Chapter 494
Chapter 494:
“Ms. Sterling,” King said, his voice dripping with condescension, “Mr. Graves gave strict instructions p>
“He’s a prude,” Skye slurred, stumbling toward him.
She tripped, falling against him.
“Whoa there!” King caught her by the arms, his face wrinkling at the smell of alcohol.
Skye clung to his lapels, her hands moving frantically. “Just one drink, King. Please. I’m so lonely up here p>
“Get off me,” King muttered, trying to peel her away.
Skye’s hand slipped inside his jacket. Her fingers brushed the plastic lanyard. She felt the clip.
It was a move she had learned from a street urchin in Paris during her years on the run. A simple misdirection.
“Please!” she sobbed, burying her face in his chest to hide her hands.
With a deft flick of her thumb, she unclipped the card.
She slid it into her sleeve in one fluid motion.
King shoved her back onto the sofa. “Enough of this. You’re drunk. Sleep it off p>
He straightened his jacket, unaware that his lanyard was now lighter. “Guards, keep the door locked. No more alcohol p>
King stormed out. The lock clicked.
Skye lay on the sofa for a full minute, listening to his footsteps fade.
Then she sat up. The drunkenness vanished from her eyes instantly.
She reached into her sleeve and pulled out the card. It was black, with a gold chip.
The master key.
Now she just had to get out of the box.
She looked at the ventilation grate near the ceiling. It was narrow, screwed shut.
She grabbed a silver teaspoon from the minibar coffee set. The handle was thin and flat.
Skye climbed onto the back of the sofa. She jammed the spoon handle into the screw head. It wasn’t a perfect fit. She had to use her bandaged hand to apply pressure, twisting with her wrist.
Pain shot up her arm. The fresh cuts on her fingers screamed as the pressure caused the wounds to reopen under the bandages. She felt a warm trickle of blood seep into the gauze, but she gritted her teeth, blinking away tears.
Rе𝖺𝘥 𝗈𝘯 𝘢𝗇y 𝗱𝖾𝗏і𝗰е оn b𝗲𝗅n𝗈v𝗲lѕ.сo𝗆
Turn. Slip. Turn. Slip.
It took agonizing minutes. One screw. Two.
The grate came loose.
Skye pulled herself up. It was a tight squeeze. The duct smelled of dust and recycled air. She crawled, dragging herself through the darkness, counting the turns she had memorized from the blueprints.
She reached a junction. Left went to the kitchen. Right went to the service elevators.
She went right.
She kicked out the grate over the service hallway. She dropped down, landing silently on the linoleum floor.
She smoothed her dress. She checked the card in her hand.
She was out.
But as she turned the corner toward the elevators, she ran straight into a wall of muscle.
“Going somewhere p>
Skye looked up.
It wasn’t Marcus. Marcus was gone. Standing before her was a man she didn’t recognize—taller, broader, with a scar running through his left eyebrow and eyes as cold as liquid nitrogen. He wore a tactical suit that fit too well.