“So, how does this work?” Jace whispers to me as the car starts moving. His breath tickles my ear.

“How does what work?” I murmur back.

“Ditching your small army. Do I have to kidnap you?”

“Why? Is there something you don’t want them around for?” I smirk as Jace gives me a heated glance before leaning down to kiss the small strip of skin exposed by my jacket.

“Peter, can you actually take us to the hotel first?” I ask, not allowing myself to linger on the tingling sensation Jace’s lips left behind. I know it will come through in my voice if I do. I don’t let myself look at Jace’s smirking face either.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Peter replies.

Minutes later, we pull up in front of the nicer of Lincoln’s two hotels. Jace climbs out of the car. I look at Michael, who’s sitting in the passenger seat. “I’m going up with him,” I inform him. “We have a lot to talk about. I’ll text you the room number, and I won’t leave the room without informing you first. Get checked in and wait to hear from me? Understood?”

Michael scans the front of the hotel. One elderly couple is climbing inside a sedan the valet has just pulled up for them.

“All right.”

I nod and slide out of the car to join Jace. I grab his hand and start to tug him inside.

“What was that about?” he asks, glancing behind us at the two cars of agents.

“I was getting permission to be kidnapped.”

We walk through the lobby quickly, trying not to draw attention. Thankfully, late afternoon doesn’t seem to be a popular time to hang out in the lobby. No one spares us a second glance as we slip inside one of the elevators. Jace hits 5 and the doors slide shut.

We emerge into a carpeted hallway that’s completely empty. I’m glad. I imagine most of the other hotel residents are also here for Lincoln’s last game of the season, and I’m sure anyone we came across would recognize Jace.

Jace stops in front of room 523. I quickly text the room number to Michael and assure him I’ve ascended the five stories safely. He replies, reminding me to let him know when I’m planning to leave.

A beep draws my attention away from my phone. The green light on the doorknob flashes, and the hotel door swings open. Jace flips on the lamp and walks inside, and I follow closely behind. The heavy door swings shut automatically behind us, effectively sealing off the rest of the world.

I glance around the room curiously. It’s neat and clean, with a rich red carpet and what looks to be a king-size bed with a plush cream-colored comforter. A small black suitcase sits on the table in the corner of the room next to an overstuffed duffel bag. I take note of a series of inconsequential details: the nondescript paintings on the walls, the white door leading to the bathroom, the remote resting haphazardly next to the television.