She made herself slow down as she reached the door two floors up. Her stomach hurt and her breath was coming too fast, but she pressed herself against the wall when she heard the door open below her. Dmitri’s men shouldn’t be able to see her from their angle, but she couldn’t take any chances. She was trapped up here.
Idiot.
They conversed softly in Russian and then the sound of a door opening whispered through the quiet while a second set of feet started down. Carrigan waited ten seconds, and then thirty, and then a full sixty. Only then did she slip through the door into the hallway behind her and press the elevator button.
She almost cried out when the elevator door opened and it was empty. The ride down to the second floor seemed to take forever, but in reality it was less than a minute. She looked both ways as she stepped into the hallway. As tempting as going down to the lobby and running out the front doors was, by now the men had contacted Dmitri, who might have contacted whoever he had guarding the entrance. She’d be better suited to take a less obvious path.
She wound through the hallways toward the back of the hotel. At this time of night, the place was mostly deserted, and she kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting to be found out at any second. A quick trip down the corner stairs to the back door found her at a carefully cultivated courtyard, complete with trees, grass, and walking paths. She put her shoes back on and hurried through it to Ring Road and headed south, away from the bay. It felt unnatural to keep her head down and her stride even, but if Dmitri’s men got this far, they’d be looking for a woman in a black dress running from them. She wasn’t about to make finding her that easy. She eyed the people around her as she turned the corner on Huntington, this time heading northeast. People were suspicious these days, but she looked like a hot mess, so surely some well-meaning Good Samaritan would help her. She just had to pick the right mark.
A block later, her gaze fell on an older guy trying to flag down a cab with his wife. Perfect. She stopped a foot away from them and made her voice as pathetic as possible. “Excuse me? Sir? Ma’am?”
The man turned, a frown on his face, but it melted away when his wife put her hand on his arm. “What?”
“Do you have a phone I could use?” It wasn’t hard to dredge up some tears, though they didn’t fall. “My boyfriend and I had a fight and he took his car and abandoned me down here. I…” Her voice caught. “I need help.”
“Of course, honey.” The wife grabbed the phone from her husband’s hand and passed it over.
Carrigan stared at it for half a second. She wanted to call James, to hear his voice and know that he was okay, and warn him of the danger. But she didn’t know his damn number—she’d just put it in her phone and used his contact every time she’d called him. Lazy. Really, there was only one number she had memorized. She dialed, and then held her breath while it rang. She almost cried all over again when her brother answered. “Teague O’Malley.”
“Teague, it’s me.”
Instantly his voice lost its cold, professional tone. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me from a strange number?”
“I’m in trouble.” Conscious of the couple’s gaze on her, she kept it as brief as possible. “I’m down on Huntington and Dartmouth. Can you pick me up?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. By now, Teague had to be aware of both her pending marriage to Dmitri and the fact that pretty much their entire family saw her as a traitor for falling for James. What if he—?
“Go to the Copley Square Hotel and wait in the lobby. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Okay.” She hung up and handed the phone back to the wife. “Thank you.” I never should have doubted Teague. He didn’t let family get in the way of offering me a way out before. Obviously that hasn’t changed.
“It was no problem.” The woman watched her with concern written across her face. “Do you want us to wait with you?” From the disgusted look her husband sent her, he wasn’t happy with the idea.
“No, but thank you for offering. My brother will be here in a few minutes.”
“Good, good.” She put her hand on Carrigan’s arm. “Get rid of that good-for-nothing man of yours.”
She managed a smile. “Oh, I plan on it.”
Jameson’s was nearly empty, and Cillian was doing his damnedest not to stare at the new bartender. She wore a pair of jeans that were holey enough to be considered indecent, layered over fishnets, with a black tank top. The combination would have been sexy as hell under normal circumstances, but the glimpses of those fishnets killed him. He drank his apple juice, knowing damn well that he was focusing on this woman—Olivia—because he didn’t want to deal with the shit storm waiting for him back home.