“She said she understood it was a murder investigation and we would be in touch when you could leave.” I don't think he notices, but maybe because I’ve gotten to know him so well, I notice Wren turns unnaturally still.
“My next question, Miss Osbourne, have you found your own secret yet?”
This surprises me. “What, no?”
“From my deduction of clues found and guests, there’s only a couple left. Do you think yours will be the last one?”
Wren’s stillness is starting to freak me out, but I resist placing a hand on his back in case it alerts Starling.
“If the theory is correct that this was all a game to cause malice, surely your ex-boyfriend would make your secret be found last? Hey, maybe you don’t have one at all because he still harbored feelings.”
I glare. “Yeah, that’s not true. We’d gone our separate ways and like I told you, we hadn’t spoken for months. We didn’t plan on seeing each other again.”
“One more. It’s come to our attention that these murders and your attack have a pattern that matches the plotline of your crime novel. Have you noticed?” Chills cover my body as I start to feel dizzy again, unable to make my expression neutral. I bet I’m even sweating.
This thankfully brings Wren out of his trance, as he shifts closer to me on the bed and positions himself slightly in front of me, like a protector. “You’ve read the book?” He asks, not admitting to knowing or denying anything. Clever. I could kiss him.
“No, Miss Claythorne pointed it out after we found you this morning. We believe whoever attacked you planned to take you out via boat and drown you in the lake.”
“Jesus Christ, can you be a little more sympathetic?” Wren snaps at him, but their bickering becomes just background noise as I zone out and the rush in my head makes me want to throw up. He gets out of bed, pointing at Starling, whilst their conversation becomes more heated and I just look off to the side, at the sliver of light that is desperately trying to push through the closed curtains. I look at the light, look at the grey clouds I can see outside, picture the cold water that would be the same color in this weather. My brain tries to make itself known as I desensitize myself to the room around me.
“They didn’t drown in a lake,” I say, my voice distant as the fog starts to clear in my mind and more snippets of the bigger picture float together like a jigsaw. The murders of both Corbin and Jay are there, next slots in my novel, but not the final published draft. “Detective Starling, in my published book the victim was poisoned and made to look like they drowned in a bath.”
“Bath, lake, it’s still drowning.”
“That’s not my point. In my published book, the character was already dead from the poison before drowning—I changed the details in my third draft because it was important to the plot that they had died earlier.”
Wren turns to me too. “What do you mean, Roo?”
“In my original outline and three drafts, the victim was dragged to a lake and drowned. I got inspiration from the lake here at Nightingale, but I didn't include a span of water in my story so it wouldn’t have made sense. The only people who would have known about the lake is someone who read my first drafts.” I must look potentially mad as I fling myself from the bed on wobbly legs. “I didn’t let anyone read those drafts, so when someone trashed my room, they must have taken my outlines for the book. My notebooks were ruined, but I bet if we go look in my room, we’ll find one missing. Whoever has it would have thought to dump me in the lake.” I wince at my blatant regard for my own life, but I pace as my brain finally seems to be helping me piece things together. I just can’t figure out the why or who yet.
“I think you need to lay down and rest, Love.”
I shake my head, staring at the detective. “You need to check everyone’s room, find my original outline. The next death, someone is pushed out of a window.” I sound a little frantic, but if we can stop this now, no one else will get hurt.
Starling’s dark eyes flash between myself and Wren for a long time, processing my theory before he slaps his notebook against his hand and nods.
“I want everyone downstairs. Round them all up, go to the library and stay there whilst Detective Goldie and I search the rooms.”
“What about Bran?”
“He’s locked in his room until we can take him to the station.”
Detective Starling makes me relay everything back to him one more time before he finally leaves, planning to gather us all downstairs and potentially stay there until the flood water is drained. If there is no upstairs access, there’s no way anyone can fall out of a window. My logic feels foolproof.
Coming to sit next to me on the hotel bed, Wren takes both of my hands, kissing each knuckle gently. I don’t want him to stop, so I guide my lips to his when he lowers my hands. This kiss is soft enough I feel tears prick at my eyes, the desperation showing in how he grips me, pawing at my waist until he pulls me onto his lap. Our tongues clash together, the kiss deepening frantically and I just can't get enough. I want more. Just as I’m considering begging for him to forget the sexual boundaries I’d made, he kisses me firmly once, twice, before pulling away and placing me back onto the bed. Letting out a needy whine I am so embarrassed about, I flinch at the seriousness in his expression. I’m so used to flirtatious smirks, hungry looks, and that blinding smile, not this sternness. This…seriousness. His eyes drop to my neck, examining the marks no doubt there on my skin, before shooting up to my face. “You always manage to kiss me stupid.” he says and I splutter, unsure whether to laugh.
“Is that bad?”
He shakes his head, running his hand quickly through his curls. “Sorry, that doesn’t matter, Starling is lying. Our manager isn't called Tiffany, he’s called Theo and is definitely a dude.”
I feel like I'm just staring at him with my eyes bulging from their sockets. “You tested him.”
“Yep and he failed. I knew something wasn’t right; there’s no way he would have let Bran and me be here without legal aid or himself, not if the police contacted him. The guy is a control freak—makes everyone sign an NDA, even if one of us just popped into a cafe to grab a quick coffee. He’d have shown up by now if he knew, way before the bridge was closed.”
My heart sinks. “Wren, what if the bridge isn’t even closed? We’ve relied on them both for information outside of the hotel, but if they haven’t contacted anyone, what if they’re in the same boat we are?”
“Shit, you're right. They could be trapped too without signal and now some nutter has locked the gates.”
