"I'll bet they have," Cage spat. "We'll find our own hotel."
But the selection was limited and as it ended up they stayed where the government officials had assigned them in the first place. If the rooms were as sad as the lobby, Jenny thought, they were in for an uncomfortable night. The furniture was dusty and stained. The fans overhead turned desultorily. The drapes were shabby and their hems straggled to the scarred floor. A rack of magazines had been there so long the covers were faded and dust obscured the titles.
"Not exactly the Fairmont," Cage said from the side of his month. The lobby was patrolled not by brisk bellmen, but by sardonic soldiers carrying automatic rifles.
After a conference with the unkempt concierge, Whithers handed them each a key. "We're all on the same floor," he said happily.
"Terrific. I'll have room service bring up champagne and caviar and we'll have a party."
Whithers actually looked hurt by Cage's snideness. "Miss Fletcher, you're in three nineteen."
Cage intercepted the key before it could be passed to Jenny and checked the number on his own. "Miss Fletcher is in three twenty-five with me. Come on, Jenny." Cage took her arm and led her across the lobby toward the stairs, opting to walk up rather than take the elevator. It if was in the same derelict condition as everything else in this godforsaken country, he wouldn't risk their lives by using it.
"But they were specific about the rooms," Whithers protested, trotting after them like a pesky puppy. "We were assigned rooms."
"To hell with that and them. Do you think I'm going to leave Jenny alone and at their mercy? Think again, man."
"But this is a breach of our agreement."
"I don't give a damn if this breach in your agreement brings on World War III!"
"I seriously doubt if they'd do anything to harm Miss Fletcher. After all, they're not savages."
Cage spun around and glared at the other man so hard, the state official shrank back. "She stays with me."
There was no arguing with the finality with which Cage spoke those four words.
Room three twenty-five was as hot and stuffy and dusty as all of Monterico seemed to be. Cage turned the lamp down low. He crossed to the window and checked outside. Just as he suspected, three stories below, they were being watched by two soldiers, distinguishable only by the glow of their cigarettes in the dark. He left the window open but adjusted the louvered shutters to give them a measure of privacy. Some of the cooler night air filtered in, making the hotel room at least livable.
"Whithers said they're sending up dinner."
"If it's anything like lunch, I can hardly wait," Jenny said, listlessly dropping her handbag onto the bed and flopping down on its edge. There was a definite droop to her shoulders, but Cage was glad to see she was still capable of humor.
"Take your shoes off and lie down."
"Maybe I'll just rest a minute," she said weakly and lay down. The bedspread had a red florid print that seemed to gobble her small form alive.
A half hour later a soldier knocked once on the door, then swung it open to carry in a tray. Jenny, who had been dozing jackknifed into a sitting position on the bed. Her skirt slid back to the top of her thighs. The soldier leered at her.
Cage, disregarding Whither's warning, grabbed the tray and shoved the soldier outside. He snapped closed the flimsy lock and braced a chair beneath the doorknob. Such measures wouldn't stop a round of AK-47 bullets, but it made him feel better to show even that much defiance.
"Dinner" was a dish comprised of rice, chicken, beans, and enough hot peppers to bring tears to Jenny's eyes. She didn't feel like eating anyway and after only two bites set her fork down.
"Eat," Cage commanded, pointing at her plate.
"I'm not hungry."
"Eat it anyway. Anything that doesn't move, that is."
He was unrelenting and she forced down half the portion, picking out the stringy pieces of chicken. Murky red wine accompanied the meal. Cage poured some from the foggy carafe, tested it, and made a face. "I think they clean commodes with this."
"Is this the lush of La Bota County speaking?"
"Is that what they call me?" he asked, arching one brow.
"Sometimes."
He poured her a glass of the wine. She took it but looked at him as if to say, "What am I supposed to do with this?"