Under normal circumstances, this would not have been strange. But the Secret Service eschewed housekeeping services because number one, it was a breach in security, and number two, by their very nature they were a private, reclusive lot. And given both of those factors, upon arrival they’d made it abundantly clear to the hotel that there was to be no staff allowed on floor twenty-three.
And, okay, was it conceivable the maid had not been informed of that particular protocol? Hello? Of course, it was. Mistakes were always a possibility when the human factor was involved. But what were the odds she just happened to stumble onto their floor the one time all of them had been on duty while Abby gave her speech?
Most definitely slim to none, Penni figured. And Dan had wholeheartedly agreed. When they showed the footage to the hotel manager, and after yet another call from the U.S. State Department, the blubbering maid had been handed over to them, apron, wheeled cart, and all.
So here she was. The culprit. The fiend. The monster. This small, slightly pudgy, middle-aged woman with her hair twisted up in a bun was the whole reason Penni could barely breathe for the crush of sorrow and guilt. This weeping, wailing, dark-skinned stranger had taken the lives of Penni’s friends and colleagues with nothing more than a universal room key, a set of cheap timers, a few pounds of accelerant and shrapnel, and some duct tape. Uh-huh, Penni had taken a peek at what remained of the incendiary devices, and though she was no expert, she could tell they’d been rudimentary.
And effective…just as Dan had said. Mad, mad effective. Christ on the cross!
“Tell me!” Dan demanded again.
The woman just sat there bawling her eyes out and shaking her head.
“Check her cart,” Dan grumbled, tipping his chin toward the wheeled contraption. “Maybe there’s something in there that’ll help loosen her tongue.”
Penni figured that fell under the heading of Yeah, right. “Dollars to doughnuts she was smart enough to clean out any evidence before she started today’s shift,” she said. Then, “But what the hey, it’s worth a try.”
Standing, she walked to the cart. Ignoring the weighty lethargy of her tired limbs, she dug through various cleaning apparatuses and dirty room service breakfast trays until she came to a half-used roll of duct tape. “Well, would you look at that? I guess I gave her too much credit, huh?”
And, oh! How she wanted to turn and hurl that roll of tape at the maid’s head. But by gritting her teeth so hard she was pretty sure she heard enamel crack, she managed to simply lift it and brandish it in front of the woman’s nose.
She took no joy in the rounding of the maid’s eyes, no pleasure in the look of dawning realization on her face. Because all Penni felt in that moment was pure, undiluted rage. And since there weren’t enough vile words in the English language to accurately convey the ferocity of her feelings, she let her expression do the talking for her. Yes, you are totally busted, you crazy, vicious, murdering bitch!
Babbling in Malay, the maid plunged her hands below the table, reaching for something.
Penni dropped the tape in a flash. It fell onto the tabletop with a thunk just as she pulled her weapon and aimed it at the woman’s head. For the first time in her life, she knew what the phrase killing rage truly meant. It took everything she had not to squeeze that trigger. Dragging in a deep breath of the tear- and sweat-soaked air inside the tiny room, she saw that Dan had beat her to the mark. The barrel of his Ruger P90 was pressed securely to the woman’s left temple.
“No! No English!” The maid wailed, choking as she raised her hands and began waving around something that was the approximate size and shape of a postcard.
“What is it?” Penni asked, her voice breathless and thready. Her throat was scoured raw as New Jersey Turnpike road rash from the tears she continued to gulp down. Stay tough, kiddo. Her father’s familiar advice whispered through her head and bolstered her resolve. Putting some steel in her spine and her tone, she demanded again, “What does she have?”
Never lowering his weapon, Dan wrenched the object away from the maid, glancing at it. Instantly, his blond eyebrows formed a deep vee and Penni’s stomach turned one quick flip like the time she’d ridden the Coney Island Cyclone. She could tell by his expression that she wasn’t going to like whatever it was he thrust in her direction.
Holstering her weapon—Dan seemed to have everything well in hand, and her faith that her itchy trigger finger would continue to obey her was running out—she took the card and slowly, still scowling at the woman, allowed her gaze to drop.
Well…flippin’ hell…