Burn (Page 30)

"People are expecting me," she blurted desperately. "I’m supposed to go on a cruise. I was on my way there – " But they knew that, didn’t they? After all, "Adam" was her driver. He’d been supposed to take her to the dock. She lurched into a different tack. "I have money. Cash – "

"We won’t want your money," the woman said. She was tall, with short dark hair and the sort of leggy elegance of a model, though she wasn’t particularly pretty. Her tone wasn’t harsh or vicious, which Sydney would have expected given the gun in her hand.

"But … I …" Sydney’s voice trailed off, because her mind went blank. If they didn’t want her money, what did they want?

"Stay calm," the woman said. "Do exactly as we tell you, and when this is all over you and your friend will be allowed to walk away, completely unharmed. But if you pull any John Wayne shit, your friend will pay the price for it. Understood?"

Sydney’s thoughts splintered again. They’d grabbed Caro? If they don’t want money, then why? And even more ridiculously – John Wayne? Her?

"We already have Ms. Redwine," the woman continued. "In a little while, we’ll set up a call for you to talk to her. That way you each will know the other is okay – for now."

Not Caro. Jenner.

A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. Oh, God, Jenner was the one they should be having the John Wayne talk with, not her.

"Calm down," the woman said sharply, seeing how rapidly Sydney’s control was fraying.

Sydney gripped her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white, her chest heaving with the force and speed of her breathing. Her lips felt numb. "What do you want?" she whispered, and tears stung her eyes. Quickly she wiped them away, not wanting to appear any weaker than she was, even though she knew the woman had already seen them and knew very well what they meant. They wanted her to be afraid. They wanted her to be so terrified that she’d do whatever they said, when they said it. Well, congratulations – she was there already.

"Just do as you’re told" was the only answer she got. "If you cooperate, you’ll be treated well. This experience doesn’t have to be unpleasant."

The limo made a smooth turn. Ahead, several hotels loomed on either side of the street, some taller than others, some sterile and generic, others more welcoming. Sydney stared blindly at them. There were always a lot of people around hotels; maybe she could attract someone’s attention, though the windows of the limo were tinted so dark she didn’t see how. And what if she did? What would happen then? Would this woman shoot her?

"We’re going to walk into the hotel," the woman said in a low, even tone, "without incident, without any sign that we aren’t the best of friends. I repeat: Do as you’re told, and you and Ms. Red-wine won’t be hurt. We’re going to check in, and you’re going to hand over your credit card and sign the registration paperwork the way we’ve both done hundreds of times before, then we’ll all go up in the elevator. I’ll be watching. I’ll know if you do anything different, if you try to scribble a message or roll your eyes at the clerk … anything. If you do anything out of the ordinary, Ms. Red-wine will pay the price."

That threat froze whatever idea Sydney might have had for trying to run, make a quick escape. Jenner’s life depended on her, on what she did or didn’t do. Oh, God, she’d never been able to act worth a damn. What if she couldn’t even manage to check into a hotel without looking as if the bitch next to her was holding a damn gun on her? She wasn’t an actress, she wasn’t brave, and she didn’t have an intrepid bone in her body. What if she screwed this up?

She couldn’t. She couldn’t let Jenner down. She had to get this right.

The limo turned, and came to a stop under a large, curved portico where hotel guests arrived and left by taxi, or left their own vehicles for the valet service. A burly hotel doorman in a burgundy uniform stepped forward and opened the passenger door. The woman slid out, and stood waiting, so close to the car that the doorman couldn’t close the door, while Adam got out and silently opened Sydney’s door. She swung her legs out and stood, carefully not looking at him. If the woman was armed, it stood to reason that he was, too, otherwise the woman wouldn’t have gotten out of the car and left Sydney inside.

Adam stood just a shade too close to her, not so close that he would attract attention, but close enough that she had no hope of darting around him and making a break for it. If it hadn’t been for Jenner, she might have tried something desperate like that, but they had her as effectively hogtied with their threats as if they had actually used rope to secure her.

The woman came around the car, smiling, and looped her arm through Sydney’s. "Take care of the tip, Adam, please," she said pleasantly, then marched Sydney inside the hotel.

With no other choice, Sydney sucked in a deep breath, steadied her weak knees, and did exactly what the woman had told her to do. Her heart was pounding so hard and fast she thought she might faint, and her voice sounded high and squeaky to her own ears, but she handed over her platinum American Express card, she signed her name, collected the key cards – three of them – at the woman’s whispered direction, and turned all three of them over to her. When the hotel clerk asked if she had luggage, the woman smiled and said, "Our driver is bringing up our bags," and that was that.

They went to the bank of elevators, the woman punched the "up" button, and casually glanced around, studying everyone and everything around them. The elevator arrived with a pleasant little tone, the doors smoothly opened, and they stepped inside, along with several other people. The woman punched the button for the top floor – the twenty-fifth – and they shot up. An older woman got off on fourteen. A young man exited on seventeen. When he was gone and the doors had closed behind him, Sydney blurted, "How do I know Jenner is all right?"