You've Been Warned - James Patterson [59]
We head south a few more blocks, and I try to remember what gym she belongs to. Is it Reebok? Equinox? Did she ever even tell me?
Anyway, I’ll find out soon enough. If I know Penley, it can’t be too much farther. Otherwise, she would’ve cabbed it, for sure.
My eyes remain trained on her while my mind looks ahead. One kiss, that’s all I need. A suggestive embrace would do the job, but a kiss, that would be the money shot.
That’s assuming Stephen’s even there.
She told me the gym is where they met. Then again, she also said he and I would make a nice couple. Ha!
Maybe this is nothing more than a wild goose chase and maybe it isn’t. I don’t care. I’m determined to get the proof I need — that Michael needs — if it’s there to get.
Then why am I starting to feel so uneasy about this?
There’s a hollow forming in my stomach, and with each step it grows. It’s not nerves or nausea, it’s something different. And this isn’t the first time I’ve felt it.
Streets, time, everything seems a blur to me. I’m so pre-occupied with the feeling, I almost miss Penley’s arrival at her gym.
I focus my eyes and watch her walk in. At that exact moment, the feeling takes over, consuming me. I know what it is. Dread.
And I know when I felt it last too.
Here.
Right outside Penley’s “gym.”
Otherwise known as the Fálcon Hotel.
Chapter 80
I WANT TO RUN, but I can’t decide which way to go.
I’m desperate to get the hell out of here, and yet I absolutely have to keep following Penley and see where this is going. I take a step forward, then back. I’m a human yo-yo.
Finally, I run.
To the hotel.
I push back the fear — the dread — and sprint up the front steps beneath the Fálcon’s red awning, slowing down only as I enter the lobby. Which I remember — from my time here after I moved from Boston. Block it out, Kris. Not relevant now.
Here comes the first tricky part — seeing which room Penley’s heading to while still not being seen.
Where is she?
Nowhere. I scan the swank lobby with its minimalist decor. They’ve redecorated, I see. The furniture is all black, as is most of the clothing. It’s like a Prada convention. There are thin people everywhere, but not one of them is Penley.
I rush to the two elevators on the wall to the left of reception. The first is open and waiting, the second heading upward. A digital panel on the wall tells me where. I watch and wait until it stops on the fourth floor.
Off I go, taking the empty elevator. When the doors open, I peek out, hoping to see Penley from behind, moving toward a room.
Instead, the hallway’s empty. I feel like one of those characters in a scary movie, with the audience shouting, “Get out of there, Kristin. Run! Get away!”
I won’t do that. I worry that I’ve missed Penley or that she’s not even on this floor.
Then comes a woman’s laugh from a few rooms down. Or is it a cackle? Either way, I know it instantly. It’s the Pencil.
I get close and listen, my ear maybe an inch from the door. When they’re not laughing, they’re talking, and though I can’t quite make out the conversation, I recognize the other voice in the room. It’s him.
Stephen.
I listen for a minute to their frolicking. They almost sound like kids in there, albeit very naughty ones. Is this really the woman who has me alphabetize her cans of soup?
I feel for my camera again. No problem this time — it’s there. At the ready.
I spot the door to the stairwell at the end of the hallway. There’s a small cut-out window at eye level. Looks like a perfect place to set up shop.
I figure if Penley and Stephen arrive separately, they probably leave separately. Not that it really makes a difference. Solo shots of them slinking out of the same hotel room will more than do the trick. Michael will be able to fill in the blanks.
I back away from the door, the mix of their giggling and God-knows-what now like nails on a blackboard to me. If I’m going to commit to a stakeout, I can only hope that