Be on the Lookout (4 page)

Chapter Six

Kate closed the top latch over the door and took a step back to look at it. She heard Jonathan's door close.

You aren't in any danger
, she thought.
Don't let his overprotectiveness worry you.

But even as she gave herself the advice, she couldn't help but feel an influx of nerves tighten her stomach.

“This is why I didn't want a bodyguard,” she muttered, rubbing her stomach. “Now I think I have problems I don't really have.”

Trying to forget about the man next door wasn't as easy as she'd hoped.

Talking about his past, including Orion's origin, had softened her otherwise harsh opinion of the man. He wasn't some faceless hunk of meat sent to stalk her in hopes of keeping a potentially imaginary predator at bay. He was a man who had persevered through tragedy and had made a life of preventing it from repeating again.

And wasn't that exactly what she was doing, too?

She tried to banish thoughts of the brooding dark-haired man and fell onto the bed. The jaunt right after eating a full meal plus traveling combined to make her eyelids unbelievably heavy as soon as she hit the pillow.

The feeling of exhaustion and the desire to give in to the comfort of the bed surprised her. Taking naps wasn't something she was used to doing. In the last few years, if there was time to sleep, then that meant there was time to work. She'd rarely picked a nap over lab time. It was a choice that had turned into a habit.

A yawn tore itself from her lips and she knew it wouldn't be long before she was asleep.

This trip was already turning out much differently than she had originally planned.

* * *

T
HE
ROOM
WAS
DARK
.

Barely any light filtered in from behind the curtains. It was so dim Kate placed them as streetlights. Which meant her nap had stretched longer than she'd meant it to.

She rolled onto her back and yawned. Even though she'd been sleeping, she felt exhaustion still weighing her down. If she closed her eyes again, she was sure she'd sleep until morning.

So what had woken her up?

She tilted her head, listening.

A car horn blared outside, promptly followed by two more.

Ah, the sweet sounds of New York City
, she thought.

She contemplated her next move, listening to a symphony of agitated drivers vent via their respective vehicles when another sound caught her ear.

Confused, she turned her head, peering into the dark for the culprit. It stopped.

Kate's heartbeat began to pick up. She waited. There it was again.

Someone was in the hallway.

But what were they doing?

Curious—always curious—Kate got off the bed and made her way to the door. She peered through the peephole but was met with a cloudy circle with no help identifying who was outside. If there was anyone at all. She dropped back down to flat-footed and bit her bottom lip, waiting.

Seconds turned into minutes. Kate remained perfectly still until she was positive the sound, whatever it had been, had stopped. Slowly she unlatched the top lock and eased the door open a crack.

No one was there.

Cautious, Kate stepped out into the hallway. It was empty. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

See? That bodyguard has made you paranoid
, she thought.
No one is after you. No one even knows where you—

Her current thought bubble popped as she turned.

Taped to the door was a piece of paper with a single word written on it:
Stop.

However, it wasn't the message that made her throat catch.

Soaking the paper, blurring the one bold word, was blood. It ran off the paper and down the chipped paint of the door.

And this time, Kate didn't think it was fake.

Chapter Seven

Jonathan was barely out of the shower when a pounding sounded against his door. Adrenaline spiked at the urgency behind each knock. He dropped the towel to his waist and had the door open within seconds, water dripping off him and on to the carpet.

“I think it's real,” Kate greeted. She was still wearing her clothes from earlier but the impression of a pillow lined the right side of her face while her hair was ruffled. Like he'd suspected, she had been sleeping for the last few hours. Her expression, however, was not in the least rested. Her brows were pushed together, a wrinkle between them, and she wore a frown so pronounced it seemed to drag down every line that made up her face.

“What?” Jonathan asked, an umbrella question to everything.

“This time I think it's real,” she repeated.

“What's real?” Jonathan moved closer, out of the doorway. He was trying to get an answer that made sense. What he got was Kate's shaky hand pointing to her door.

And then he understood.

“It's real blood,” he said, senses going on alert as he took in what was taped to her door. This one undoubtedly looked more menacing than the other letters she'd received.

“Yes. The coloring, the way it drips,” she added. “The way it smells.”

Jonathan didn't need to sniff the dark crimson to agree with her assessment. When he was a teenager, he'd gotten into a bad fight with a kid in foster care over which bed was his. The kid had been older and bigger and had hit Jonathan so perfectly in the nose that he busted it on impact. For nearly an hour it had bled. The color and consistency matched what was on the door now.

That was real blood, all right.

“Did you see who put it here?” he asked. His head swiveled back and forth down the empty hallway.

“No. I heard something and when I came out here to look I found—” she motioned to the note, eyes wide “—that.”

Jonathan spotted the bubble cameras at each end of the hall.

“I bet those did,” he muttered. “Have you touched it in any way?”

Kate shook her head.

“I just saw it and then knocked on your door.”

“Good, come on.”

He motioned for her to go into his room. Her concerned look turned stubborn immediately.

“Shouldn't we call someone?”

“We will, but inside the room,” he said, holding back a building tidal wave of frustration only she seemed to be able to produce within him. “If you haven't noticed, the longest trail of blood hasn't even made it to the carpet yet.”

Kate whipped her head back to the door and he knew when she saw what he was talking about.

“Which means—” Jonathan started before she cut him off.

“That it hasn't been there long at all.”

“A plus for the scientist,” he said, waving her through again.

This time she followed instructions without resistance.

“Call the front desk and get the manager up here,” he said, following her in and immediately going to his still-packed bag. “Let them know that you're also calling the cops.” Kate's mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. “Listen, there's no doubt in my mind this letter is connected to the others you've been receiving. Which means his anger is escalating.” He held up his fingers to tick off his points as he made them. “One large ‘stop' instead of a page filled with the word. Real blood, not fake. On your hotel-room door, states away from home. Even that stubborn brain of yours has to see that whoever is behind these letters is getting angrier.”

He watched as the urge to fight back—to be the one making complete sense—flashed across her face. Thankfully, it disappeared quickly. In its place was the face of a woman who finally agreed with him. She nodded.

“Which asks the question...what's next?”

“Let's make sure we never have to find out. Now call the front desk and, if you don't want to see me naked, turn around.”

Jonathan saw her cheeks redden, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Someone had left a letter soaked in blood as a warning to Kate—a violent threat. Jonathan not only wanted to protect her from that person, he wanted to find and stop them, too.

He changed into a white T-shirt and covered it with a gray button-down and a pair of khakis that were a bit tighter than he liked thanks to his recently changed leg workouts. Once he put on his boots, though, he wasn't thinking about how his clothes looked. His mind was already focused outside the hotel room.

“The front-desk guy, Jett, the one who checked you in, said a manager is on the way up,” Kate said, eyes still averted. “He sounded more than concerned.”

“Good, he should be.”

Jonathan grabbed his cell phone and rummaged through his bags until he found something he had hoped he wouldn't even have to think about while on contract.

“Orion prides itself on always trying to use nonlethal means to protect our clients,” he said, walking to the other side of the bed where Kate sat with the phone. “But since you refused a second bodyguard and now you're getting bloody letters on your door, I'm going to give you this and warn you to be careful.” Jonathan extended the small block of plastic to her. It was black with a strip of school-bus yellow across the grips on either side and about as heavy as it looked. “Do I need to show you how to use it?”

Kate's eyes had widened when she realized what it was, but the surprise didn't last long.

“I'm a woman who lives by herself,” she said, taking it carefully and placing it on the nightstand. “I know how to use a Taser, Mr. Bodyguard.”

“Good to know, Miss Scientist,” he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her. “Now call the police and don't open this door until I come back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find out who left that note,” he said, already at the door and opening it. “And to find out how they knew exactly what room you were in.”

* * *

T
HE
MANAGER
WAS
a woman named Lola Teague and she was as concerned as she was determined to help. She met Jonathan at the elevator, sporting a dark navy pantsuit, heels and a name tag that caught the fluorescent lights. Jonathan placed Lola in her fifties, with impeccably styled dark hair, matching pristine posture and laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.

When she saw the note on the door, she definitely wasn't laughing.

She let out a low whistle.

“This is a first for us. And that says something, coming from someone who has been with the hotel since day one.” She leaned in close but was careful not to touch, a consideration that made Jonathan instantly respect her. “To be perfectly candid, where other managers might want to call the hotel owner before the cops, I don't share the same school of thought.” She straightened and gave him a severe look.

“Don't worry, we already called.”

Lola gave a quick nod before giving him an appraising look.

“You're the bodyguard, then?” she asked before tacking on, “Jett heard the two of you talking when you checked in earlier.”

Jonathan's jaw tightened.

“I hope he wasn't broadcasting our stay here,” he said, voice dangerously low. “Because, I'll be candid, too—very few people knew we were staying at this hotel. We haven't been here for more than a few hours and someone knows exactly what room she was in.”

Lola didn't miss the implication that Jett might have told someone where they could be found. He saw her tense up. Professional distress.

Welcome to my world
, he thought.

Instead of trying to defend her employee, however, her eyes flitted down the hall. He followed her gaze to the security camera.

“I think it's time to see what our cameras picked up.”

“I think you're right.”

Jonathan paused to take a picture of the note and door before following the manager into the elevator and down to the lobby. Jett sat at the front desk, eyes darting to each new face that entered. Jonathan was doing the same thing, though he hoped a little more slyly than the young black-haired man. His head jerked around like he was on a roller coaster.

“Jett,” Lola greeted, voice as even as it had been when she had spoken upstairs. “Did you by chance tell anyone that Miss Spears or Mr. Carmichael were staying here?”

“Or mention which rooms?” Jonathan added.

Jett's eyes widened a fraction but he didn't sag with guilt or pucker up with resentment at the question.

“No way,” he exclaimed to them. He turned to Jonathan. “You were the only one who even asked about her. No one else has called or come to me asking about either one of you. Especially not room numbers. I swear!”

Lola gave a curt nod and shared a look with Jonathan. One that asked if he was satisfied with her employee's answer, because she was.

“Okay,” Jonathan consented.

“Jett, please come get us when the police arrive,” she said. “Also, send Norman up there to make sure no one touches that letter until the cops get here.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Norman?” Jonathan asked.

“The head of our cleaning staff,” she answered before addressing Jett again.

“And Jett? If you see
anyone
, and I mean
anyone
, you don't recognize as a guest, come get me immediately.”

Jett nodded and went back to hawk-eyeing each guest who walked past.

Lola led them around the front desk to a door in the corner marked Employees Only. It opened up into a small hall that forked right up to another door. It was marked Security. The manager got a key out and unlocked the door.

“I just realized,” she said, not at all happy, “whoever put up that note did so during our security guard Bernie's dinner break. What are the odds?”

“Who says it's a coincidence?” Jonathan pointed out. Lola paused a moment, taking in his meaning, before pushing into the small room. Whatever was happening, Jonathan wasn't liking it one bit. Escalating threats, obvious malice and now a coincidence like the one guard supposed to watch the security camera just happened to be on break when the note was delivered?

This contract—protecting Kate Spears—had taken a turn he hadn't anticipated at all.

The security room wasn't much to look at. A desk ran the length of the wall with two flat-screen monitors on top. Eight frames were displayed within each.

“This is your floor,” Lola pointed out, sitting down in the desk chair. “What one camera caught, so did the other.” Jonathan came closer and looked at the real-time feed. Kate's door was square in the middle of the two, close enough that anyone who went up to it would be seen but far enough away that the note on the door wasn't as noticeable. Even the blood.

Lola clicked around the computer while Jonathan's attention roamed over the rest of the live security feeds. There was not a lot of movement and, even if there had been, it wasn't like he could question each and every guest in hopes he'd get lucky and catch the culprit. He had a feeling it wouldn't be
that
easy.

“How far back should I go?” she asked, both of the hall's feeds the only images on one monitor.

“Try fifteen minutes.”

She did as he said and they watched as three different people moved down the hall and into their respective rooms. Not one of them stopped at Kate's door.

“Go back a few more minutes.”

Lola started to move the frames back by five minutes when Jonathan held out his hand.

“There,” he said. “He's in front of her door.”

The two quieted as she hit Play. They watched as a man took out what looked like a large plastic sandwich bag from beneath his jacket.

“That's the paper on her door,” Lola said.

Jonathan nodded.

“He had it in a bag so the blood wouldn't get everywhere.”

The man carefully took the note out, not at all worried that someone might see him. He pressed the paper against the door. With his free hand he produced a roll of duct tape and yanked off a piece. If Jonathan hadn't been in the shower, he surely would have heard that. Like he was hanging a birthday banner, the man taped the blood-soaked paper to the door. When he was satisfied that it would stay up, he turned and began to walk away.

Lola paused that particular frame.

“I'm going to print this out,” she said, already doing just that. Jonathan didn't respond. All of his attention was on the man's face. Anger, hot and fluid, moved over every inch of his skin. “Wait,” Lola said, pausing in what she was doing to look back at him. “Do you know this man?”

“No,” he admitted. “I saw him earlier today, though. He had a woman with him then.”

But, what Jonathan really wanted to know was, where were they now?