Nico (The Mavericks Book 8)

hotel. Both were hired three months ago, after they had attended a job fair, and were hired on the spot. Didn’t appear to have any prior connection before working together at the hotel.”
“Well, they moved into a really ugly sideline of life.”
“Makes me wonder if somebody else at the hotel might have recruited them.”
“Money is a great motivator,” Nico said to Miles, the phone now on Speaker mode. “If you think about it, these are both young men, looking to make something out of their life or to have a different life instead of this drudgery of a nine-to-five, working in the laundry room of a big hotel. If they were offered big money, chances are they jumped at it and didn’t even ask questions.”
“Or they asked too many questions,” Keane said with a look over at Nico.
Nico turned the corner up ahead and pulled into the hotel’s underground parking lot. “That’s true too,” he admitted. “What we need to know is if our two DBs were friendly with anybody else who worked at the hotel.”
Keane clicked away on his phone, thankful to have a copy of the dead kidnappers’ contacts sent to him as well. “Checking the contacts on our two DBs. Ah-ha. Charles Huntington. He’s on shift right now, and he’s due off in half an hour.”
“Laundry?” Nico asked.
“Loading and unloading for the trucks and sorting and restocking the shelves,” Miles explained.
“Okay. Do you have a photo, Miles?” Nico asked. “We’ll have to come in through the laundry area, find him, and talk to him.”
“Sending you a photo now. You do that and just be quiet about it then,” Miles said. “There’s a good chance he won’t be pleased about speaking to the authorities.”
“Rap sheet?” Keane asked.
“Yes. Breaking and entering,” Miles said.
“Good enough,” Keane said. “We won’t go in as cops though. Maybe as some local hustle, looking to see if he’s interested in some jobs.”
“Or maybe as a local hustler who knows he’s already involved in a job,” Nico corrected. Grim, he added, “Chances are, he is in over his head.”
“Let’s go find out.”

Chapter 3
Charlotte had been moved from the truck to another laundry cart. Like, what the hell was with that? She was being pushed even now down a hallway. She had no idea why all kinds of discussions were going on in front of her, but one of those was about a helicopter. She wondered exactly who and what was going by helicopter because, if it was her, that wasn’t good news. That would mean she had pissed off somebody really big. She groaned silently.
She wanted the companies to do more, and she wanted the governments to do more. But what she really wanted most was for the world to wake up and to pay attention. To everything—the people, the animals, the climate, and the planet. But, of course, everybody was addicted to their instant conveniences and were happy to stick their heads in the sand about any future generations’ problems and make it a not me problem. She shifted uneasily in the bottom of the bag only to have the top of her head smacked, hard. “Don’t move.”
She took several deep calming breaths. She was covered with laundry and hadn’t really thought anybody would notice, but maybe it made the bag itself move. She stuck a finger along the edge and waggled it. Could somebody else see it? But she did not want the man pushing her to know.
Using her feet, she set up a slight rhythm on the end of the laundry cart. At least the guy pushing her wouldn’t see that. And, with the swaying as they moved forward, it should cover her movements. So far, she hadn’t even heard anybody in the hallway. How did that work? Sure, it was probably late at night again, at least by her estimation, but she was losing track of time. They’ve given her several bathroom breaks, but somebody stood guard each time, watching her.
The first time it made her feel really icky. The second time had been a matter of urgency and she’d been just too damn grateful that she hadn’t worried as much about them watching her. She had muttered Pervert as he walked past though and had been cuffed on the side of the head for that comment. Still, it hadn’t beaten her spirits down too badly.
As long as they were on the move, surely somebody, anybody might see them by chance. The cart jolted as it took a sudden turn. She listened intently, and, sure enough, she heard footsteps up ahead. She didn’t know if it was just one person or not. She also didn’t know if that person would help her or if it was somebody meeting this guy.
“Hey, you still on duty?”
“Last load,” said the guy pushing her cart.
“Man, it’s late for you.”
“I know, right? But the place is a nuthouse.”
“If only I had a share of the money that this hotel was pulling in,” the new guy said enviously. His footsteps continued to walk on past ever-so-slightly.
She again used her foot to make it look like something moved inside the cart, but he hadn’t even seemed to notice. She sank back, feeling hot tears in her eyes. Something in that new voice had her desperate to try to jump out though. But then, if it got her killed, what good would that do? And then suddenly she heard the voice call out, “Hey, by the way, where are you taking that laundry hamper to?”
“It’s going up to the penthouse. Why?” asked the guy pushing her. She could hear the tension running through his voice like a coiled wire stretched too tight.
“I didn’t think that was part of your job.”
“What the hell do you know about my job?” the guy said defensively.
“Well, for one, the penthouse doesn’t get laundry carts like that,” the guy said in a dry tone. “And, for another, you’re well past your shift.”
“I’m not. I still have ten minutes left.”
“Yeah, well, let me