Devil's Contract

“I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour, Ms. Belov, but it can’t wait until morning.”

I wave him in as I turn, walking to the small lamp near a loveseat, and take a seat once we have enough light to see each other.

“It must be a doozy of a problem for you to come in person. You normally just phone. Did I miss a call?”

“No ma’am. I didn’t call this time.”

I don’t like his tone of voice.

“Do we have a criminal event? Employee problem?” I bite my tongue to keep from saying ‘out with it, man so I can go back to bed.’

“Neither. I’m afraid it’s a medical event. Actually, there has been a death on the premises.”

My mind goes back to the last death we had in the hotel, just two years ago.

“Please don’t tell me we have another jumper on our hands. It took me weeks to be able to walk in the section of lobby where that poor woman landed. I’ll never understand why someone—”

Something about the look on his face makes me stop mid-sentence.

“What? What aren’t you telling me? Is it someone I know?”

“I’m afraid so, Ms. Belov. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Mr. Miller has passed away.”

Mr. Miller. Tristan’s father is in London. He’s not even…

“My Mr. Miller? You mean Tristan?” My voice cracks.

I don’t wait for him to answer. I push to my feet and rush to the closed bedroom door on Tristan’s half of the suite. Crashing through the door, I flip the light switch, expecting to find him there.

Until that very second, I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that I didn’t love my husband. Hell, most days I don’t even like him that much. But standing there, letting the news sink in, I can’t deny a pain pressing in on my chest.

Physical pain.

The room sways as I struggle to catch my breath. I let Mr. Jenkins wrap his arm around my shoulders, gently leading me back to the loveseat.

I’m not sure how long we sit in silence, but I am grateful to him for not filling the air with senseless words. I need to let the news sink in before I’m able to talk.

Finally, I get out one word. “How?”

“The paramedics say it was a massive heart attack.”

Paramedics. That means it happened a while ago. Of course, it did. Mr. Jenkins lives in Queens. He had to have enough time to drive all the way back to The Whitney.

“When?” Another single word question.

“About two hours ago—just after midnight. I’m sorry to say that they pronounced him dead and didn’t even transport him to the hospital. A police detective is on-site, and the coroner has been alerted and will be here soon. I thought you’d want to know so… well, so you can… be prepared.”

Prepared for what exactly? My mind races with insane thoughts, all rushing in at one time. Tristan said he had heartburn, but it was clearly more. Maybe if he’d just stayed here to talk about The Gala, he’d still be alive. Did he sign to be an organ donor? What color flowers will he want at his funeral?

But in the midst of the barrage of silly thoughts, a more important question finally gets to my lips.

“Where?” I look into Mike Jenkin’s eyes, praying he isn’t about to say what I think he’s going to say.

“I’m so sorry to inform you ma’am, but Mr. Miller passed away on the tenth floor.”

He doesn’t need to say more. He knows that I know what happens in room 1028. Most nights, it’s just sex, but tonight it was death.

A burning fury builds in my stomach. For a second, I think I might be having a damn heart attack, too, because my heart is pounding away in my chest.