Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller) by Brett Battles, Robert Gregory Browne Page A

should’ve kept up those guitar lessons.”

    They took the elevator to the tenth floor, and made their way down a wide hallway with more leather club chairs and a hand-tufted, black and cream Art Deco carpet. It was clear to Alex why staying here cost a small fortune. This stuff didn’t come cheap.
    As they approached their room, Cooper nodded toward the corner door at the end of the hall to their right, indicating Favreau’s suite. Without better surveillance access, they’d have to get creative. Hopefully the new guy, Warlock, had the goods.
    “I think Favreau may be a hermit, too,” Cooper whispered as he unlocked their door. “He’s had the Do Not Disturb sign on since he got here and hasn’t left the room.”
    “That could be a problem,” Deuce said.
    Cooper nodded. “We’ll just have to give him a reason to go out.”
    They stepped inside their suite and found themselves in a small foyer with yet another Edgar Brandt table along the wall, this one tall and narrow with a mirror above it. After stepping around a corner into the living room, Alex couldn’t help but pause. The room was an immaculately furnished Art Deco wonderland. The walls, the curtains, the flooring, the furniture all screamed “luxury accommodations.”  
    Unfortunately, the pleasing visual line was interrupted by the presence of a large rolling metal cart in the middle of the room, and the slender, leather-jacketed street bum slouched on a stool in front of it.
    Sitting atop the cart was an open laptop and three monitors mounted side by side on a stand. The street bum—Warlock, Alex assumed—was so wrapped up in whatever he was typing on the laptop that she wasn’t sure he even realized they were there.
    “Hey, Warlock,” Cooper said as they approached. “I want you to meet Alexandra Poe and—”
    Without moving his gaze from the screen, Warlock raised an index finger to silence him.
    Cooper, Deuce, and Alex exchanged looks as Warlock continued to type for a moment, then finally looked up and said in a thick British accent, “Sorry ‘bout that. I lost the connection to the CCTV feed and wanted to…”  
    He paused, eyeing Alex as if he had only now noticed her, then broke into a grin. There was a sparse patch of beard on the point of his chin, while his hair looked as if he’d recently been caught in a windstorm. He reminded Alex of Scooby Doo’s friend Shaggy, and if she had run into him on the street, her first thought would’ve been heroin addict .
    The only thing that shattered that notion was the sleek, futuristic pair of glasses he wore.  
    “Hold on now,” he said. “What’s this?” He gave her the once-over. “I heard you were a looker, but you’re a right fit bird, aren’t you?” He got off the stool and offered a hand to shake. “Alex, right? I’m Warlock.”  
    She shook the hand as he lowered his gaze slightly.  
    “And if you don’t mind my saying, that’s a cracking pair of baps Mother Nature blessed you with.”
    Alex frowned, not quite sure she’d heard him right. “ What ?”
    He wagged a finger at her chest. “Baps. Bristols. What I believe you Americans call hooters, although yours are more like delicate—”
    Alex had her hand around his throat before he could finish the sentence. She flung him backward onto the sofa and pinned him there by the neck, his glasses askew, his face turning red as he tried to breathe.  
    “Listen to me, you little shit…”
    “Alex…” Cooper said.
    “…You talk to me like that again…”
    “Alex…”
    “…and I swear to God you’ll find yourself sipping your dinner through a…”
    “Alex, enough . We need this guy.”
    She held on a second longer before letting Warlock loose. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, coughing and staring at her with wounded, disbelieving eyes. “Bloody ‘ell! What was that for?” His voice was a strangled rasp.
    She glared at him. “You seriously don’t know?”
    He pulled off the glasses and