Phoenix King Read online

  I laughed, relaxing a little.

  "Sure, why not?"

  I was in and out of the school quickly to drop Omari off. No, I didn't socialize with the other parents.

  Next time.

  Maybe.

  I checked my watch as I strode down the street, tuning out the noise of the crowd around me. It was a skill everyone picked up in the city domes with so many people around all the time. Kind of a means to survive the packed environment.

  I scanned my schedule. First job today was a pickup in a nice area of town. That would be a nice change of pace. Fingers crossed that a fancy poodle or something didn't decide to attack me—because wouldn't that just be my luck—I planned out my route. I stepped onto a nearby trolley going in the correct direction, my eye automatically scanning the crowd for anyone suspicious.

  Nothing.

  The next trolley I got on was the same. Nothing suspicious when I got off and walked the block to the hotel either.

  So far so good.

  The streets weren't as crowded here, though they weren't mostly empty like the ones in the really bad areas either. More of a trickle of traffic. And any hairline crack in the pavement was quickly smoothed over before it could think of actually forming into a discernible eyesore.

  God forbid.

  Faux trees were set at regular intervals to give it a throwback feel. I didn't care how rich someone was here, planting a tree still took too many resources to make it a viable effort. Though I'm sure people had tried.

  I arrived at the address with no problems, which I counted as a minor victory considering how things had been going the last couple of days. The hotel itself was a pretty white, the columns at the front and the intricate molding giving it a stately look. The doors were etched glass with gold edging. And there was an actual doorman dressed in a red jacket with gold buttons to open the door for me. Seemed a little wasteful when it could just be automated, but I'd found the rich often liked to show just how much money they had. Hence an actual man at the door.

  "Good morning, Miss," he said politely, flashing me a smile from that handsome face that probably got him plenty of tips from the female patrons of this place.

  Didn't have much of an effect on me.

  Ashur was a hard act to follow.

  "Morning," I responded, walking through the door he held open for me. "Thank you."

  The inside of the place was as nice as I would have expected judging from the outside. Gleaming tile floors, two seating areas, a fireplace with a stone mantle. Plush rugs were scattered throughout, with a long runner set down between the front doors and the reception desk situated straight ahead.

  The receptionist herself was short and curvy, with warm brown skin and hair only slightly darker, twisted into a knot at the back of her head. Her makeup was delicate and tasteful, her white blouse crisp.

  "Good morning. How may I help you?" she asked politely, giving me a smile.

  "Morning. I'm supposed to be meeting someone here?" I asked, glancing around to make sure I didn't miss anyone lurking in the corner. Maybe with a convenient sign that said they had a package.

  Nope.

  Empty.

  "Oh, are you Ms. Hill?" she asked.

  "Yes," I confirmed, a little confused that she knew who I was.

  "Oh, Ms. Hill, I was told to give you this key to room 345," she said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out an old-fashioned key. I wasn't surprised by it given the ambience of the place. "If you'll just go and wait in that room, the person meeting you will be there shortly. He has been held up a bit and wanted me to relay his utmost apologies."

  "I see," I said, taking the key slowly.

  I was supposed to meet with the client in the lobby of the hotel. That was what we'd agreed on. Public and safe. I didn't like making a last-minute change. Or what the change actually was.

  A hotel room wasn't public or safe.

  I could have left right then, citing that the client hadn't adhered to the contract. But then I thought of the anonymous emailer and the incidents of late. I needed to see if this was another link in the pattern. So I smiled at the receptionist and thanked her rather than turning around and stepping back out. Pretended nothing was wrong.

  "Thank you."

  "You're very welcome," she responded warmly. "The bank of elevators is to your right."

  I nodded and walked over to the shiny gold reflective surface of the doors. I could see the receptionist still watching me in them. Act normal. The bell dinged and the doors opened. I stepped inside, turning around and meeting the receptionist's now-cool eyes. That wasn't completely unusual. Customer service was all about acting. Still didn't feel comforting though.

  I pushed the button for the third floor. The doors closed. I palmed one of my knives. I'd already replaced the one I lost from my stash. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror finish of the doors. My dark hair wasn't looking the smoothest, and my clothes were what I would call well loved. As well as casual. I didn't look like I belonged in this elevator. And looks weren't really deceiving.

  I tensed as the doors opened on the third floor.

  An empty hallway lined with doors greeted me, the lighting dim, the oatmeal-colored carpet soft and dense under my foot. I checked the door numbers as I started walking down the hall slowly, alert to any unusual sounds. I didn't hear anything. Which was unusual in and of itself in a hotel. The room I was looking for was about halfway down the hall. The door for the room across from it was directly in front of it, across the narrow hall.

  I stopped and scanned the usual spots for cameras. I didn't see any. Maybe rich people were touchy about having their affairs recorded. In any case, that made things easier.

  I went to the door across from 345 and knocked lightly.

  No response.

  "Hello?"

  Nothing.

  I knocked again.

  Still nothing.

  Looked like it might be empty. What do you know.

  I tried to turn the knob. It was worth a shot. But it wasn't that easy. It was locked. Guess I'd have to do this the hard way.

  I glanced up and down the hall as I took out my tools. I didn't have to use them very often, but I kept them on me just in case. Since this place used physical keys rather than fingerprints or retinal scans, it didn't take me as long as it usually did to undo the lock.

  A lot of places kept it old-school because adjusting the locks each time there was a new guest wasn't as practical, though it was safer. This place also had the old-school vibe a lot of these ritzier places liked to give off, so the locks made sense.

  I felt it catch through the slim instruments.

  Bingo.

  Sliding my tools back into place, I opened the door and stepped inside, shutting and locking it quietly behind myself. The room was done in neutral colors, with a bed bigger than my own and a desk in the corner that I instantly coveted. But that was neither here nor there.

  There was a small peephole installed in the door, so I situated myself to look through it. I could see the door to 345 directly across, the numbers polished to a shine. Now I just needed to wait and see who showed up. If he looked on the up and up, I could decide to go through with it, but I definitely wanted a look first.

  I didn't have to wait long. Less than ten minutes later, I heard the ding of the elevator doors opening. I tensed as I kept my breathing shallow, though I doubted anyone could hear my normal breath through the door.

  Footsteps.

  Then two figures came into view.

  Two men.

  Both with knives in hand.

  I stiffened as I watched one brace his back against the wall next to the door as the other inserted the key and opened it.

  There was something . . .

  The one who opened the door looked back at the man who was waiting.

  I froze, feeling my stomach turn over.

  I knew that face.

  It was the man who'd followed me before.

  Chapter Eight<
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  This was not good.

  I watched as they slowly crept into the room, so silent I wouldn't have known they were there if I hadn't been watching.

  They weren't going in there to say hello. And I didn't see any kind of package.

  Damn it.

  I couldn't write any of this off as coincidence. This was another well-planned, targeted attack. Not random. Not because I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone had it out for me.

  But I couldn't agonize over that right now. I needed to get out of here, quickly. My first thought was to report the break in down to the front desk.

  But then I remembered the key.

  How did they have a key?

  Either the front desk was incapacitated or the hotel was in on it. Maybe I was being paranoid, but I couldn't risk it. I glanced back at the hotel room behind me.

  I just needed . . .

  My eye landed on a phone. Perfect. If I used my watch, they'd be able to track who I was. But if I used the phone in a room that wasn't even booked under my name . . .

  I picked up the phone.

  "Police department," a brisk voice barked out.

  "I'd like to report a break in at the Darren Hotel . . . "

  I gave the room and how many people there were, along with the fact they were armed.

  "And where are you, ma'am? Ma'am?"

  I hung up the phone. That should be enough to get them here. I went back to the peephole. I could see them moving around inside the room still. Maybe they thought I was hiding in there somewhere? As I watched, I heard the sound of sirens in the distance. Of course they would respond this quickly for a place in this neighborhood.

  Figured. Money always talked.

  I saw the shadows across the hall still, as if listening. The sirens got closer. That galvanized them instantly. They didn't waste any more time.

  They shut the door and locked it before hurrying down the hall.

  Time for me to leave as well. I turned back to the window at the other end of the room. The fire escape was my best bet if I wanted to get out of here without running into the cavalry. There would be way too many uncomfortable questions. I tried to avoid the police as much as I could. When you had as much to hide as I did, it never felt like a good idea to draw any kind of attention.

  I pushed the window open and stepped out onto the grate. I'd spent more time going up and down fire escapes than anyone should in her lifetime. Luckily, it was only a short way down, the stairs sturdier and safer feeling than ninety percent of the fire escapes I'd been on. The end still had to slide down, but even that was oiled and in good repair, sliding out like butter to a reasonable distance from the pavement below.

  I climbed down, hopping off the last bit down to the street, the drop thankfully short, though my knee still rang like a gong, not enjoying the impact. It needed a rest. Letting out a huff of breath, I winced as I straightened.

  And froze as I heard a scuffing sound behind me.

  I slowly turned to look, feeling like I was in a horror film, when the ditzy girl was too afraid to look, but had to anyway. I did not appreciate being that girl.

  When I saw who it was, my first thought was of course this would happen to me. Because why would anything be easy?

  Damn it.

  It was the men who'd just run. My eyes clashed with the one closer to me. Realization dawned on his face. Couldn't I catch a break?

  I whirled around and ran.

  I was really tired of running.

  At least I was getting plenty of cardio.

  Chapter Nine

  I sprinted down the alley and onto the street.

  "Watch it!" a man in a purple striped suit shouted at me when I almost collided with him. Ignoring the irate yell—I mean, I had more important things to worry about at that moment—I ran flat-out down the sidewalk.

  I turned into the first alley I saw. I'd already seen that having people around didn't stop these guys, so my best bet was losing them. The street was too much of a straight shot—I'd be in sight the entire time. Man. Even the alleyway in this area was clean. Something wasn't right about that.

  I passed a couple of fire escapes in just as pristine shape, but didn't bother trying to them. One, it would take precious time to pull them down and climb up. Two, I didn't know if getting back down would be as easy from the other side of the building, or if there was rooftop access internally, and so on. Better to keep moving, at least for now.

  As my heart pounded and sweat trickled down my back, I wondered if I should take up running marathons. If I was going to have to be running for my life constantly, it would probably be a good investment of my time and energy. How depressing.

  I glanced behind me just as one of them turned the corner.

  Damn!

  Not far enough away to lose them with a turn yet. And the guy in front looked like he actually liked running long distances, with that straight-hand sprint run that looked kind of ridiculous but also kind of serious.

  As I looked back at him, I saw him reach inside his jacket.

  That couldn't be good.

  I doubted he was rooting around in there to find a fuzzy stuffed animal for me.

  Something shiny and metallic came out in his hand.

  Definitely not a teddy bear.

  It didn't look like a knife, the shape was all wrong. But I couldn't quite discern what it could be from this distance.

  The man pulled his arm back, in preparation for throwing it.

  Whatever it was, one thing was clear—I didn't want to be hit by it if I could help it.

  Turning back around, I gauged the distance to the end of the alley.

  Too far to reach the turn before he let go.

  With no other recourse I could think of, I abruptly veered over to the right, hoping to throw off his aim. It was the best I could do.

  A split second later, I felt a sharp pain along the outside of my upper left arm. It was there and gone. My eye tracked the object as it flew down the rest of the alley, still going at a speed fast enough to hurt someone.

  Was that a . . . shuriken?

  Who the hell used throwing stars!?

  What were we in, a dated martial-arts movie? What was the guy going to do next? Leap up into the air and do a flying kick that was as impractical as it was pretty?

  I watched the thing shoot out of the alley at the other end, hoping nobody got in the way of its trajectory. Luckily, nobody was in front of it to be hit, though a teenage boy with headphones plugged into his ears did jerk back as he saw the flash of something whiz by.

  That was really close.

  Too close.

  I needed to end this.

  Digging down deep, I put on another burst of speed and burst out of the alley, turning right. I stumbled a little, hitting the wall, but then bounced back up and kept going.

  I was on a slightly busier street, where the stores that sold to the rich were situated. Lining either side of the street, the signs and displays weren't so gauche as to have the usual blinking lights or a salesperson standing outside to draw people in. I passed by a store with clothing in slightly odd shapes with weird mixtures of fabrics. Then another with makeup that promised to eliminate wrinkles.

  Another that promised to make you a guaranteed twenty percent more attractive in just thirty minutes. That was a pretty exact number. I had no idea what they were doing in there. Maybe personality transplants?

  Then I passed another store with mattresses that also massaged you while you were sleeping so you woke up extra refreshed. Now that one sounded interesting. If only I had way more money to blow.

  There!

  Another alleyway!

  I reached into one of my pockets and pulled out the small canister I'd added to my normal arsenal this morning. After the way things had been going, I'd decided I needed it.

  Turning into the alley, I ran a few yards and then turned around, raising my arm up, fully extended, making sure the nozzle was pointed in the right direction.
It was supposed to spray a focused three yards. This far in, nobody on the street should become collateral damage.

  Less than three seconds later, my fan club turned into the alley after me, the one coming around second looking a little more winded than the first. This should even the playing field. I pressed the button on the spray, aiming for their faces and trying to commit them to memory at the same time.

  I didn't know how successful I was with the latter.

  The first man came to an abrupt halt, the other stumbling into him as I made sure they each got a good dose of the mace. Wouldn't want to leave them feeling unsatisfied, after all. I turned around and ran again as I heard them start coughing and retching behind me.

  I looked over my shoulder as I reached the end of the alley. They were both hunched over, their hands braced on their knees, their faces red, tears streaming down their cheeks. They weren't even trying to run after me now.

  One of them glanced up at me, hate in his faded blue eyes. It was the same man who'd followed me before. I gave him the finger and he bared his teeth at me in a snarl. So I gave him a little wave for good measure before I turned out of sight.

  Maybe antagonizing the guy wasn't the smartest move. But what else was he going to do? He was already trying his damnedest to hurt me, if not kill me. I'd take the small victory and the fleeting satisfaction of thumbing my nose at them.

  At least for now.

  Chapter Ten

  I got on a trolley. It was the middle of the day so there were a few seats available for me to sit at, which was a plus. I'd take all the positives I could right now.

  I settled in next to a guy in his early twenties with the braided beard that was so popular among the section of younger people trying rebel against the establishment these days. His faux cotton pants, matching tunic top in a cream color, and the woven sandals on his feet completed the look. At a glance, I could see my whole outfit was cheaper than his sandals alone. Rich kid playing at rebelling against the very system that allowed him to buy his fake, slumming-it clothing. He looked over at me surreptitiously.