He swiped their room’s card key, shoved open the door, and pushed Brynn through. In their haste, she stumbled over his boots. “Rye? What?”
“Cop.”
They ran down the long hallway, Rye frequently checking behind them, fully expecting to see officers in pursuit. But they made it to the end of the hall and out of sight around the corner. He bypassed the elevator and hustled Brynn through the door to the fire stairs.
She ran up them ahead of him, but with his hand at the small of her back, urging her onward. Over her shoulder, she said, “Maybe we should hide somewhere on the ground level until we can get back to the car.”
“Can’t leave my bag.”
They reached the seventh floor. Rye cautiously opened the door. In both directions, the corridor was empty. He motioned Brynn through. They jogged toward their room.
When they got to it, Rye moved Brynn aside, went down on one knee and checked to see that the thread he’d pulled from the hem of the bedspread was still stuck between the door and the jamb. It was. He unlocked the door. Brynn rushed into the room. Rye checked the hallway once again, f
ollowed her in, and bolted the door.
“The thread?”
“I saw it in a movie,” he said.
“As we left, you sent me ahead to hold the elevator.”
“That’s what I was doing. Good thing. Because as least we know no one has been inside the room.” They’d left only the bathroom light on. “Don’t turn on any more lights,” he told Brynn as he checked the floor of the closet to make certain his flight bag was as he’d left it.
Then he moved to the window and peered through the crack between the wall and the edge of the drape. “Christ! Only one person, no one riding shotgun, but he’s parked at the end of a row. Lights off. No exhaust from the tailpipe.”
“Just sitting there?”
“Just sitting there.”
“Maybe he has nothing to do with us.”
“Maybe.”
“It could be hotel security.”
“Maybe.”
“Dammit, Rye. Say something besides maybe.”
“Well, sorry. That’s the only answer I have at the moment. I don’t know what he’s doing there. What I do know is that he’s got an unrestricted view of that side door.”
She looked at the clock. “I should be on the road.”
He absently acknowledged that as he assessed their predicament. “You can’t get through that exit and to Wes’s car without him seeing you. Do you want to chance it?”
“There’s no ‘or’?”
“Or you go through the lobby, out the front, flank him, and sneak around to the car.”
“He may still see me.”
“Another ‘or’ is to give it a while, see if he leaves. He could be taking a coffee break, and just chose that spot.”
She gave it a moment’s thought. “That’s logical, isn’t it? If he’d seen us, recognized us, he would have chased after us, wouldn’t he?”
“Not necessarily. He could have called it in and is waiting for instructions on how to proceed, or for backup.”
“Backup for us? We’re not public enemies number one and two.”