I whispered to Domino, “We don’t have any legal status here. Without Nolan and his crew, we’re just armed strangers to these men. I don’t know what we were thinking going out without Nolan or someone with credentials to vouch for us.”
“We couldn’t bring Donnie and Griffin upstairs with us,” he said.
“Still should have asked for a card or something from Nolan,” I said.
“You were in pain, and we were thinking about sex,” Domino said.
“Edward let us walk off alone, too,” I said.
“Him, I don’t have an excuse for,” Domino said.
Neither did I, which meant I’d be talking to him about it later, but first . . . another loud knock. “We’ve been patient, but either you open this door now, or we call the police, assuming that the lady in question is injured.”
Domino put on a T-shirt loose over the top of his jeans and put one handgun at the back of his waistband. It wasn’t an ideal place to carry for real, no matter how many times you see it in movies, but for a few minutes to not spook hotel security it would do.
I’d started to put a robe on, but in the end I got one of the few oversize sleep shirts that I’d packed and put it on over jeans. I could have hidden my AR-15 under it without it showing, but I settled for my EMP tucked into the holster I normally carried it in; yay gun belt! I had to put it a little more to the front than I normally carried it, but I wanted concealment more than I wanted a fast draw. We only had show the hotel security that I wasn’t a victim, and then we could call Edward or any of our people still at the police station and get an escort back there. The fact that Domino and I had both taken the time to arm ourselves before we opened the door said we were indeed paranoid.
The last knock shook the door. “This is the last warning, sir. Open the door or the Gardai are being called.”
“We’re coming,” I called.
Ethan went back to the other room, shutting the door between. Domino and I visually checked the room one more time for weapons, and then he opened the door with his body not in line of sight from the door, and me farther behind him. I’d stopped arguing with the bodyguards when they were guarding.
“Sorry, really, but the room was a mess,” Domino said in a wonderfully ordinary voice.
The two men in the doorway were both wearing dark suits and white button-up shirts, and they were shorter than Domino. The one in front was older and heavier, carrying enough around his middle that combined with the gray buzz cut of his hair he’d need to worry about cardiac health soon. His white button-up shirt strained across his chest and stomach, showing the undershirt as an imprint because it was all too tight. The second one looked like he should have still been in high school if he’d been in the States. Baby-fine white-blond hair cut short and a spattering of freckles across his cheeks made him look like an extra on a 1950s sitcom, but the black suit fit him well and the shoulder spread looked more grown-up than the face.
I probably looked about the same age in the huge T-shirt and jeans, so I guess I shouldn’t throw stones, and God knew what my hair looked like after sex. Yeah, the stone throwing could wait.
A voice down the hallway asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Go back inside, ma’am. Just a noise complaint.”
“Miss, could we step inside the room so we don’t attract more attention, please?” the older one asked.
I didn’t see a problem with it, but the bodyguards and I had a deal: I would remember to let them do their job. So I said, “Domino?”
“Sure,” he said, and stepped back, keeping me behind him as they came through the door. Once we were all in the room, it seemed a lot smaller.
“Miss, please step out where we can get a better look at you,” the older one asked.
It was reasonable since the lights were dim in the room, so I stepped out from behind Domino. I fought the urge to touch my hair; if I’d been that worried about it, I should have looked in a mirror before we opened the door.
He arched an eyebrow that was still black like his hair had been once. The young one gave me wide dark eyes. Apparently, I wasn’t meeting expectations for him either.
“Were you fighting?” the older one asked.
“No,” Domino said, “we were . . .”
“I didn’t ask you. I asked her,” he said, and even with the Irish accent, it was still a cop voice, abrupt and cutting across any nonsense.
Domino didn’t argue, just stepped a little back so I was more to the front. “No, we weren’t fighting,” I said.
“We had reports of a woman screaming, miss. If you weren’t fighting, what were you doing?”
I could have been coy, but I wasn’t good at it, so I decided to try the absolute truth. “We were having sex.”
He looked startled instead of cynical for the first time. His sidekick looked at the floor as if he suddenly didn’t want to look at me or Domino. I don’t think they’d expected me to just admit it.
“And that’s your story?” the older guy asked.
“It’s the truth,” I said.
Domino held his arms out so they could see the bloody scratches on them. “The sex got a little rough, but it wasn’t my girlfriend who got hurt.”
I blushed, didn’t mean to, but it helped our story, so it was a well-timed blush. “Sorry about that, Dom, really.”
“I’m not complaining, Anita, just explaining to the nice hotel security.” We shared one of those couple smiles, one that was actually not real for us, but we both played it for real. I realized that I’d gotten better at undercover work over the years; I’d never be great at it, but I was improving.