I force a smile, then step out, noticing that he has a tin trail of sweat on his forehead. Something’s not right.

Reagan told me I had to come tonight for the simple reason that I was going to keep doing my job or else he’d give out my location. I was also going to take on more clients and start helping with deals by using my charming looks and personality to dazzle his clients. The problem with this is that if any of his clients no who I am then I’m screwed. But now I’m wondering if this is a setup. Maybe Elington is helping set me up for Reagan.

Elington lets me take the lead as I walk down the slender hallway, lined with shut doors. It’s silent, which is typical for this hotel, but I find myself desperate to hear a noise. I casually let my fingers graze my thigh, the reminder usually bringing me comfort but not tonight.

“Which room number are we in?” I glance over my shoulder as Elington who’s wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

“Um…” He looks around at the numbered doors, seeming more nervous than when we had dinner. Then lifts his hand and points at the to the last door on the left. “It’s right there. That’s the one I think.”

I give my best smile then step back so he can unlock the door, my hand still at my side, near the gun. He steps forward, reaching into his pocket, then curses under his breath and moves back.

“Sorry, I… a… forgot the key,” he says tensely. “I’ll be right back.”

“But you said you already had it,” I call out, but he’s already rushing back down the hallway toward the elevators.

I have no idea where he’s going. If he doesn’t have the key than he has to get one from Nyjah and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand around here and wait for whatever comes next. I start to chase after him, but pause at the sound of a loud bang from inside one of the nearby rooms. My guard instantly goes up. Something’s about to happen. Something bad. I can feel it.

With my hand cupping my thigh, I cautiously move down the hallway with my eyes glued to every door as I pass by them. Even if there is someone in one of the rooms, they can clearly see me through the peephole and I’ll be oblivious. This is the worse kind of scenario for an ambush on my part. I think about how I got kidnapped two years ago and how I was thrown into a car. I wonder if they’ll give me the benefit of that this time of if they’ll just kill me. I won’t have Layton here to protect me this time either.

Layton. God, I miss him.

By the time I reach the end of the hall, nearing the elevators, I haven’t seen or heard anything at all and my fingers start to ease up from my thigh. But them lights flip off and I’m suffocated by darkness. “Shit,” I curse, tensing up again. Seconds later the backup lights flip on, but they give little light, much dimmer and fluorescent then the normal ones. As I squint to see my surroundings, I withdraw my gun, but keep it at my side. I wonder if I’ll be able to do it this time when it all comes down to it—take another life. I did it once, but only after I froze up. Then last night with Tenner proved that I don’t have the instincts to automatically protect myself.

I quickly sidestep down the hall, turning from side to side, scanning the doors, very aware that no one has exited any of the rooms. Someone should have by now, to see what’s going on. And the longer it stays silent the more I think this is a trap.

I need to get out of here.

I pick up my pace, running past the elevators and toward the bright green exit sign above the door that leads to the stairway. When I make it to there, I take off in a mad sprint down the stairs, speeding up when I hear a door open and shut from someone in the stairway. I wonder if they’re below me or above me. Up or down. Which way should I go?

Then I hear loud footsteps from above and I take off downward, my heart racing frantically, like it’s finally remembering how to beat after I tried to shut it down for so many years.

“Lola wait,” someone calls out and I move faster, my feet hammering down the stairs. Just a few more flights and then I can run out the door and get into a cab. Go home, get my stuff, and run until they catch me. Deep down, I know I won’t make it far, not when I’ve already been found. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t go down without a fight.

“Lola, for the love of God, please slow down.” A hand touches my shoulder and I spin around, raising the gun and pointing it at the person behind me.

Elington immediately raises his hands, his eyes widening as he stammers, “I-I’m s-sorry…. I just… It’s that… why do you have a gun?”

I assess him over with suspicion, not trusting him one little bit. “Who do you work for?” I move toward him, forcing him to back up against the wall. “Did Reagan put you up to this? Is he setting me up? What’s your real name?”

“E-Elington.” He’s nervous enough that I can tell he’s probably never had a gun held to him or else he’s a damn good actor.

“How did you know I was on the stairway?” I ask, reducing the space between us as I inch closer to instill more fear and hopefully break him down if he’s hiding something.

“I… I was heading down to…” His eyes keep flicking to my gun and fill more and more with fear. “I was just… I can’t… I was heading down… t-the s-stairs and saw you and…” He breathes heavily, gasping for air. “I just wanted to see what it was life.” The words rush out of him as he leans back against the wall, trying to get as far away from me as he can.

I lower my gun to my side. The guy can barely talk when his life is threatened and it makes him even less suspicious. “You just wanted to see what what was like?”

“Sex… I just wanted to see what it was like but I didn’t think…” He sucks in a deep breath, his gaze dropping to my weapon. “I just want to go home,” he pleads. “Can I go now?”

“I need to see your wallet first,” I tell him and then don’t even bother waiting for him, stuffing my hand down his pockets until I find his wallet.

His eyes are practically bulging out of his head. “I-I don’t have that much money on me,” he stammers. “And I’m not rich.”

“I don’t want you’re money.” With my freehand, I open up the wallet and read his driver’s license. “Elington Burliford, 45455 Peach Tree Rd.” I look up at him. “How long have you lived at Peach Tree?”

“Um… I-I…” He sucks in a breath, trying to pull himself together. “About two years.”

“You go to college?”

“Y-yes.”

“And why can’t you get laid?” I ask, digging through his wallet. He barely has anything—a few credit cars, a gift card, a condom, and thirty-five bucks. “Go to a party or something. It’s easier than hiring an escort.”

“I’ve tried,” he says. “N-no one will even talked to me, let alone have sex with me.”

I look him over more closely; decent clothes, normal appearance, nothing weird or anything, but then again, the guys I’m running from know how to blend in when they need to. “Are you always this nervous around women?” I wonder. “Or is it just me?”

He swiftly nods. “I have a s-social anxiety disorder.”

Okay, now I just feel bad. And I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth, which means I’m screwed. I’ve messed up big time and Reagan is going to be so pissed. He’ll use this against me—tell me he’s turning me in. If I were my father, I’d tie Elington up and threaten him until he gave in and swore he’d never tell. If he did, I’d track him down and kill him. It’s what the Anelli’s are known for. But I’m technically not an Anelli. I’m an Ander, my mother’s maiden name, another reason this Everson guy could quite possibly be my real father.

I give him back his wallet. “Alright, Elington. Today is your lucky day.”

“Okay… why’s that?” he asks, putting his wallet back into his pocket, his fingers trembling.

“Because the next time you go up to a woman, to talk or whatever, you can think of this moment and the concept of being nervous will seem silly,” I tell him. “Trust me, after today, everything’s going to seem easier than the time you tried to hire an escort.”