Ryder
When I returned to my suite, the food we'd ordered was sitting in the living area.Tessa wasn't.
But through the bathroom door, I could hear the sink running, like she was washing her hands.
A few minutes passed – and then a few more.
Still, she didn't emerge.
I didn't want to crowd her, but eventually I called through the door, "Is everything okay in there?"
She didn't answer.
The water was still running.
I knocked – lightly at first and then harder when there was no reply.Was something wrong?
My pulse started to kick, and I hollered through the door. "Say something or I'm coming in!"
She said nothing.
I turned the knob and discovered it was locked. A basic bathroom lock was so easy to pick, even a kid could do it. But I didn'twantto pick it. I wanted to haul back and bust down the door to get there faster.
I let out a scoff.Right.And scare the shit out of her if she was sitting in the tub with headphones on.
Rushing now, I grabbed a paperclip from my briefcase and had the door open in five seconds flat. And then I stared.
The bathroom was empty.
I turned off the faucet and looked around.Where the hell did she go?
My breath caught as I remembered that Evan Carver was missing, too.Had he known he was being watched?
It wasn't impossible.Had he staged that abduction to get away from the watchers?
My blood ran cold as I considered the very real possibility that Tessa had been snatched right out from under me, in the middle of a storm, and frommyfucking hotel room.
Working hard to keep control, I considered the logistics.
We had ordered food. That would be reason enough for Tessa to open the door if someone knocked. Hell, shehadopened the door,obviously, since the food was sitting right there on the coffee table.
Had she opened the door again? And for who?
How long had I been in the basement?Fifteen minutes? Twenty tops?
My heart hammered as I yanked out my phone and called Tessa's cell.
No answer.
No.Worse than no answer.
The call went straight to voicemail.
I strode back to the bathroom and found Tessa's clothes, still streaked with mud, but folded neatly on the countertop. Everything was there – even the jacket. The only things missing were her shoes, navy slip-ons she'd left drying by the door.
I tried to think. So she'd left, wearing my shorts and T-shirt? I glanced toward the balcony. Outside, the rain was still coming down in torrents.
Something hot and vicious flared in my chest. There was no way in hell she'd go outside barely clothed – and in this weather – unless she'd been forced or dragged.
