Page 102 of When He Plays

The elevator kept rising.

“He said…switching me for her…that was the plan.”

“The fuck it is.” Logan’s rage seemed to fill the entire elevator.

Fourteen.

The elevator dinged. The doors parted too slowly, and, as soon as she could, Charlotte barreled out. The fourteenth floor appeared empty, and Charlotte didn’t hesitate as she ran to room 1408. The thick carpeting muffled her footsteps. Logan’s footsteps. Jamar’s footsteps.

When she reached the door to 1408, her left fist pounded into the wood. “Police!” Okay, fine, so she wasn’t the police. Not like you shouted CIA! Charlotte sucked in a deep breath before shouting, “Open up!” She tried to shove open the door.

Locked. How unsurprising.

“Police!” Charlotte yelled again. Oh, screw it. “You wanted me here!” she called as loudly as she could. “I’m here! Open up!”

The door to room 1410 opened. A man in a half-buttoned dress shirt and brown trousers gaped at her. “Lady⁠—”

“Go back in,” Jamar ordered him, voice sharp. “Now.”

The man went back in. His door slammed closed.

But the door to room 1408 still didn’t open.

“I bet Pierre has the key on him,” Jamar noted as his arm brushed Charlotte’s shoulder. “We need to haul him up here and get him to open the door. Or I can just take the damn key from him. Want to call your new marshal friend and have him take the key?”

“We’re not wasting time on that. Back up,” Logan’s curt order.

She backed up. So did Jamar, though her partner frowned. “What is the plan here?” Jamar inquired.

“It’s for us to get in this damn room.” Logan kicked the door, right near the lock. “I’m not a cop. Not a marshal. Not an agent of any kind. Well, I suppose I’m a free agent.” He kicked the lock again, harder. “That means I don’t care about a freaking warrant or following rules.” Another kick. The wood splintered. “I know the owner of the hotel, and I know these locks have a weak spot. So just back up, would you, sweetheart? And I’ll get you in this room.”

She backed up.

He kicked harder.

He got her in that room. The door flew open, banged against the wall, and she rushed inside with her weapon drawn. “Put your hands up!” An automatic order from her as she ran inside. “We are⁠—”

Her words stopped. She stopped. For a moment, Charlotte just froze at the sight before her.

Because the blood was everywhere.

Evelyn Marteen sprawled on the bed, fully dressed, but with her throat cut. Nearly from ear to ear.

The. Blood. Was. Everywhere.

Jamar bumped into Charlotte’s side.

Charlotte shook her head, breaking out of her stupor, and surged forward. She flew toward the bed. The fingers of her left hand automatically went to Evelyn’s throat. To what remained of it. But…

No pulse.

Her throat is cut open, so much blood, so much damage.

“Bathroom is clear. Closet clear. The bastard is gone.” Jamar’s furious words were followed by his fist slamming into the wall. “Dammit to hell!” He slapped his gun on the nightstand and yanked out his phone. With the phone at his ear, he barked, “We’ve got a vic in room 1408. The perp is loose and on the move. Get full access to every video camera in the hotel. She’s…”

“She’s still warm,” Charlotte said as her gaze remained on the woman in that bed.

They’d found Evelyn. But Evelyn wasn’t going to be able to tell them who’d sent her to Harper’s room with that bottle of champagne. The killer had just made certain that Evelyn Marteen would never tell anyone else anything.