Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Chapter 30

Klempner

In one hand, I hold a single copper strand. In the other, a thread of brown.

My body freezes as my mind races through the possibilities.

I left my hotel room several hours earlier, slicking a hair into place over the crack between door and frame as I left. On my return, a hair was still in place and I entered my room assuming all was normal.

Now, however, in my left hand, I hold a hair just plucked from my own scalp: the mousy-brown shade of my current identity.

In the right hand, I hold the hair which dropped from my hotel room door as I returned, and which on casual inspection, I had taken to be the one I slicked into place as I left the room earlier.

But the right-hand hair is red.

And now I look at it, I recognise that shade: a deep burnished copper-auburn that many women aspire to, but few have.

But Mitch has it. Jenny too;

Could it come from one of them?

Probably, yes.

Jenny…

Juliana, or at least her cat’s-paws Baxter and Finchby, had Jenny unconscious as a prisoner for some while. They even trimmed a lock of her pubic hair and sent it to James along with her underwear. Plucking a few hairs from her scalp would never have been noticed.

So, this could be Jenny’s hair.

On the other hand, it might just be the hair of some local woman lucky enough to have the shade.

Does it matter? Where it comes from?

Or is it just the message that’s important?

Juliana and her games…

My hand is shaking, the copper hair vibrating between my fingers like a metronome.

Calm down…

Think…

Breathing deliberately deeply, I let out air. Take it in again. And once more.

My hand steadies once more.

How long have I been standing here? Frozen by surprise and indecision…

A minute? Two?

the hell out of

my room, I sling essentials

Must contact Dakho…

Get a replacement…

around

… Anything else important?

I abandon. Toiletries too. It’s all just stuff. Easily

in place in

… That’s it, then…

And making a u-turn,

threshold,

have stopped at

hair… A warning

Only that?

It doesn’t ring true.

There’s surely something else.

to know… I vacillate. It’s under five minutes since I made my discovery, and everything

And Now…

Fuck!

I’ve got to know…

slung across my shoulder, gun in hand, I pace

… then the terrace…

… the bedroom…

… seeking… seeking what?

hasty charge around the

it in the

in the same way

knees to squat down, I

long been used as a booby-trap in situations where, typically, the intention is not to kill,

the bowl, or maybe the cistern, could contain enough explosive to blow the

head, I

the rear stairs, calling by the laundries in the basement. Dumping my suit, a rummage through the baskets produces some sort of uniform; one-piece, plain navy-blue, perhaps for a plumber or other maintenance man. Checking first that there’s no logo stitched in to link me back to the hotel, I put it on. It’s a little short in

place, whistling a merry little tune, I exit the

bins, but not all are taken. Ducking into the gap, I’m

Now what?

with my trousers

a

to have to change again.

to get further away than this, but

Somewhere to stay?

To hide?

To think…

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