Caleb Frost’s sixth sense tickled his brain as he approached his room in Caesars Octavius Tower. Regardless of the sources of the subconscious alarms, when they entered his conscious awareness, he did not question them. Training and experience responded to these stimuli. Something felt wrong. He knew it, but not what. He drew his P226, gripping it firmly in his hand. Sliding the plastic room card into the electronic key slot, he waited for the little light to shine green. Caleb pushed down on the ornate door handle and slammed the door open. He spun with his butt pressing the door flat against the interior wall as his two-handed grip on the Sig Sauer drew an arc across the room. On the second sweep, he saw it. Like a deadly nighttime chocolate on his bed.
