WILLIAM ARTHUR HOLMES

Riva

Riva's gray eyes reach out and grab anyone careless enough to look directly at her. Her flawless skin glows in contrast to her long black hair.

She knows the effect she has on men and is not afraid to use it... most days. Not today. Her hair is a tangled mess. Eyes bloodshot. Skin a sickly pallor from whatever ailment has befallen her as she holes up in this 4-star high-rise hotel on LA's west side. She hates waiting on anyone or anything but now awaits the arrival of Serge, her boss and mentor. The fact that she might be coming down with something makes the waiting that much worse.

She is doing her evening yoga, in the downward-facing dog position, when she gets the feeling she is not alone. Someone is in the room with her.

She ends the session with namasté, picks up the small-caliber pistol always within reach, and digs into her purse for a device given to her at training. The thing detects electronic bugs and heat signatures, all in one. She is not typically impressed with gadgets but has to admit this thing is pretty cool.

"There you are," she coos when she finds what might be mistaken for a cell phone. Clipping it to her waistband to leave her left hand free while the other hand holds the gun, she flips the device on and starts to inspect the hotel suite.

Finding nothing behind the couch, she moves to the kitchenette, opening every cabinet. Nothing. She edges down the narrow hallway past the front door. The device s