She was in denial, but not that much.
* * *
THE WALK BACK to the hotel was quiet. More than anything Jonathan wanted to reprimand his charge for running off, but after seeing her expression in the alley, he’d refrained. Whatever—whoever—she’d seen had spooked her. While seeing Jonathan had done the opposite.
She’d let out a deep sigh that had seemingly passed through her entire body at the sight of him. Seeing such poignant relief because of his proximity had affected him almost as much as the look of fear she’d harbored seconds before. The absurd amount of annoyance he’d felt for Kathryn—Kate—had taken a backseat to a resounding protectiveness that went beyond his usual job duties.
He suddenly not only needed to keep her safe, he wanted to do it, and to the best of his abilities.
The silence stretched past the sidewalk and up to their rooms, and when it finally broke, it wasn’t by much.
“I’m a little tired from traveling,” Kate muttered. “I’ll let you know if I want to leave.” There was an undercurrent to her words, but Jonathan couldn’t place the emotion creating it. Was it guilt at ditching him earlier? Or residual fear from whatever had happened when he hadn’t been right on her heels?
“Thank you,” was all he could say.
She nodded and opened her door. He waited until it was closed and the top latch was thrown in place. It made him wonder if she’d done it by habit, or if Kate was more worried than she was letting on.
Kate closed the top latch over the door and took a step back to look at it. She heard Jonathan’s door close.
You aren’t in any danger, she thought. Don’t let his overprotectiveness worry you.
But even as she gave herself the advice, she couldn’t help but feel an influx of nerves tighten her stomach.
“This is why I didn’t want a bodyguard,” she muttered, rubbing her stomach. “Now I think I have problems I don’t really have.”
Trying to forget about the man next door wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped.
Talking about his past, including Orion’s origin, had softened her otherwise harsh opinion of the man. He wasn’t some faceless hunk of meat sent to stalk her in hopes of keeping a potentially imaginary predator at bay. He was a man who had persevered through tragedy and had made a life of preventing it from repeating again.
And wasn’t that exactly what she was doing, too?
She tried to banish thoughts of the brooding dark-haired man and fell onto the bed. The jaunt right after eating a full meal plus traveling combined to make her eyelids unbelievably heavy as soon as she hit the pillow.
The feeling of exhaustion and the desire to give in to the comfort of the bed surprised her. Taking naps wasn’t something she was used to doing. In the last few years, if there was time to sleep, then that meant there was time to work. She’d rarely picked a nap over lab time. It was a choice that had turned into a habit.
A yawn tore itself from her lips and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she was asleep.
This trip was already turning out much differently than she had originally planned.
* * *
THE ROOM WAS DARK.
Barely any light filtered in from behind the curtains. It was so dim Kate placed them as streetlights. Which meant her nap had stretched longer than she’d meant it to.
She rolled onto her back and yawned. Even though she’d been sleeping, she felt exhaustion still weighing her down. If she closed her eyes again, she was sure she’d sleep until morning.
So what had woken her up?
She tilted her head, listening.
A car horn blared outside, promptly followed by two more.
Ah, the sweet sounds of New York City, she thought.
She contemplated her next move, listening to a symphony of agitated drivers vent via their respective vehicles when another sound caught her ear.
Confused, she turned her head, peering into the dark for the culprit. It stopped.
Kate’s heartbeat began to pick up. She waited. There it was again.
Someone was in the hallway.
But what were they doing?
Curious—always curious—Kate got off the bed and made her way to the door. She peered through the peephole but was met with a cloudy circle with no help identifying who was outside. If there was anyone at all. She dropped back down to flat-footed and bit her bottom lip, waiting.
Seconds turned into minutes. Kate remained perfectly still until she was positive the sound, whatever it had been, had stopped. Slowly she unlatched the top lock and eased the door open a crack.
No one was there.
Cautious, Kate stepped out into the hallway. It was empty. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
See? That bodyguard has made you paranoid, she thought. No one is after you. No one even knows where you—
Her current thought bubble popped as she turned.
Taped to the door was a piece of paper with a single word written on it: Stop.
However, it wasn’t the message that made her throat catch.
Soaking the paper, blurring the one bold word, was blood. It ran off the paper and down the chipped paint of the door.
And this time, Kate didn’t think it was fake.
Jonathan was barely out of the shower when a pounding sounded against his door. Adrenaline spiked at the urgency behind each knock. He dropped the towel to his waist and had the door open within seconds, water dripping off him and on to the carpet.
“I think it’s real,” Kate greeted. She was still wearing her clothes from earlier but the impression of a pillow lined the right side of her face while her hair was ruffled. Like he’d suspected, she had been sleeping for the last few hours. Her expression, however, was not in the least rested. Her brows were pushed together, a wrinkle between them, and she wore a frown so pronounced it seemed to drag down every line that made up her face.
“What?” Jonathan asked, an umbrella question to everything.
“This time I think it’s real,” she repeated.
“What’s real?” Jonathan moved closer, out of the doorway. He was trying to get an answer that made sense. What he got was Kate’s shaky hand pointing to her door.
And then he understood.
“It’s real blood,” he said, senses going on alert as he took in what was taped to her door. This one undoubtedly looked more menacing than the other letters she’d received.
“Yes. The coloring, the way it drips,” she added. “The way it smells.”
Jonathan didn’t need to sniff the dark crimson to agree with her assessment. When he was a teenager, he’d gotten into a bad fight with a kid in foster care over which bed was his. The kid had been older and bigger and had hit Jonathan so perfectly in the nose that he busted it on impact. For nearly an hour it had bled. The color and consistency matched what was on the door now.
That was real blood, all right.
“Did you see who put it here?”