CHAPTER 7
“You know,” Blake said as they sat across from each other. “You don’t actually stay here.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”
His gaze cut down at her, unreadable, though the faintest edge of amusement curled his mouth. “You’re registered across the river. Smaller hotel. Less security. You checked in under your own name. Not smart.”
She bristled, quickening her pace. “You have been following me.”
“Observing,” he corrected, his voice low and maddeningly calm. “Luckily, it was me. If it were someone else, you wouldn’t be here. And they wouldn’t be buying you drinks before taking you back to your room.”
Her stomach tightened, half nerves, half defiance. “You’re assuming I need saving.”
“I’m assuming you want to stay alive.” He got up from the table. “Shall we?”
She put on her jacket and shouldered her purse that held all the information she’d mined at the library today. The night air of Budapest pressed cool and damp against Elise’s cheeks as she stepped out of the hotel bar. Blake fell into stride besideher, moving with the quiet confidence of a man who didn’t have to force anyone to notice him. That irritated her. Men who assumed they could just … take up space. Except he wasn’t exactly wrong; shehadnoticed. And she wasstillnoticing.
He adjusted his stride to match hers easily. “Also, your refusal to give up and let this search go means from this point forward, I’m staying with you. You don’t go anywhere alone.”
She stopped, hands planted on her hips, her heels clicking against the cobblestone. “Excuse me? You’re moving into my room?”
“Exactly that.” His tone left no room for argument. “You don’t have to like it.”
Oh, she didn’t. But she also wasn’t naive enough to miss the truth in what he said. If someonewaswatching her, there was nothing she could do to stop them. She was one hell of a reporter, but she was defenseless in a foreign country. Not a good feeling, now that he brought it up.
They resumed walking, her pulse ticking faster with each step toward her hotel. She distracted herself by reviewing what she’d uncovered because facts steadied her when men tried to bulldoze her.
“I need to go through tax records,” she said, lifting her chin as though daring him to stop her.
“Why?”
“Because the charity foundation I’m looking into has donated money to Antwerp’s galleries in the last three years. Millions. I’m not sure about Hungary. However, here, he’s donated to children’s hospitals, literacy campaigns, and scholarships. The guy who runs it is practically a saint on paper.”
Blake’s silence pressed between them, heavy.
“But it doesn’t add up,” she continued, her voice sharper now. “You don’t amass that fortune without shadows. The foundation’s board is stacked with … I’m not sure what theyare, but layers and layers of corporations. And the Antwerp contributions? I want to see if these donations match when his ships come into port. I also need to find a way to review the charity’s expenditures. If they’re real, they should have to report their numbers to the government.”
“You’re connecting dots that might not exist,” Blake said evenly.
She shot him a look. “Or I’m the only one willing to draw the line between them.”
The city glowed around them. Warm light spilled from cafés, the scent of roasted chestnuts curled through the streets, and laughter echoed off centuries-old façades. But none of it softened her determination. She wasn’t about to be cowed into silence by some suit with a protective streak. She rolled her eyes. A Guardian. A man who wanted her to stop but now wanted to protect her. His reasons were suspect at best, but she trusted him. Étienne had told her to trust the Guardian. If Blake hadn’t said that word, she would’ve excused herself from the table and bolted. How, she hadn’t any idea. But she would’ve gotten away from him somehow.
“Tell me something,” she said as they turned the corner onto her quieter street. “Why do you care if I keep digging? Because you’ve made it clear you’d rather I didn’t.”
His eyes met hers, sharp and impenetrable. “Because people who dig in Marek Zajac’s world tend to end up buried in it.”
A shiver slid through her, but she refused to let him see it. “I never said that name. And if you're right, you’d better keep up,” she said, pushing through the glass doors of her hotel. “Because I’m not stopping.”
The lobby was smaller than the one they’d left, tucked into the curve of a quiet side street. Old brass fixtures gleamed beneath soft lamplight, and the night clerk barely looked up from his desk as Elise swept past. Blake’s presence behind herwas a physical thing, a weight pressing between her shoulder blades.
She flashed her keycard, making for the elevator, and he followed without hesitation.
“Do you ever ask permission?” she muttered as the doors closed, the hum of the lift surrounding them.
“Not when time matters,” he said, leaning against the mirrored wall, his reflection tall and unyielding.
Her eyes flicked to him, sharp. “You realize how insane this sounds? A man I’ve known, what, an hour, announcing he’s moving into my room?”
