hurry!”

She waited until she was sure the police were there and then
she unlocked the door and stepped out.

It was still raining.

The night sky was alive with the sound of sirens and the rapid
movement of flashing lights.
 
People
were gathering.
 
Some—the
cops—were shouting.

Ahead of her, on the sidewalk, were two hulking men.
 
Both in black.
 
She looked left and right.
 
Saw cops checking the street.
 
Saw bellhops and valet drivers watching
the action.
 
Saw one of the two
brutes turn to look at her.
 
Dismiss
her.
 
Then turn to look at her
again.
 
She saw him nudge his
partner’s arm as she walked to the street, which now was clogged with
traffic.
 
A cop was preventing any
movement from going forward.
 
This
was a potential crime scene.
 
Another cop was on Park, where the traffic was moving.

She started to walk toward him.
 

The two men watched her.
 
Her hand was on her Glock.
 
Her heart hammered in her chest, not so much out of fear but because of
the thrill of knowing that she had outwitted them.
 

As she walked near them, she looked at each of them.
 
Recognized one of them from a job she
did years ago, though she couldn’t remember his name.
 
She saw the anger on their faces.
 
The resentment of what she’d created.
 
They knew she set this up.
 
It was as clear as the lights strobing
across their pissed-off faces.

“Tell Katzev to fuck off,” she said to the one she
recognized.
 
“And then tell him to
watch his back.”

“You’re going to die, Carmen.”

“You think so?”

“Just a matter of time.”

She walked past them.
 
Heard the rain tap against her hat.
 
Wondered if they’d make a move.
 
Wondered if this was it.
 
Without Alex in her life, a part of her didn’t care if her time was
up.
 
A part of her would be happy to
be nailed in the back of the head and go straight into the darkness where Alex
would greet her.
 
She missed him
that much.
 
More than anything, she
wanted to be with him again.
 
But
because of what happened to him, a larger part of her wanted very much to stay
alive and do what she’d set out to do.
 
She returned to Manhattan for revenge.
 
She planned to make them pay for what
they did to him.
 
And to her.

“I guess that’s true for each of us,” she said over her
shoulder.
 
“Katzev is cleaning
house.
 
You two might be next.
 
I’d give some thought to that if I were
you.”

“You won’t make it, Carmen.”

“Knowing Katzev, you might not either.
 
But look at me.
 
Keep your eyes on my ass, boys.
 
I’m walking away from you right now.”