But we can’t.

“Sloane? Sloane, wait. We have to get out of here.” I hold her face in my hands again—her breathing is even faster than mine, her eyes completely glazed over. “You should know something, though,” I whisper, my lips brushing lightly against hers.

She looks like she’s been drugged. “What?”

“You knew you were just being followed, and you turned and defended yourself. Nothing…nothing has ever been hotter than that.”

A brief attempt at a smile passes over her features. “I’m glad I’ve impressed you,” she says.

I can’t believe this woman. What the fuck did I ever do to deserve someone like her? To deserve the look she’s giving me right now? It’s a mystery I’ll never be able to work out. “Sloane, always consider me impressed.” I lower her slowly so she can find her feet. “Right now, we need to leave before Lowell shows up and castrates me, though.”

She gives me a sideways look as I guide her back the way I just came, back toward the Hummer and Michael. “What the hell did you do, Zeth? And who the hell is Ernie?”

I almost want to smile. Fuck it. I let myself have this one. I grin big. “You,” I tell her, “are about to find out.”

******

“You kidnapped her dog?”

“Technically he dognapped him,” Michael says. I bundle Sloane into the backseat with Ernie, making sure she doesn’t sit in the wet patch he created earlier, and then I climb into the passenger seat. Sloane eyes the Schnauzer dubiously. Ernie eyes her back.

“How the hell did you figure out where she lives in the first place?” Sloane asks.

Michael guns the engine and then we’re out of here. “Lowell’s based in Cali, actually. I have a guy who finds things out, though. She’s staying at a hotel downtown. He hacked her details on their system and told us she’d checked in with an animal.”

I watch Ernie lick the back of Sloane’s hand, feeling rather fucking proud of myself. “And a DEA agent who can’t be separated from her dog while she travels must really fucking love that dog.”

“Oh my god, no wonder she went so pale. She’s going to string you up for this, baby.” Sloane laughs.

Baby.

I’ve wanted to hit loved-up assholes for using that endearment before. But when Sloane says it… I don’t really know what to think. I catch Michael’s amused smile, itching at the corners of his mouth, and I don’t feel like busting his balls. I just raise my eyebrows at him, a look of shock and amusement of my own. The fucker grins, then, like it’s Christmas day and Mom and Dad aren’t fighting.

“I suppose we’d better get out of here,” he says. The words sound rounder coming out of his mouth, shaped by the texture of his smile.

We check into a hotel, or at least I think it’s a hotel. The place is called The Regency Rooms, though there’s no sign on the outside of the sixteen-story building. No clue as to what kind of star rating the place has. The lobby is yards of endless white marble tile, shot through with whispers of gray. No sofas. No generic artwork. Nothing but the white marble and the reception desk, which, like the rest of the lobby, is the epitome of simplicity. A man sits behind the desk, a dove grey suit and a wall of white teeth greeting us with a conservative smile.

“So good to see you again, Mr. Hanson,” he says to Zeth. My stomach clenches at that name—Hanson. I know that name. That’s the name Eli provided me with back when I had to sell myself for information. It’s the name I gave to the receptionist at the Marriot hotel when I was checking in what seems like forever ago. Zeth gives me a cautious glance, and then nods curtly to the impeccably groomed gentleman who is sliding a key card across the smooth, cool stonework toward us. “Will you be staying with us long?” he asks.

“Five nights,” Zeth replies. He looks…he looks a little uncomfortable.

“Oh, excellent. You’ll be with us for our celebrations on Sunday evening, then. Would you like to reserve a booth?”

Michael coughs, though the cough sounds more like he’s choking. The loud bark echoes across the cavernous room like a sharp burst of applause. Zeth turns slowly and gives him a dirty look. I’m not stupid; I can see Michael is trying to disguise a smile as he covers his mouth with a balled up fist.

Zeth scratches at his jaw. “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you.”

Celebrations? Reserving a booth? Tally those things up with Michael’s less-than-subtle reaction to the receptionist’s question, and I suddenly have a very vivid picture of what happens at The Regency Rooms. This is the kind of place that hides deviant, provocative secrets in its dark corners. Zeth accepts the key card off the counter and collects our bags—more clothes and toiletries procured by Michael—and then he leads us over to a sleek, minimal elevator. There is no call button, just a black panel mounted into the wall that Zeth touches the key card to. A white star icon appears on the black panel, pulsing ever so slightly.

This place is super fucking surreal. I cast one last look over my shoulder as the single, seamless steel door slides back to give us entry to the elevator, and I catch the receptionist watching us. He gives me a very slow, very deliberate wink. My cheeks burst into flames. I step onto the elevator, unsure whether to mention the man’s salacious suggestion to the guys. Because it definitely was a suggestion. A single girl headed up to a room in a place like this? With two men? I turn around as we wait for the elevator to begin its ascent, Zeth on one side of me and Michael on the other, and a wicked part of me grabs the reins. I make eye contact with the receptionist. And I wink back.