“Because it was on my bed when I got out of the bath, and I assumed—” His frown told me I’d assumed wrong. So we were truly not alone in this inn. “Did you meet the other . . . prisoner?”
“Nope. Basement was just a wine storage and laundry room.” He said this a tad bitterly. I supposed I deserved it since I’d left him to explore on his own.
“There has to be someone else here, though. The bathrobe didn’t appear out of thin air.”
“Are you sure you didn’t lay it out?”
I gave him a pointed stare. I was tired but not delusional.
“Well they must’ve gotten back while I was showering, because I didn’t run into anyone.” He went back to reading.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck rose as I looked over my shoulder at the door I’d left open. I was about to return to the hallway and call out ahellowhen I turned back toward Remo. “Want to come with me to greet our new companion?”
“Nope.” He popped the word out like a chewing gum bubble.
I put a hand on my hip. For some reason, I’d been certain he’d join me.
He flipped another page in his book, perfectly disinterested.
“You’re just going to lie back and read?”
“Yep.”
My fingers slid off the absorbent material. “Fine.” I turned and stalked out of his room without closing the door, because I was certain it would annoy him, and because I wanted him to be able to hear me in case the bathrobe-and-pie provider wasn’t entirely selfless and kind.
To steady my nerves, I sang as I went about poking my head into every bedroom. When I encountered no occupants, I went down to the restaurant, which was as empty and quiet as the first floor. After a quick sweep of the booths and tables, I returned to the kitchen. What I found there made me freeze on the threshold. The door banged into my backside and skull as it swung closed. Anoompffell out of my mouth.
I stared at the island, at the pie dish. The slice I’d carved out had been replaced, unless this was a brand-new pie. When steam eddied off its crisped dome, my stomach twisted, and not in hunger this time. I scanned the kitchen for a dirty bowl or a bag of flour that might’ve been left out by the baker. Everything was spotless. I backed into the door, which swung out to release me, and then climbed the stairs and burst into Remo’s room on a single breath.
“The pie,” I said, panting. “It’s . . . it’s . . . whole.”
Remo glanced away from his book and cocked up a dark eyebrow.
“Someone baked a new one!”
His eyebrow slowly leveled back. “They must’ve heard you moan over the last one.”
I blanched. That would mean they were somewhere in the inn, but where? And why were they hiding? And what did they do with the last pie?
“Or the house is haunted,” he said matter-of-factly.
I didn’t have to glimpse my reflection in the mirror over the dresser to know I matched my white bathrobe. “Haunted?”
Remo sighed and tossed the book on the bed. “We’re not on vacation, Amara. We’re still in prison, or the Scourge, or whatever the hell this place is called.”
A full-body shiver went through me. “But there’s soap and pie.”
He rolled himself up and off the bed in one fluid motion, his firm pectorals rippling into firmer abdominals. He was unreasonably handsome and vexingly aware of it.
“Is there a rule those two things can’t exist in jail?” He strolled past me, closer than necessary, so close the heat and scent of him assaulted me, adding extra beats to my already ramped up heart.
A smirk clung to the edge of his smile. I scowled to hide my deep swallow. He disappeared into his bathroom, coming back out with his clothes, which hung limp and heavy from his fingers.
When he began to unknot his towel, I said, “I’m right here.”
“And?” He dropped the towel.
Cheeks glowing crimson, I whirled around. Unfortunately, the mirror gave me a direct line of sight on Remo’s backside.
