***
I wasn't really listening when he told the cab driver where to go. I didn't really think about our destination at all until we pulled up to a curb and Jon's cop started to get out, pulling me with him.
I'd been thinking more about what time it was, which was around 2:30 a.m. according to the cabbie's dashboard clock. I'd also been thinking about how the hell I was going to explain this to Jon without him having a full-blown coronary, especially given how I must look. Knowing Jon, he was already calling hospitals and police stations, anyway, if he wasn't out roaming the streets with my photo. I wanted to call him and reassure him I was alive at least, but I couldn't find my phone on my person anywhere, so I had to assume they'd taken it after they knocked me out...which made sense, of course. It would be stupid to leave someone you were trying to murder with a phone, even if they were tied up.
The black-haired guy claimed he didn't even have a headset, which might have been weird if it was anyone else. As it was, I didn't argue.
Anyway, we were heading downtown, which was all I really cared about.
So when the cab stopped and he tugged on my arm to follow him, I didn't resist. Not until we were standing outside of a hotel, that is. A hotel that most definitely wasn't my hotel. In fact, rather than the fleabag place where we were staying, I was now standing outside probably the nicest hotel I'd ever seen in New York. I read the gilded name on the front, and recognized it as a newer place, but already famous due to its high-priced rooms and unbelievable view of the park.
He started to pull me towards the entrance, where two unform-wearing men were already approaching us to open the doors, before I realized what he intended.
"Hey!" I came to a stop, pulling out of his grasp. "What is this? I need to go back. My brother is probably about to burst a blood vessel...if he hasn't already."
I glanced at the four-story lobby I could glimpse through the glass windows.
"...I don't know who you think I am," I added. "But I can't afford a room here, anyway. What is this place? Like eight hundred dollars a night?"
The black-haired man stopped on the curb, right before where it dipped in to form a small driveway for pick up and drop-off for valet parking. Putting his hands on his hips, he stared down at me, as if trying to decide what to do with me. He looked borderline flustered, though. Studying his eyes, I realized he was still worried about something. Or maybe he was just amped up from shooting all those people, I don't know.