I said absently.
The waiter nodded again and slid the cart up to the table. I waited for him to put the covered trays there, but he hesitated. Alarms went off in my head, and I checked him out. And that's when I noticed his shoes. They weren't the black, polished wingtips this hotel chain was noted for. They were brown. And they didn't match his black pants. That, in and of itself, was a crime.
His arm came up in a second , and I saw the .45 with silencer in his left hand. How original. I charged him before he had a chance to fire. Straddling him on the floor, we wrestled for the gun. Who was this guy? Forcing his left arm to the floor with my left hand, I punched him in the throat with my right.
The guy started wheezing, struggling for breath. I usually wouldn't hit someone in the throat without asking questions first, as this tends to crush their trachea, killing them prematurely. But I hadn't been expecting an attack, and he had a gun. The man choked while I held his gun hand down. After a few moments, he died. Prying the pistol from his hand, I got to my feet and then sat on the bed.
Yup, he was dead alright. And I was very confused. Was there a hit on me? Or was this guy supposed to take out Liv—since the job was originally assigned to her? The only way I was going to know anything was to search the body.
The room was still. It always felt still after taking a life. I always thought this was because my senses were on hyper-alert. The silence seemed blaringly loud, and my skin tingled. The adrenaline high had me in its grip.
What a moron. He had his wallet in his pocket. I found a set of car keys on a Dodge truck key chain. I pulled out my cell and hit speed dial.
" Hey, Paris." Dak sounded like he was in the middle of something.
" Dak, I need you to look into something for me." I explained what just happened and got his full attention.
" He had his wallet and keys on him? Is this a joke?" Dak laughed.
" Yeah, and he also had a silenced .45. Stay focused!" I snapped. "According to his ID, his name is Luther Coswald." I paused to spell it and dictate the address. "There's five hundred dollars, cash," I sighed—wondering why so little. "Nothing else."
" You want me to run it for you?" Dak asked.
" No, I'll do that on my laptop. I just want you to put the word out to our contacts…see if Liv had a hit against her." My throat tightened. If anything happened to my sister…
" Right. Do you want me to let her know?"
" Yes, and I think you should let Gin and Leonie know too. Doesn't hurt to be extra careful."
Dak didn 't answer. I knew he didn't want to involve his new wife. But she'd been in the business before retiring. Leonie could handle herself.
" On second thought," I said, "maybe Liv should get out of town for a while. Whoever did this thinks she's here, not me. And they'd be more likely to screw up."
" Let them believe she is in LA. Good idea," Dak said. "I'll talk to mom about who the contract came from and let you know what I find out."
In seconds I was on my laptop, trolling for info about the dead waiter in my room. The Bombays, thanks to my cousin, Missi, had some unusual search engines. We had complete access to DMV, census, and tax records—thanks to a long relationship with some government shadow agencies.
Luther turned out to be on the FBI 's Top Ten Most Wanted List for murder and counterfeiting—something I found ironic. How had he evaded the feds but couldn't get past me? The fact his face was hanging in every post office in America was odd. Usually the guys who come after Bombays are off the grid. Seemed a bit unprofessional to use this guy.
His address was actually just a few blocks from the hotel, in Beverly Hills. And I had his keys. Perfect. Now, what should I do with the body?
Luther was a little heavier, but his jacket and white gloves fit me. I'd use my own shirt, tie and pants, and the RIGHT shoes. The room service cart worked perfectly to smuggle out the body. It took a