Page 81 of Steel Vengeance

It’s Jeremy. Which room are you in?

Stitch typed a reply.

143.

Right after, another text came through, this time from Blade.

On the way up.

Game time.

Stitch set his phone to record and left it face down on the dresser, then he grabbed his gun and positioned himself at the door. Blade would follow Jeremy up—standard procedure when dealing with informants. Blade’s boss, Pat—a former SEAL and all-round tough guy—was in the loop about the meeting. If things went sideways, he’d get the local authorities involved and make sure Jeremy was detained until they could ship him back to the U.S. They just needed something solid to pin on him.

A soft knock broke the silence.

“Here we go,” Stitch muttered to himself.

“Sloane? It’s Jeremy,” called the voice outside.

Bastard even sounded friendly, Stitch thought, but he remained calm. His training kicked in, keeping him focused. He cleared his head and zeroed in on the task. With his Glock hidden behind his back, he opened the door.

“Who the hell are you?” Jeremy took a step back, clearly not expecting a muscle-bound stranger to greet him. Then his gaze narrowed. “Wait? We’ve met. You were at the bar the other night. You spilled your drink on me.”

“That’s right, Jeremy. I’ve been expecting you,” Stitch said, icily.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Sloane?” Jeremy peered behind Stitch into the room.

“Sloane couldn’t make it.”

“What is this? Some kind of set-up? I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He turned to leave, but bumped straight into Blade, who had silently positioned himself behind him.

“Going somewhere?” Blade rumbled, blocking his way.

Jeremy took a step back, gaze flickering between the two of them. His hand started moving toward his jacket pocket.

“I wouldn’t,” Stitch warned, levelling his gun. “Hands where I can see them.”

Slowly, Jeremy raised his hands.

Blade reached a gloved hand into the CIA agent’s jacket and pulled out a Beretta fitted with a suppressor, then quickly patted him down in case he was concealing a second weapon. “He’s clear.”

“Come inside. Let’s talk.” Stitch motioned for him to step inside the hotel room.

Jeremy did as he was ordered but remained tense. Blade followed, right on his heels, still holding Jeremy’s gun.

“Take a seat,” Stitch said.

“I’d prefer to stand.” Jeremy glared at them. “What’s this about? Who are you?”

“Friends of Sloane’s,” Stitch said, flatly. “We heard you wanted to talk to her?”

He forced a chuckle. “I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I’m here to help her. I’m taking her back to the U.S.”

“With this?” Blade held up the Baretta.

The smirk left his lips. “That’s for protection. I’ve got a license for it.”

Stitch ignored him. “You and Sloane traveling together?”