Muttering punishing thoughts about her haste, she dressed as fast as she could, making sure the sheath with her knife was clipped securely, then checked outside the door again.
Oh, there they are, on the other side of the hinges so the door is blocking them from her sight.
While she shoved her feet into the sneakers, she entertained a brief fantasy of him fulfilling her physical needs. It might have been tremendous fun under other circumstances, but these past few weeks have made such things impossible. Besides, screwing the boss never ended well.
Imagining she was screwing the boss...well, there was nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. If she ever remembered any of her dreams, she halfway hoped they would be with her and Kellen tangled together under the sheets. Or in the shower. Or on his desk...
Okay, time to put a stop to those thoughts and eat. She hadn't seen so much food in one course in years. One plate was filled with fluffy scrambled eggs, another had a half stack of pancakes dripping in butter, along with a large bowl of hot cereal.
Her inner eight-year-old would have gobbled down every bite with gusto. Her mother might have scolded her, but her father would have given her a sly wink. It was time to let herself stop thinking about her past and concentrate on what was in front of her. While she scooped up the cereal with one hand wrapped around a spoon, she clicked on the TV with the other.
The morning news droned into the room. She watched, but not with the eyes of someone who cared about local events or national scandals. At least she hadn't cared until the image of a train railcar exploding covered the screen.
"This was the scene last night on a freight train at the Culbertson train depot. As you can see, a railcar carrying ammonium nitrate, a key ingredient for fertilizer, exploded. According to the latest report there were two bodies found in the railcar itself. Freight companies warn people of the dangers of traveling..."
For a moment, Samara thought she might lose her breakfast.
The reporter doesn't know what caused it. It might have been an accident. Ammonium nitrate wasn't just used for agriculture. Terrorists used it for explosives. Dad had to put out more than one agricultural fire. You don't know for sure if that was one of the railcars you rode. Even if it was, the explosion would have destroyed your scent. But why would the pack blow it up in the first place?
She continued to watch, hoping that the reporter would move away from the camera enough so she could see the remnants of the railcar surrounded by firefighters. Instead, her heart squeezed when she saw their uniforms, so much like the one her dad had worn. Finally, the reporter cut away to show security camera footage. With her face close enough to the screen, Samara could see the railcar identification numbers a second before the car exploded.
It is my railcar! The first one. The one I jumped on before it headed east to Dilworth. What about the bodies? Who was in there before it blew up? I need to know. If the pack tracked me to that railcar, they might have destroyed it thinking I was on board. But, why? The pack's alpha had wanted her alive for some reason. Blowing up the railcar made no sense.
Samara closed her eyes to analyze the evidence. If the pack found my scent in the railcar, all they would know is the railcar was headed to Dilworth. Is it possible they don't know that I had caught that train six weeks ago?
Could a wolf shifter's scent last that long? The railcar might have just returned from Dilworth for all they know.
That thought didn't comfort her.
All right. You need to relax. You jumped on another railcar in Dilworth. It'll be weeks before they can figure out which one.
She watched for a few more minutes, hoping for more information, but the story began to repeat itself, so she turned off the TV.
Like it or not, she had to leave this room and face her new reality. She needed money to continue her journey, and it was time to get to work. Yanking down her polo shirt to insure it hid her sheath, Samara started for the door, but at the last minute decided to grab the tray holding her empty breakfast plates and drinking glass. It couldn't hurt if she showed off her tray balancing skills by bringing all of it down the stairs and into the kitchen. Checkmarks in her favor were few and hard to come by, so a little demonstration and goodwill couldn't hurt.
Once in the kitchen, she spied Kellen standing with one of the chefs. They were deep in conversation, but whatever they were talking about ended abruptly as soon as the doors closed behind her. To her right, she saw the dishwasher, so she placed the tray on the conveyor and left it there.
Kellen handed a small tablet to the chef and made his way toward her. Her imagination hadn't forgotten any details. His long legs covered the distance with ease, but also with unexpected grace until he stood right before her. He kept his hands behind his back, as if trying to reassure her he had no intention of making her feel uncomfortable.
"Did you get a good night's sleep?" His voice had a huskiness to it, something she hadn't remembered from their brief conversation yesterday. Her imagination had missed a few things.
"I did. Thank you for that and for breakfast."
"You're welcome." He motioned her out of the kitchen and toward the employee exit. "What's your name?"
"Maria." She hoped he didn't ask for a last name or ID. If he did she would have to explain a little more, but if he didn't, there was no reason to mention more.
"Hello, Maria. Let's head out to the dining room and get you started."
She followed him, concerned that he hadn't pressed her for more details about herself, but also grateful.
"Your station for now will be right here in front of the bar. I'll be here all day, so if there's a problem, just come and get me. Do you have any experience working as waitstaff?"
Chin up, answer with confidence, her grandfather's advice echoing in her ears. "No."
"Well, then, you'll shadow Carlie for today." He handed her a lunch menu along with a list of specials. "She doesn't start for an hour, so in the meantime you can memorize the food, drink, and dessert menus."
She gave them a quick glance as he pulled out a chair at one of the tables, motioning for her to sit. "Food comes with the apartment, so tell the chef when you're ready for lunch and they'll prepare something as long as it's on the menu."
