My blood turned to ice. I’d registered under Sarah Mitchell, paid cash. The only way anyone would know my real name was if they’d been watching me.
“Just... leave it outside the door.”
“Ma’am, I need a signature.”
My hands were shaking as I grabbed my phone, ready to dial 911 if I needed to. But what would I tell them? That I was hiding from a man who might want to kill me because I witnessed a murder I couldn’t prove happened? Because by now I was sure Cyrus was gone, buried in whatever way men like Lesley buried problems. Dead, and not coming back.
I opened the door with the chain still attached, trying to see what was on the tray. The server looked young, maybe college-aged, definitely not the type of person Lesley Grimson would send to handle his problems.
“What is it?” I asked.
He lifted the silver dome, revealing a single white envelope on fine stationery, along with a bottle of expensive champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries.
“There’s a card,” he said, holding up the envelope.
Against my better judgment, I unlocked the chain and opened the door fully, taking the envelope with trembling fingers. The hotel employee waited while I tore it open.
Colecion,
Hiding from me in a downtown hotel isn’t necessary. If I wanted you touched, you’d already be touched. We need to talk. Meet me at Sasha Roe tonight at 8 PM. Come alone. Don’t make me come get you.
-L
I stared at the note, reading it three times before the words really sank in. He knew where I was and probably knew this whole time. The second piece of paper was a receipt and check, comping my room. I was stunned and appreciative. I wasn't broke by any means, but the gesture said more than the money — he’d thought about me beyond the threat.
“Ma’am?” The server was looking at me with concern. “You okay? You need me to call someone?”
“No,” I said quickly, folding the note and shoving it into my pocket. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
I tipped him and closed the door, sliding the chain lock back into place like that would somehow keep the most dangerous man in Coupeville from getting to me if he wanted to.
I looked at the champagne and strawberries and almost laughed. What kind of man sent romantic gifts along with what was essentially a summons? The same kind of man who called you ‘pretty baby’ after killing a man.
Damn, what had I gotten myself into?
I’d spent the last week replaying that night over and over in my head. The way he’d moved down those basement stairs. The casual way he’d removed his expensive suit jacket before... before doing what he did to that man. Cyrus. That was the name he’d used.
But I also couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked at me all evening during dinner. The way his eyes had followed me around the room, like he was studying me, learning me. The way he’d said my name made it sound like he was tasting it, testing it to see how it rolled. In fact, I’d always hated my name; I preferred Coco. No one had ever made my name feel so sensual.
And the way my body reacted when he pressed me against that wall, even though I was terrified. Being that close to him had my pulse racing in ways fear couldn't explain.
I had to be losing my mind. Normal people who saw murders ran to the cops; they didn’t replay the killer’s cologne or the sound of his voice in their heads. But I wasn’t normal, I’d always been clear on that.
Fear said run. Curiosity said stay. I’d always had terrible taste in which one I listened to.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text.
Unknown: Wear red.
He was absolutely insane. I walked to the window and looked down at the street below, scanning for anyone who might be watching, but all I saw were normal people going about their normal lives. People who probably didn’t know what it was liketo be caught between a rock and a hard place with no good options.
Another text came through:
Unknown: 8 PM, Colecion. Don’t be late.
I stared at the message for a long time, weighing my options. I could not show up. I could pack my things and leave Coupeville tonight, drive until I ran out of gas, and start over somewhere new with what little money I had saved. Then I thought about reality. He’d found me here, in a hotel I’d checked into under a fake name. Geography wasn’t going to stop him from finding me.
I needed to do this. At least if I met him in a public restaurant, there would be witnesses. He couldn’t just make me disappear in front of a room full of diners.
