public. I was Jane Public, so technically I could read the note.
The two women I had seen enter the bathroom earlier exited the stalls, carrying on a
conversation about somebody's biceps. They walked past me and proceeded to touch up their
already perfect makeup before the mirror.
I ran through my reasoning in my head. It was a bit thin, but I was past the point of caring.
I stepped up to the counter and stuck my arm into the hole. My fingers grazed clumps of wet
paper towels.
The ladies stared at me as if I had sprouted a chandelier on my head.
I gave them a nice smile, withdrew my hand, and looked into the hole. A short, wide trash can
full of discarded tissue. I could fish all day and not get the note. The counter was marble, but the
cabinet under it was metal. A small door allowed access to the trash can. I grabbed the handle.
Locked.
The ladies determined that ignoring me was the most prudent course of action and resumed their
biceps-related discussion.
I looked at the lock. Lock picking wasn't my forte. Busting things, on the other hand, was right
up my alley.
I backed up to give myself a bit of room. It was good that the counter was relatively high. Hard
to place a low kick with enough power. I stepped forward and hammered a side kick to the door.
Metal boomed like a drum. The door buckled under my foot but held.
The women froze.
I sank a front kick into the dent. Boom.
Good door. Boom.
The door shuddered, slid down, and crashed to the floor with a thud. I smiled at the horrified
ladies. «Dropped my engagement ring down there. You know how it is. A girl will do anything for a
diamond.»
They fled.
I pulled the trash can out and dug through it. Paper towel, paper towel, used tampon . . . Ugh.
Who put used tampons into the paper towel wastebasket? There it was.
I unrolled the crumpled note. «By the Red Roof Inn, same time, tonight.»
Pieces began to line up in my head. A breathtakingly beautiful girl, seemingly the property of a
team of lethal, possibly not human, gladiators. A young male werewolf with an overdeveloped
protective instinct. Derek was in love-nothing less would cause him to break Curran's laws-and
he was planning to rescue her. He was also in the fast lane to getting his balls chopped off.
Okay, so what possible time could it be and where was the Red Roof Inn? The Red Roof Inn was
about the only hotel franchise actively remaining in business. Any shack's roof could be painted
red, instantly identifying it as a place to purchase a room for the night. Problem was, I hadn't the
foggiest idea where there might be a Red Roof Inn in this area of Atlanta.
The Reapers struck me as a paranoid sort, the kind who would leave and arrive together. If I
were them, I would depart shortly after their last fight of the day was over. They also kept Livie on
a short leash. Her absence wouldn't go unnoticed for long. Derek was an idiot, but a bright idiot. He
would realize this. He would meet her someplace close to their exit route. Best-case scenario, they
would talk and she would go back. Worst-case scenario, he had some sort of getaway vehicle ready
for their joint escape. Which would end in disaster.
I kicked the wastebasket back under the counter, leaned the door to cover up the hole,
straightened my dress, and emerged from the bathroom.
Saiman sat alone. He raised one eyebrow at my appearance. A gesture copied from me-Saiman
was annoyed. But not enough not to rise at my approach.
«Another minute and I would have had to request a rescue party from the management,» he said.
«You are the management.»
«No, I'm an owner.»
Touche. «What's your beef with the Reapers?»
«I think you misunderstood the nature of our agreement.» He offered me his elbow. «I bartered
for your evaluation of a team. You're the one under obligation to disclose the information, and be
assured I'm overcome with the desire to hear your report. I'm positively aquiver.»
«Aquiver?»
«Indeed. Shall we walk to our seats?»
I sighed and let myself be led from the deck. I was very tired of being kept out of the loop.
CHAPTER 9
WE WALKED DOWN TO THE FIRST FLOOR, TO ANOTHER luxurious hallway pierced
with arches. Saiman picked one of the arches seemingly at random and held the heavy rust curtain
aside. Beyond the curtain lay a small balcony. Circular and encased by a solid steel railing that
came midway to my hip, the balcony offered four chairs upholstered in soft rust fabric and
positioned movie-theater close.
I stepped past the curtain to the railing. A huge hall greeted me, too large to be called a room.
Oblong and vast, it stretched for at least a hundred and fifty yards. Its walls were honeycombed
with arched balconies arranged in three rows. Each balcony held six to eight people and offered its