The Hostage: BookShots (Hotel Series) Read Free Page B

at the age of twenty-one he’d applied for a second time; and at the age of twenty-three he’d applied for his third and final time. Each time Stanley had failed the force’s physical – perhaps his love of chocolate-frosted doughnuts played no small part in his failure. Three months after his third failed application, however, Stanley had been recommended for a role as a civilian employee with the London police force, and after two interviews with Jon Roscoe he was in.
    When Roscoe resigned from the Metropolitan Police and was soon after appointed to the position of Global Head of Security at Tribeca Luxury Hotels, he’d had no hesitation in offering the role of his assistant and de facto number two to Stanley. At first, Stanley had hesitated. He loved his job working with the police and perhaps still hoped one day he might become a commissioned officer. But two weeks of no longer working alongside Jon was all it took for Stanley to realise that while working in the Metropolitan Police might have been his dream, working with Jon had made it a reality, so he gave his notice and headed out of New Scotland Yard. Since joining Jon at Tribeca Luxury Hotels, Stanley had loved every single day, working on different challenges across the world. He simply couldn’t imagine working with anyone else.
    Minutes earlier, standing in the lobby of the new hotel and hearing the glass shatter on the floors above, Stanley had been the first to react. Recognising there was no help to be given outside the hotel, he had made his way up the stairs in the hope of finding the killer attempting an escape.
    And that was when he’d heard the noise on the stairs above him: footsteps flying down the stairs, a body crashing from side to side as it made a rapid descent. With no time to react, Stanley decided to stand his ground. He quickly made his way up to the fifth-floor landing, giving himself the space to tackle the man head-on. While he might not be the quickest, he had the strength and weight to bring most men to the ground.
    One-on-one, Stanley knew he could take the man down.
    A man appeared at the top of the flight of stairs, wearing a black ski mask to conceal his face.
    Jumping down three steps, he launched himself forward, knocking Stanley sideways. Stanley grabbed hold of the man’s wiry frame, and the two grappled on the floor. Stanley felt the man wrap his hands around his throat and start to squeeze. Seizing hold of his adversary’s arm, Stanley sensed the strength of the man but could tell he didn’t possess the same basic power as he did. Turning his body, he flipped the man over and pushed himself free.
    But the man was quick and jumped Stanley before he had a chance to recover. Suddenly the pair were rolling down the next flight of stairs, still locked in combat. They hit the fourth floor landing and Stanley was able to pin his opponent to the floor.
    He had the man trapped.
    And then a desperate, gut-wrenching pain ripped through his stomach and flooded across his body. He’d been stabbed. Stanley started to shake as pain poured through every sinew.
    Powerless and unable to move, his strength ebbing away, he lay paralysed as the man ripped the knife out of his stomach and raced back up the building.
    Seeing Stanley lying in the corner of the stairs, Roscoe knelt beside his friend. He lifted Stanley’s head to speak to him, gently holding him in his arms. He could see immediately Stanley was badly hurt and was beginning to lose consciousness.
    ‘Talk to me, buddy,’ he said, desperately trying to keep Stanley awake.
    ‘He went back up the stairs, Jon,’ whispered Stanley, summoning all of his energy to speak. ‘Go after him. Don’t worry about me.’
    ‘Not until we get you some help.’
    ‘You can’t let him get away.’
    ‘I’ll get him, but first off we’ve got to sort you out.’
    ‘You’re the best, Jon,’ said Stanley, the pain surging through his body. Wave after wave swept across him. He closed his