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?

get the hell out

sling essentials in a carry-bag: wallet, tablet,

Must contact Dakho…

Get a replacement…

around the

… Anything else important?

abandon. Toiletries too. It’s all

my Glock, check my knives are in place in their sheaths, sling the

… That’s it, then…

And making a u-turn, I head for

the threshold,

really have stopped

hair… A warning to

Only that?

It doesn’t ring true.

There’s surely something else.

under five minutes since I made my discovery, and everything inside screams that

And Now…

Fuck!

I’ve got to know…

my shoulder, gun

… then the terrace…

… the bedroom…

… seeking… seeking what?

my first hasty charge around the

it in

way as when

the knees to squat down,

has long been used as a booby-trap in situations where, typically, the intention is not to kill, but to maim. A corpse can be buried with honours.

the other hand, the bowl, or maybe the cistern, could contain enough explosive to

my head,

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

in place, whistling a merry little tune, I exit

I spot a shady niche. There’s space for a dozen trash bins, but not all are taken. Ducking into the gap, I’m out of sight. One of the bins serves

Now what?

with my

like a complete

fake ID. Now I’m going to have to change again. When the hotel discovers ‘Harry Hughes’ has an explosive lavatory, the police are bound

still not far from the hotel. I need to get further away than this, but there’s

Somewhere to stay?

To hide?

To think…

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