Other People's Baggage by Kendel Lynn, Gigi Pandian, Diane Vallere Page A

hair, temporarily turning myself from a blonde to a brunette. Next I swept my face generously with bronzer, then changed from the bandana printed skirt into a pair of white linen drawstring-waist pants, the faded Dodgers t-shirt, and a dark brown cowboy hat. I looked at myself one last time and was shocked by the stranger in the mirror.
    I dialed 419 and heard the ringing phone through the ceiling. Five rings, then six, then seven. When I hit double digits, I knew no one would answer. I left the room and returned to the elevator, riding up one floor. I followed the same path I’d been following to get to my room one floor below, took three quick breaths to pump up my courage, and shoved the keycard into the door. I held my own key in the opposite hand, prepared with a cover story if anyone were to discover me. Nobody did.
    The light outside the door turned to a bright lime green. Quietly, I turned the brushed chrome handle and pushed the door inside, then closed the door behind me. I waited for a couple of seconds to make sure I was indeed alone, then moved further inside and turned on the light.
    Both beds were made. There were no signs of luggage or personal belongings. I fed my hand between the thick fabric of the curtains and held it open far enough to make out a few figures on the street by the waterfront. Where earlier I’d seen the flashing light, now I saw the outline of two men, one holding the other at gunpoint. Even from a distance I could tell the man with his hands in the air was Jack Jordan.

MIDNIGHT ICE: NINE

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    The scene was far worse than I’d expected. I needed to call someone—maybe the front desk, maybe 911—and tell them a man was about to be shot by the waterfront, when both men turned and faced the hotel. The man with the gun was Louis.
    As I stood there, as still as I could, I realized that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life by turning on the lights. If they’d been able to signal to each other earlier, then surely they’d be able to see me, now.
    Jack Jordan clasped his hands together and brought them down on the back of the other man’s head. Louis fell to the ground and dropped the gun. Jack picked it up and jogged up the hill.
    I knew I couldn’t go back to my room. That would be the first place Jack would look for me. I started to leave, tripping over the corner of the bedspread. I heard a sound by the door, mechanisms inside the keycard lock that had tumbled. I was trapped.
    I scanned the room for a hiding place. If I got past the beds and found the opening between the curtains I could open the sliding door to the balcony and hide outside, but for how long? The idea of falling down four stories was about as appealing as being caught in the room red-handed.
    My right hand was on the closet door, which slid open an inch. As the door to the room opened up, I squeezed into the closet and slid the door shut behind me. I waited, with my heart pounding in my chest, for someone to open the doors and expose me.
    I pressed myself backward, despite the pressure of something already in the closet digging into my thigh. A safe, probably, or luggage stand. I knew the importance of remaining still despite the discomfort. I only wished the occupants of room 419 had taken the time to hang up their clothes so I’d have something to hide behind.
    â€œI’m telling you, the light came from this room. I’ve been watching the windows all night. I didn’t make a mistake,” said a male voice.
    I froze. It was Jack.
    â€œI don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but there’s nobody here,” said another voice. It was the other man from the elevators that first day. That meant Louis was most likely the person who’d been knocked out by the waterfront.
    â€œCheck the balcony,” commanded Jack. “I’ll check the closet.”
    I felt the hand connect with the door to the closet before it slid to the side,