Page 69 of Love Bomb

It didn’t take long to drive to the hotel, or to pick the lock on the guest entrance. The four-pin code, given to guests who wanted to be out after hours, hadn’t changed in years. Bain dutifully tapped it into the alarm panel before heading up the stairs to the small landing over the bar. There were only three doors on the landing—two to the bedrooms and one to the shared bathroom.

Bain banged the bedroom doors then stepped back, folded his arms, and waited.

The first came open in a rush. “What is the meaning of this?” George Dalgliesh demanded. He wore burgundy silk pajamas under a matching robe.

Bain just glared at him and waited for the other door. A few seconds later, Lorna Dalgliesh appeared, dressed in a white silk nightgown and robe.

Nothing but the best for the Dalglieshes.

“What’s going on?” Lorna demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the middle of the night,” George snapped. “I’m calling the owner.”

“Call whoever you want,” Bain said, icy fury in every word.

Lorna’s hand curled into her robe, holding it tight at her throat. “Call the police, George. He’s lost his mind.”

Bain ignored her. “Do you know what I do for a living?” he asked.

They shared a confused look.

Bain didn’t wait for a reply. “I’m an explosives expert.” He took a step toward them and felt a measure of satisfaction when they backed up. “No,” he said. “I am the explosives expert. I’m who they call when other people can’t get the job done. There are explosive formulas out there with my name on them. Specialists call me for advice, and the armed forces beg me to teach them what I know. I am that good.”

At last, George and Lorna started to look more worried than outraged at his appearance.

Bain took another step toward them. “I’m telling you this so you’ll understand what I can do. I can bring down a Las Vegas casino without damaging any of the buildings around it, leaving a pile of rubble so neat it looks like someone arranged it. Or I can plant a small, directed charge that will only take out one pane in a stained-glass window and leave the rest undamaged.”

Lorna swallowed hard, her eyes darting to her ex-husband.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this,” Bain said, his voice low and honed. “But to work with explosives, you have to be detail orientated, methodical, and very, very patient.”

George wet his lips. “Why are you telling us this?” he croaked.

“Because you,” he stared at each of them in turn, “are on my to-do list. I have penciled you in. And when I reach the task with your name on it, I’m coming for you.”

Lorna gasped and staggered further back into her room.

Bain pinned them with his gaze, making them see that he meant every word. Making them feel his conviction. Making them fear.

“You won’t know when it’s coming,” he said. “Or how it will happen. But I can assure you, I will deal with you one day.”

George started to shake.

“It might be a simple car bomb,” Bain mused aloud, “or a beautiful little charge, delivered in an embossed envelope. It could come in the form of a detonator attached to a door you regularly open. Or a volatile liquid hidden in the bottle of perfume you prefer.” He stared at each of them as he casually put his hands in his pockets. “You’ll never see it coming. And no one will ever be able to prove it was me. I am that good at what I do.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Lorna managed to get out. It was the squeak of a mouse, begging the cat who toyed with its life.

“You hurt Rona,” Bain said simply. “You spent years hurting her. And you enjoyed it.”

He turned and started down the stairs.

“You can’t do this to us,” George called, gaining courage as Bain got further away. “I’m calling the police. This is a threat. You threatened us.”

“I have connections,” Lorna added. “You won’t get away with this.”

Bain didn’t bother to reply. They couldn’t touch him, and they would spend the rest of their lives in fear of him. He’d achieved what he’d set out to do—what he should have done years earlier.

It was time to go home to Rona.