Run With the Hunted 3 by Jennifer R. Donohue

Author:Jennifer R. Donohue
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cyberpunk, heist, strong female leads, hacking, dogs, near future
Publisher: Jennifer R. Donohue
Published: 2020-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

We park at the hotel and Bits does something to extend the rental and we walk through the quiet lobby to the elevator. I’m sure that overnight guy has seen a lot wilder than whatever picture we make. He just kind of fades back away from the desk to the offices they’ve got, and I think he’s been the same guy every time, gotta remember to leave him a good tip. We get into the elevator and somehow, other than not having shoes, Bristol looks...fine? She’s got some kinda personal grooming magic, I tell you what. I very definitely look like I jumped in a reservoir with all my clothes on and then tramped through the woods and maybe bled a little. I think it’s stopped already, the papercut of bullet wounds I guess. Bits looks like Bits. Normally I don’t concern myself with the way we as a group appear to others, I’m not sure it’s the best time to start.

When we’re in the elevator, I can’t help but ask “So there wasn’t anything else about the dog that you knew of? Data in the microchip? Did she swallow diamonds or something that somebody’s gonna want?”

“No, nothing,” Bristol says. “She’s just a dog that’s important to them, I don’t know why. We may never know.”

“I’m hoping that there’s something worth it in his phone, or on this,” Bits says. I realize that the other thing she got out of the guy’s pocket was a hard drive or something. But a hard drive on its own doesn’t throw a signal, even I know that. “And I macgyvered something to scan the dog’s microchip, I just thought we’d be done by now.”

“Oh good,” Bristol sighs, and fishes in her soggy purse for her keycard. The lock beeps and when she pushes the door open, the dog barks. She sounds a little closer than Bits and my bathroom, though, and I swipe our keycard and go into our suite in a hurry. I remember opening our bathroom door, petting the dog, getting the call, leaving. Not closing the door.

“C’mere girl!” I say from our suite which looks pretty okay. A torn-up fast food bag on the ground, whatever, the garbage can doesn’t have a lid on it. Oh and there’s some couch fluff, that’s a little less okay. Oh and the pillows have feathers in them, should’ve expected that I guess. Well. Had feathers.

“Dolly could you come in here, please?” Bristol calls through our open dividing door, tone strained almost to the pitch that only the dog could hear. Again.

“Sure thing.” I look around, grab the dog’s leash from the counter where I left it. The door to the hall is closed, Bits must be with Bristol. Or she went back out to the car and just drove away. I wouldn’t blame her.

The pillows didn’t survive in Bristol’s room either. Or the comforter or duvet or whatever the fuck it is. The dog is in the little sunken living room thing,

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