He found the target’s room without a problem. Followed the signs to the bank of elevators, showed the room key to the security guard, and joined a group of young people in a crowded car. They piled off on the fourteenth floor. Lind rode alone to the thirty-fifth.
He had memorized the target’s room number. Now he walked down the long corridor, reaching back for his pistol and disengaging the safety. He gripped the gun tight in one hand and knocked on the target’s door with the other.
There was no answer from within. No movement behind the pinprick peephole. The light behind it stayed constant. Lind gave it a minute before he knocked again. Still no answer. He slid his key in the lock and felt the lock disengage.
Slowly he pushed the door open and crept into the room. The gun was heavy in his hand, the steel slick. Behind the door was a long hallway, dark, save for a thin beam of light coming through the curtains in the room at the end.
The hallway opened up into a spacious living area. There was nobody waiting, no movement. There were no lights on anywhere. Lind checked the whole suite: the kitchenette, both bedrooms. The sheets were tangled and lived in; there were clothes on the floor. Bottles in the living room, half-empty glasses. Thin lines of white powder and a baggie of pills, but no people. The target was gone.
Lind stood in the dark living area and waited. Gripped the gun tight and hoped the target would return quickly. He realized he was nervous.
It was a new kind of nervous. It wasn’t the sensation he normally felt as he waited to complete an assignment, the sick fear that he would fail, that the target wouldn’t show, that he would disappoint the man. Lind knew the target was coming. The target always came. The man was never wrong. No, there was something else unsettling Lind. He felt a hint of panic when he tried to explore it.
Caity Sherman. He kept thinking about the girl. He’d thought about her on the flight out, on the cab ride to the hotel. He’d thought about her all morning as he wandered the Strip. He’d thought about her, he realized, while he dreamed.
He knew he should have killed her. He knew the man would be angry. He shouldn’t be thinking of her now, in this hotel room, on assignment. He should be focused on the target. On pleasing the man. He should be focused on making the visions go away. But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Caity Sherman. The way she’d smiled at him. The way she’d laughed and teased him. The way her face had fallen when he’d tried to brush her aside. Lind caught himself hoping he hadn’t hurt her feelings. He hoped he would see her again.
This was bad. Lind knew it was bad. He felt the panic behind his eyes whenever he saw her. The buzzing like a million hornets inside his skull. He felt like he wanted to claw his brain out through his ears.
Still, he couldn’t escape her. He stood in the target’s dark room and thought about Caity Sherman, fighting the waves of panic and trying to stay calm. He stood there for a long time. He started to feel worried. He started to wonder if the target wouldn’t come.
Then he heard voices, and a key in the door. Laughter from the hallway, and a fresh beam of light. The target was here. Lind gripped his pistol tighter and tried to push Caity Sherman from his mind.