“Ha. Try me.”
She thought of a ridiculous number. “I charge fifty thousand baht,” she said. That was close to fifteen hundred dollars. Doubtful he’d cough up that much just to get rid of a Thai hooker.
He leaned back in the chair and looked her up and down again. “You know what?” he said. “It’s about time for my break anyway.” He inclined his head toward the room to the left of the suite. “Tell you what, that’s my room right there. Why don’t we make me your appointment. We’ll fix the mistake that way, okay? And everyone goes home happy.”
She thought quickly. She’d been hoping she could persuade him to knock and get Lone to open the door. But adjacent rooms, one of them a suite—probably there was an interior connecting door. She could make that work, too. And if she was wrong, she’d just keep improvising.
“You seem like a nice guy,” she said, making sure not to play it too eager. “But I have a client. How about you in two hours?”
“I am a nice guy. And two hours from now won’t work. So I’ll tell you what. Because you’re already here, I’ll give you an extra ten thousand for blowing off your other client. Okay?”
She frowned. “My boss . . . he won’t be happy.”
“Well, he’s the one who sent you to the wrong place to begin with, right?”
She gave him an uncertain smile. “I guess so.”
“All right,” he said, coming easily to his feet. He pulled a room key from his jacket pocket, walked over to his door, opened it, then held it for her. “Please.”
She had hoped he would go first. That would have allowed her to slip the pepper spray from her purse while his back was turned. Beyond which, after that near miss in San Jose, she didn’t like turning her back on a man when she walked into a room. But it would look strange if she objected. Anyway, the main thing was, she would be able to get out the pepper spray easily enough while he was behind her.
She walked in. The lights were already on. A long, wood-paneled, marble-floored corridor, the room itself visible at the end of it. The purse strap was over her shoulder, the bag itself below her elbow, and she slipped her hand unobtrusively inside and curled her fingers around the canister, her thumb on the trigger.
She kept moving. She heard the door close behind her, the bolt closing into place with a dull mechanical clack. She heard his footsteps, about ten feet behind her. She’d walk into the room, stop, and let him move in just a little closer. Then she’d turn and spray him. Follow up with the Kubotan until he was down and disabled. Finish him. See if he had a key to the senator’s suite. If he didn’t, kick down the adjoining door. If there was no adjoining door, go back into character and return to the main door of the suite.
She took in an immaculate king-sized bed. Pewter carpeting, mahogany furnishings. She heard his footfalls moving up the corridor behind her. She breathed in deeply. Let it out. Braced to spin—
“I don’t know what’s in your hand, Livia, but unless it’s faster than the pistol I’m pointing at your spine, I’d recommend you put it back in your purse.”
She froze. Livia?
“That’s right, I know who you are. Just let it drop, Livia. Back in the purse. Slowly.”
She glanced back. Saw the gun. He raised it—a good, two-handed grip.
“Turn the fuck around,” he said, his voice louder now. “Face forward.”
She did.
“Now, last chance to drop whatever that is in the purse. And I won’t have to shoot you in the back, okay?”
She dropped the pepper spray into the bag and slowly raised her hands, the fingers splayed. How the hell had he recognized her? Could they have known she was coming? Could Becky Lone have . . . no. It made no sense. Even if the woman had believed Livia might go to Bangkok, she never would have warned her brother. Whatever this was, it wasn’t that.
“Good, keep those hands up. Now walk. Don’t turn around. You know, you’re pretty good. You probably could have fooled almost anyone, but unfortunately for you, I never forget a face. Never. It’s one of the reasons the senator pays me the big bucks.”
She moved farther into the room. All right, it sounded like just bad luck that he’d recognized her. Not good, but not as dire as if this were an ambush. He was improvising now as much as she was.
“Even so,” he went on, “I gotta say, you almost had me. Out of context, the makeup, the glasses, the wig . . . took me a minute to place you.”
She saw the adjoining door. Whatever happened, it was going to happen in here, or in the suite. They wouldn’t be going back to the corridor.
“I mean, shit, you look like a real, high-class Thai hooker. Hell, I’d fuck you. Maybe I even will.”
She said nothing. Her only move was to wait for an opening.