Take - Page 59

In addition to the mustache and glasses, I wore a wig—slightly longer and curlier than my natural hair. I’d used makeup to make my cheeks look fuller, and putty and makeup to change the shape of my chin.

Right now, I didn’t look like Reath Fury.

I was wearing an expensive suit, Italian shoes, and had a black briefcase that was filled with the gear I needed. I looked like a wealthy businessman.

“I hacked the Hotel Monteleone reservations. There was no one booked under the name of Auclair, but I checked his old aliases.”

“You found him?”

I nodded. “Bastard booked a suite.” I wondered what his men would think knowing their boss was out with a woman, drinking high-end booze, and sleeping in a luxury king bed.

“Be careful,” Colt said, face serious.

I lifted my chin. “Take care of Frankie.”

It was a short drive to the French Quarter. As usual, the place was hopping. Partygoers filled the sidewalks, laughing and singing. Jazz music pumped from the bars.

I found a parking spot several blocks away and then headed back to the Monteleone. It was the oldest hotel in the French Quarter, with an ornate cream façade. It was famous for all the famous authors who’d stayed there over the hotel’s long history.

As I approached, I adjusted my jacket and tightened my grip on my briefcase.

With a nod to the uniformed doorman, I walked into the hotel. The lobby was grand, with polished floors and chandeliers. There was a large, ornate grandfather clock, and a massive vase of flowers scented the air. I walked past the famous rotating Carousel Bar, and a quick glance told me Auclair was no longer in there.

I kept my stride brisk. Just a busy businessman with things to do. No one paid me any special attention.

I reached the elevator, stepped inside, and pressed the button for the rooftop pool terrace.

When I stepped out, a brisk breeze whipped around me. It was too cool to swim, and the pool was empty. I strode past the blue water and rounded the corner, heading into the shadows.

I had the floor plan of the entire hotel memorized. I glanced over the railing, lining myself up with the suite that I knew Auclair had booked.

I set my briefcase down, then slipped off my jacket and glasses. Then I opened the case.

Methodically, I pulled out a black auto-belay device. It was used for climbing, but this one had a few special additions. I attached the device to the railing and checked that it was secure.

Next, I pulled out my Glock and attached a silencer. I slid the weapon into my waistband. Then I pulled on a thin, black ski mask that just left my eyes uncovered.

I clipped the carabiner attached to the rope on the climbing device to my belt, then carefully climbed over the railing.

The wind caught at my clothes, and I didn’t look down. I pressed the button, then I whizzed down the side of the hotel. Excitement licked at me. This brought back memories of old, dangerous missions. I had no desire to go back to that work, but I had to admit, it had been exciting.

I landed several floors down on a narrow balcony, avoiding a round metal table flanked by two chairs.

I peered through the glass doors.

The room had an upscale, old-world feel to it. There were heavy curtains at the windows, lush carpet, rich wooden furniture, and fabric draped over the head of the large bed.

There was a woman in black lingerie lounging on the bed. She was alone.

She was slender, with black hair cut in an elfin style around her face. She looked a lot like Auclair’s dead wife.

I frowned. Where was Auclair?

The woman lifted a glass of champagne and sipped. I saw the bottle resting in a wine bucket on the nightstand, along with another glass.

“The wine’s getting warm, Hugh,” the woman called out to the closed bathroom door.

My pulse leaped. He was here.