The phone, however, just rang and rang and rang.
Come on. Damn.
It rang and rang some more. Then finally—
"Who the fuck is this? We don't open till nine."
The first sound of his voice brought a wave of relief, but then his cocky attitude made me livid all over again.
"It's Morgan James, you shit. Why did you leave me stranded up here? You have no idea what—"
"Oh, you . . ." He paused for a cigarette cough. "You made me walk all the way downstairs just to bust my chops. What the—?"
"Talk to me, you prick." I still intended to strangle him. "I need your help. You owe me. You have no idea what—"
"Hey, lady, you didn't possibly believe taking off in that fucking hurricane was my . . . Let's just say I was acting under duress. I all but didn't get back."
"Well, you can start making up for that right now by springing me the hell out of here." So, somebody had put him up to it, just like I'd thought all along. But who? "I want you to look up the number for the American embassy. And tell me the name of somebody there who—"