The Fury - Jason Pinter [86]
"One thing," I said. "I don't want anyone to know
I'm here. So can you put me down under a different
name, just in case anyone calls?"
The sisters looked at each other with a worried glare.
"Sure..." Gabrielle said. "What name would you
like to put on the room?"
"Put down...Leonard Denton," I said.
"All set Mr....Denton."
The Fury
249
"Thanks. Come on," I said to Amanda. "Let's get you
some sleep."
I felt their glare in my back as we headed to the ele
vators. The ride was silent and smooth, and I barely felt
like we were moving, let alone going nearly thirty
stories. At some point, right around floor twenty-five,
I felt my eardrums pop. Once the elevator opened, we
made our way down the hall to room 2722, where I
managed the task of propping both Amanda and the
suitcase against the wall as I opened the door. Once
open, I threw the bag inside and helped Amanda in.
She collapsed on the bed, and I sat down next to her.
For the first time all night, I realized just how tired I
was. My nerves were still on edge, and tomorrow would
be a long day. I needed to find out who that man was,
who sent him, and just how deep in my brother was.
But in the meantime, Amanda had somehow
wriggled out of her dress, and was wearing nothing but
a silk bra and underwear, her eyes suggesting that
sleepiness had taken a hiatus for the time being.
Tomorrow would be a long day. As I climbed into
Amanda's waiting arms, I hoped the night would be
long enough to stay with me.
27
I woke up the next morning with my boxer shorts
dangling off my shoulder, the taste of secondhand
vodka in my mouth and a strange pain in my right knee.
Then the previous night came back to me, and I smiled.
Turning over, I saw Amanda lying next to me. She
was wearing my old Oregon Ducks sweatshirt. It was
at least three sizes too big for her, and I'd seen her
spend many nights sitting on the couch reading a book,
the sweatshirt pulled over her tucked-in knees.
My body ached as I threw my legs over the side of
the bed and surveyed the room. It was stunning. Satin
sheets, state-of-the-art stereo, a bar countertop on the
porcelain bath, a flat-screen television wider than our
bed at home.
Then I noticed the sunlight pouring into the room
from what seemed like every angle. Standing up, my
breath was taken away by the beautiful view outside and
the massive wraparound balcony just outside our room.
I opened the door, stepped outside and felt alive. The
cool, crisp air washed over me as my eyes adjusted to
the light. The sight of New York from twenty-seven
The Fury
251
stories up. It truly was a magnificent city, and I smiled
when I thought of the last time Amanda and I had hidden
out in a hotel room under a fake name. It was a sleepn-save somewhere outside of Springfield, Illinois. Even
though I hadn't lost my natural ability to get in way over
my head, at least we were starting to hide out in classier
hotels.
Reentering the room, I found my jeans crumpled
into a ball on the floor, found the room-rate card. When
I looked at it, I nearly had a heart attack. There had to
be other hotels in this city that wouldn't wipe me out
within days.
Amanda stirred. I got up and went into the bathroom,
not wanting to wake her just yet. I ran a hot shower,
stayed in a little longer than I needed to, thinking about
the previous day.
It was no secret that I would want to get to the bottom
of Stephen Gaines's death, and while yesterday I
thought about the possibility of Rose Keller or Scotty
Callahan being involved, the options were likely far
greater.
The New York Dispatch had certainly mentioned my
father's arrest, as did my own paper, and surely a few
other locals as well. Anyone who knew me and my rep
utation would correctly assume that I would do anything
to clear my family's name. It was possible I was being
followed, that somebody had seen me talk to Sheryl
Harrison, to Rose Keller, to Scotty. It was even possible
that my discovery of Beth-Ann Downing's body had
alerted someone to my