Seducing the Accomplice by Jennifer Morey

Author:Jennifer Morey [Morey, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 9780373277278
Amazon: 037327727X
Barnesnoble: 037327727X
Goodreads: 10659963
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-12-31T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Sadie stood before the rundown pension and marveled over the extent of disrepair. “Have you been here before?”

“No.” Sounding insulted over why she’d asked, he headed toward the chipping front door.

“Is that a broken window?” She pointed to the third level, where it looked like someone had thrown a rock through the glass.

He looked up there. “I’m sure there are other rooms.”

“Your friend Odie isn’t a very good travel coordinator. How did she find this place?”

“The same way she found the passport place,” he almost snapped.

He’d remained calm and patient until now. She’d gone at him most of the way here. After nearly being captured by nameless, faceless Albanian gangsters who had friends in Montenegro, she was getting low on tact.

“Did she find the airport you flew into, too?” The one where his pilot had been murdered? She didn’t say it because she didn’t think she had to remind him.

He turned an exasperated look on her.

“I’m just saying…”

“We’ll be safe here,” he said curtly.

She’d refrain from believing that until after they checked out. He opened the chipping, creaking door and let her in before him.

The interior didn’t disappoint. Sadie almost felt like whistling her acclaim. A stained rug might once have had a fancy mosaic pattern. She could barely make out the swirling grandeur of the blackened lines between shredding edges and ragged holes. The wood floor was missing pieces of planks and a layer of ground-in dirt covered them all. There were missing nails and nails that needed a hammer before someone cut their feet on them. On the wall, faded pictures hung in cluttered disarray.

A frail old man appeared through a filthy white door that didn’t shut all the way but banged loud once and bounced off the frame, staying open about an inch. He smiled to reveal a few missing front teeth. His wiry gray hair hadn’t seen a comb in a while and his dark skin was badly weathered.

Calan spoke to the man in Italian and soon he had a key.

“I feel safer already,” she quipped and was rewarded with another vexed look.

He led her up a narrow stairway to the third floor. At the top of the stairs, he slid the key into a dark brown door. This room faced the back of the pension, so it couldn’t be the room she’d seen from the front. She looked down the hall. Long rugs that were wrinkled and torn led to a window at the end, tall and filmy with sheer drapes that had once been white.

The last door on the right hung from one hinge. The room with a broken window.

Calan entered their room.

The worn, cracking and dirty tile floor was adorned with a round rug that was equally dirty and fraying badly around the edges. There were two twin-sized beds.

“Do you think the sheets are clean?” she asked.

Putting his duffel bag down, he ignored her and went to the window, parting the curtains.

Probably not.

“At least the glass isn’t broken,” she said, looking around the rest of the small room.

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