Brian Freeman - Stripped

Serena thought again about the schism between Boni and Claire and wondered what terrible thing he had done. Whatever it was, Claire still carried the baggage. Serena had felt it from her since the first day they met. It was always there. Even when they were in bed together, Serena felt this aura of loss emanating from her, as if she were haunted. That was what made them kindred spirits.

“He hasn’t rejected you,” Blake said. “He hasn’t denied your very existence.”

“No, it was worse than that.”

Claire’s intensity made Blake hesitate. Then his face became a hard mask again. “I guess we’ll both find out how much you really mean to him,” he said. He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed.

“Hello, Boni,” Blake said. “You know who this is, don’t you? I’m here where it all started. I’m home. If you go out on your nice penthouse balcony, you can see us all down here. By the pool. Where you had my mother murdered.”

Blake paused. “What do I want?” he said. “I want to see you face to face. Right here. You’ve got twenty minutes. Or else I kill your daughter.”

Stride parked across the street, outside the hurricane fence. He stared through the windows of his truck up at the roof of the hotel, trying to see if anyone was watching from behind the parapet, but his eyes couldn’t penetrate the shadows at night. He had to take the chance. He got out of the Bronco, pulled his gun, and crossed the street, taking cover behind the plywood wall that surrounded the property.

He made his way to the gate, which was unlocked now and open. He slipped inside the demolition site and took a quick survey of the lot. Other than Blake’s Impala, there was nothing and no one around, just him and the eerie hotel shell marked for destruction. Stride jogged across the pavement. He stopped at the Impala, pulled a Swiss army knife from his pocket, and sliced through the valve on the right rear tire. Air began hissing out. He scuttled to the front of the car and did the same with the right front tire. Blake wasn’t driving out of here.

The roof?

Those were the last words he had heard from Serena on her cell phone before the call died. It was enough. He figured they were upstairs in the penthouse suite.

Stride made his way inside the hotel. He knew he was guilty of doing what Amanda had done, what he never did himself. He was going in alone, without backup, without letting Sawhill or anyone else know where he was. This was different. Serena was up there. Stride didn’t know what would happen if Blake felt trapped and surrounded, but he was deeply afraid that Claire and Serena would both wind up dead before they could mount a successful operation.

They might be dead now-but he couldn’t afford to think like that.

He looked for the elevators and spotted the elegant bank of gold doors on his left. He headed in that direction, then ducked as he saw twin beams of headlights shining through the lobby as another car drove into the hotel lot. When the car turned, he saw that it was sleek and black, a limousine. Stride hurried past the gaping hole in the wall until he was out of sight. He found a secluded hallway across from the elevators that had previously housed a bank of pay phones and waited there. Less than a minute later, he watched from the dark corner as a small, elegant old man strode purposefully for the elevators.

Boni Fisso.

“Boni!” Stride hissed before the man could push one of the buttons.

Boni turned around, startled. “Detective Stride. Were you invited to this little party, too?”

Stride shook his head. “Serena’s up there with Blake and Claire. She was able to let me know where they were.”

“Is Metro sending in an entire squad?” Boni asked, concerned.

“No, I haven’t alerted anyone yet. I thought this might turn out better without a crowd.”

Boni inclined his head. “My thoughts exactly. Thank you, Detective. I don’t care what happens to Blake. The only thing that matters to me is getting Claire out safely.”

“Technically, I shouldn’t even let you up there,” Stride said. “You become another hostage as soon as you walk through that door. Blake wants you dead.”

“You won’t stop me,” Boni said. “You want Serena back, just like I want Claire back. And after all, it’s my hotel. Besides, if I’m not up there in five minutes, Blake will kill Claire and probably Serena, too. I think he’s a man of his word.”

“Are they inside the suite?” Stride asked.

“No, oh the terrace outside by the pool. That’s where Amira was killed.”

“Tell me about the layout.”

Boni described the high roller’s suite and the patio area in detail from memory, as if it were still 1964 and the hotel was brand-new. The part that interested Stride was the fact that the roof of the hotel looked down on the patio area on three sides.

“Is there any access from the roof down to the terrace?” Stride asked.

Boni nodded. “There’s a locked gate and an emergency ladder near the parapet at the front of the hotel.”

“I don’t suppose you have a key to the gate.”

Boni smiled. “It’s a combination lock. One-two-one-six. My birthday. I like to make sure I have access to everything, Detective. Now we’d better go. The clock’s ticking.”

They took the elevator up to the top floor of the hotel. Stride waited out of sight until Boni signaled that the doors to the penthouse suite were closed and Blake was nowhere to be seen. Stride followed Boni into the hallway. He noted a green EXIT sign at the far end of the hall to his left.

“The stairs are down there,” Boni said. “You can go up to the roof. The door should be unlocked.”

“Try to keep him distracted. Keep him from looking toward the ladder.”

“I’ll do my best. Good luck, Detective.”

“You, too:”

Stride opened the door to the roof slowly and carefully, not knowing how well the sound would carry. He slipped outside and closed it behind him with a soft click. The hot wind off the mountains almost blew him over. He was exposed out here, with nothing except a few ventilator ducts to block the gusts.

The roof was bright, thanks to the massive Sheherezade sign stretching overhead, flashing its colors. A five-foot wall, capped by small onion domes, stretched all around the border of the roof, except for the segment where the roof dipped down and made a rectangular notch to offer a view for anyone on the elegant terrace one floor below. Stride saw the tall barbed-wire fence completely surrounding the open area of the terrace and quickly spotted the locked gate near the front of the hotel.

He wanted to run, but he was afraid his footsteps would echo down to the patio. Instead, he walked as quickly as he could, putting each foot down softly. He stayed away from the fence until he was near the gate, to make sure no one could see him.

The gate was near the edge of the roof. The winds were even stronger there. Stride dropped to his knees and crawled closer. He inched his head up when he reached the fence and saw that the terrace itself was invisible from this angle. All he could see was the upper few feet of the patio wall, with its colorful miniature tile. No one could see him here.

He checked out the lock, which was a combination lock, just as Boni had said. He hoped the old man was right about the numbers. The lock wasn’t attached to the gate itself but instead was looped through the links of a chain that was tightly wrapped between the gate and the frame. Stride carefully lined up the numbers 1-2-1-6 on the dials and tugged at the U-bar on the lock. It popped open. He slid the lock out of the chain and held the chain together with his fingers. After he hung the open lock on one of the holes in the mesh, he unwound the chain from the fence, taking care that the links didn’t rattle together. It was hard to keep his hands steady while his body was being buffeted by the wind.