Dirty Work (Stone Barrington 9)

“I don’t know,” Carpenter replied, “but it’s the only place we’ve got to look for her at the moment. If she got out of the hotel, she could be anywhere.”

“Let’s just keep at it,” Dino said. “It’s called police work, Stone, remember?”

“I remember,” Stone said. They got on the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor.

Marie-Thérèse got off on the third floor, pushing the cart ahead of her, her handbag back in the hamper. She rounded a corner, looking for an exit, in time to see two men and a woman get off the elevator. They turned and began to walk toward her. She recognized them immediately and fought the urge to run. “Good morning,” she said in her Spanish accent, as they passed her.

“Good morning,” the three muttered.

They had gone a dozen steps when Carpenter held up a hand to stop them. A gun was suddenly in her hand, and she held the barrel to her lips. Silently, she pointed the weapon at the maid disappearing down the hallway.

Stone and Dino turned to look at the woman. From under her white uniform skirt, a black pant leg had fallen to her ankle.

“Pantsuit,” Carpenter whispered.

Stone and Dino drew their weapons.

59

Marie-Thérèse knew she had been made. She had the maid’s passkey in her hand, and, crouching behind the cart, she grabbed her handbag from the hamper and opened the door to the room nearest her, ducked inside, and slammed the door behind her.

A man emerged from the bathroom. He was enormous—six and a half feet tall, three hundred pounds, she estimated. He was dressed in trousers and a white shirt, and a necktie hung loose at his neck. “Yeah?” he asked.

She dug into her handbag and came out with the pistol. “Stand over there,” she said.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded.

Marie-Thérèse tossed her maid’s cap on the unmade bed and began unbuttoning the uniform dress. “You look like you once played football.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Ever have a knee injury?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember how much it hurt?”

“Yeah.”

She pointed the pistol at his right knee. “This is going to hurt a lot more,” she said.

He held his hands out in front of him in a pacifying motion. “Okay, okay, whatever you say.”

Marie-Thérèse walked to the window, keeping the gun pointed at him, and looked out. She was only three floors above street level, and she had thoughts of tying the bedsheets together, but there were two police cars parked in the street, their lights flashing. She turned back to her captive.

“Just tell me what you want,” he said.

“I want a ride out of here,” she replied.

Stone, Dino, and Carpenter stood in the hallway, their backs against the wall, on either side of the door.

“Kick it in,” Carpenter said. “That’s what cops do, isn’t it?”

“That kind of door don’t kick,” Dino said, “unless you want to break an ankle.” He put the handheld radio to his mouth. “This is Bacchetti. We’ve got the suspect cornered in a room on the third floor. I want a SWAT team with a battering ram up here now.”

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nbsp; “Lieutenant, it’s Sergeant Rivera,” a voice came back. “We don’t have a SWAT team on site—you didn’t ask for one earlier. I’ll have to call it in, so it’s going to be a few minutes.”