Chapter Text
The wind caused Andy’s hair to whip around wildly as she and Christian walked arm and arm down the street—in the direction of Christian’s hotel, she hoped. The further they walked, the more Christian leaned on Andy for support, and she smiled knowingly to herself.
“So, where are you staying?” Andy asked innocently as they rambled along.
“It’s just up here,” Christian mumbled.
“Good,” Andy said purred, in direct contrast with her disgusted expression. “Lead the way.”
A few minutes later, Christian announced their arrival. Andy froze, immediately recognized it as the same hotel the Runway staff—and more importantly, Miranda—were staying at. Andy felt her stomach drop, realizing that she’d genuinely wished her instincts had been wrong, just this once. But they rarely, if ever, were, so she tried to focus on the silver lining: she had very likely identified the back-up assassin she’d known her organization would hire, and said assassin was now barely conscious, clinging desperately to Andy’s arm in an effort to stay upright. The elevator deposited them two floors below Miranda’s suite and Christian began ungracefully searching for the key.
“Let me get that for you,” Andy cooed, pulling Christian’s wallet from his left coat pocket and locating the key card. She opened the door, dragging Christian inside.
“I’m going to freshen up.” Andy led him across the room and helped him lay down on the bed. “Why don’t you wait here for me?”
Christian nodded weakly, turning over onto his side. Andy stepped out of his sightline and silently waited until the rise and fall of his chest slowed and loud snores filled the room. Rolling her eyes, Andy pulled her hair back with an elastic and began her search, beginning with the entryway closet. She methodically dug through Christian’s things, always returning them to the exact position she’d found them in. If Christian somehow turned out to be a civilian, his anger and annoyance was the last thing Andy wanted to deal with.
Andy found the burner phone hidden inside a rolled up pair of socks. She navigated to the text messages and had to stifle a snort. Andy couldn’t believe her luck; Christian was apparently so cocky that he didn’t even bother deleting his text messages. She scrolled through them and quickly recognized that they were obscured by the same code her agency used. Andy pieced together Christian’s plan for the hit, and felt dread building in her stomach.
Resisting the urge to kill Christian in his sleep only because her fingerprints were all over the hotel room, Andy completed her search and contemplated her next move. If there was no immediate threat and Andy woke Miranda this late, she’d probably be on the next flight to New York. Christian would more than likely stay passed out until morning, so that threat was neutralized, at least temporarily.
Using a washcloth, Andy gingerly removed Christian’s gun and silencer from their hiding place and shoved them, along with the burner phone, into her coat pocket. Grabbing the key card, Andy walked quietly down the hall and deposited the weapon into a discreet garbage shoot she’d noticed on their way to Christian’s suite. She almost threw the phone away as well but changed her mind at the last moment, deciding it could possibly be useful.
Returning to the suite, Andy checked the time on the alarm clock beside the bed. Nearly 2 A.M. Andy estimated that with the cocktail of drugs she’d given him, Christian wouldn’t be awake until at least mid-morning, leaving him very little time to acquire a back-up gun or change his plan before the James Holt luncheon. However, Andy wasn’t the type to take chances, so, deciding to keep an eye on Christian, she laid down beside him, and waited.