The Planck Factor

Chapter 26

The knock at the door had to be Cyn. I grabbed the serrated knife and opened the door with the chain in place.

"I bring breakfast." Cyn's cheery greeting could be heard on the next floor.

I unlocked the chain and opened the door. Cyn entered with a paper bag. "These cinnamon rolls look absolutely sinful," she said. "Better be hungry or I'll gain a ton eating them." She moved to small desk and pulled coffee cups and pastry from the bag.

"Cyn?" Her false bonhomie was wearisome. "How did you know about my hat?"

Cyn hesitated a fraction of a second. "It was on the news."

"Which channel?"

"I'm not sure. CNN, maybe."

"And why did you follow me here again?"

Cyn turned toward me, looking put out. "Why all the questions?"

"They're easy ones. Or should be."

She shook her head. "I'm not allowed to be concerned about you?"

I sighed and turned away. What did I just ask? Why aren't you answering?

That's when I noticed the door was ajar.

I grabbed Cyn from behind, jamming the serrated edge of the knife against her throat. She emitted an audible gasp and swept a coffee cup to the floor. Coffee seeped out, its dark stain spreading out across the carpet.

"The door's unlocked. Why?" I snarled.

"Please!" Her voice came out in ragged gasps. "I didn't mean to do it."

"Really?" My voice took on a mock saccharine tone. "You're so concerned for me, you follow me cross-country, but you leave my hotel room unlocked? That does not compute."

"Okay, okay," Cyn said. "I can explain."
"Then start explaining." I pressed the knife harder. "Now!"

Cyn caught her breath. "Can you take that knife from my throat first?"

"Sorry. Given the past few days events, my faith in human nature is wavering a bit."

Cyn seemed to consider this. "All right, then. It's like this."

In an instant, she grabbed my wrist, pulled it from her throat and twisted my arm behind my back.

As I struggled, two men came in and grabbed me. Once they had me in their grasp, Cyn stood before me. She hauled back and slapped my face.

"Bitch!" I said, spit flying with my words. "Did you kill Fred?"

"I don't think you're in a position to ask questions, dear." Cyn's voice fairly dripped sarcasm. Gone was the whole bubble-headed blonde act. Her expression had turned glacial. There was clearly much more to her than met the eye.

I kicked out at her, but she stepped out of reach. My captors clamped onto my arms like pit bulls.

"Keep hold of her," Cyn said. "And watch her fucking feet." She turned and left the room.

For a moment, no one said anything. The two men still dug their fingers into my arms.

"Now what?" I asked. I tried to sound tough, but my voice was shaking. Not sure if it was due to fear or anger.

"Now, we make you talk." One of the men smiled at me, the way a shark might smile at a minnow.

"That's nice. What shall we talk about?"

The smiling man's face morphed into a scowl. He leaned in so his face was an inch from mine. I could smell the breath mints he used in a lame attempt to cover his coffee-and-cigarette halitosis.

"What . . . did . . . he . . . tell . . . you?" He enunciated the words slowly, as if I were a child or an idiot. Or someone who'd just learned English. Each word brought another mint-laced blast of stink breath.

My first thought was, "Who? Fred or Selby?" But since neither had told me anything, I said, "Nobody's told me anything!"

The man smiled again. He looked me up and down. His eyes brightened and his nostrils flared.

"We'll see how much you know, baby." He leaned in as his buddy grabbed my other arm and held both behind my back. Then, he jammed his stinky-breathed mouth against mine. He forced his tongue inside my mouth and down to my tonsils. It took all I had to keep from gagging, not only on his breath, but also his ridiculously long tongue.

He started moaning and grinding his pelvis against me. There was no mistaking his intentions now.

At this point, my knowledge of self-defense kicked into high gear. He stopped a moment and stepped back just far enough for me to jab my knee up into his groin. He fell back and doubled over in pain.

The man behind me dug his fingers in harder. I brought my foot up and smashed it down on his instep. He screamed and his fingers loosened. An elbow jab to the gut moved him back enough to let me karate chop his groin. As he bent over, I used his momentum to throw him to the floor. At which point, I stomped on his head.

I started for the door, then sprinted to the table, snatched my flash drive and ran away. But not before breaking both men's noses with a swift kick to each of their faces.

Did I just kick two men in the face? Did I really just break their noses? For a moment, as I fled toward the stairwell—checking the door before entering to make sure I wouldn't end up trapped like Alexis—I actually felt a pang of guilt. I'm not a violent person. But that man was going to rape me. And I don't think the other guy intended to stop him. So, what the hell do I have to feel guilty about?

I bounded down the stairs as fast as I could go, wondering where the hell I was going.

It seemed to take forever to reach each landing. My room was on the eighth floor and I counted down each floor every two flights. Seven . . . six . . . five . . .

I reached floor two and paused. Maybe I should get out here. Just in case.

I tried the knob. It turned.

I pushed through the door.

It opened into a hall.

The elevators were located to my left in an alcove midway down the hall.

As I ran toward the alcove, a man rounded the corner. Another man followed. It was Flattop and Red—the men from the van. I skidded to a halt and scrambled to switch directions.

"Wait!" Flattop caught up with me in short order and grabbed my arm, then eased off with surprising gentleness. "We work for your sister. And we're here to protect you."