Zombie Jamboree by Rardin Jennifer

Author:Rardin, Jennifer [Rardin, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780316188005
Publisher: Hachette Book Group
Published: 2011-09-18T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

We drove straight to our very old, very exclusive hotel. Called Diamond Suites, it towered above the pink stucco wall that surrounded it and its gardens, rising nearly twelve stories before reaching its peak with a steep, red tile roof. The windows all wore black metal bars, decoratively scrolled top and bottom. The gated parking lot required a key card for entry. We’d retrieved ours along with the car we now drove, part of the privacy policy with which Diamond Suites attracts its reclusive, generally famous, clientele.

Vayl’s eyes were the icy blue of an Alaskan husky as he took in every detail of the scene before him, his brain cataloging it for future reference. Parking lot full of high-end rentals. Check. Automatic, key-card entry door with bulletproof glass. Check. Lobby full of complimentary goodies from fluffy white towels to imported shampoos, all graciously displayed on the shelves of antique armoires. Check. Not a single soul in sight. Excellent.

His hands full of bags, Vayl leaned over and whispered, “According to legend this inn is haunted.”

I snorted. An unladylike habit, I know, but one which, like swearing, has its place. “Probably your old poker buddies waiting around to even the score.” This was not as far-fetched as it sounded. Rumor had it Vayl had won his cane and his first gold mine in a game of five-card stud.

Vayl’s lips twitched again. Not for the first time I thought, If he ever truly smiles his face is going to shatter. But I tried not to think it too loud. On the plane he’d overheard the flight attendants discussing the pilot’s stun gun from the back of the plane as he sat beside me in the front row. A man with that kind of ability only needs to listen slightly harder to hear my harsh thoughts.

Vayl had reserved the penthouse, so we took elevator 6A to twelve. At that point I did a little soft-shoe—the semi-claustrophobic’s version of the I-gotta-pee dance—until Vayl figured out which way to slip our key card into the metal slot on the elevator’s control panel so the door would open. After I’d leaped out and regained a somewhat steady pulse, I took stock. We stood in a small enclosed entryway decorated with a massive flowery mural that involved all four walls, including the elevator doors, and half of the ceiling. Tiles in the pastel pink so common to Florida covered the floor.

I wrinkled my nose at the color. Something about pink makes my stomach churn. Maybe it’s the resemblance to Pepto-Bismol. Personally, my taste runs toward bolder colors. That’s why I currently wore an emerald-green silk shirt under my black jacket. Unlike Vayl’s coat, which reached his knees and looked like it could comfortably hide a shotgun, or a sword, or possibly a small pony, mine stopped just below my waist and, because it had been tailored to mask my shoulder holster, fit superbly. My black slacks felt a little loose, probably because I’d missed lunch all month.

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