Chapter 5 #2
Francois couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be.
Was it her fault?
If she’d known he was experiencing suicidal ideation, she’d have stayed with him. They could have sat on the sand and watched the moon rise over the ocean. Perhaps they could have connected enough to distract him from his dark thoughts. Hell, she’d have had sex with him if that would have helped.
Had he been drunk?
He’d seemed fine but she had no idea how much alcohol he’d consumed earlier. Had he accidentally fallen to his death? She flinched away from the thought of him plummeting to the earth.
She grabbed a bottled water and took a sip.
She stared at Jordan who now sat shirtless on her rumpled bed, looking ridiculously handsome with six-pack abs and ropey muscled arms like some guy on a modeling assignment.
What was he doing here?
He stared at her. Waited patiently for her to speak, which perversely pissed her off.
“My boyfriend?” she sneered, screwing the cap back on the water. “Really?”
“Seemed like the most expedient choice.”
Expedient? That was so Krychek.
She scrubbed the back of her hand over her mouth, trying to remove the lingering pressure of his lips. That kiss had scorched her down to her bones, but she had no intention of letting him know that. Another terrible thought struck her.
“Oh my God. Did you kill Francois?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. And keep your voice down. I don’t want to get arrested for the murder of some guy you hooked up with.”
“I didn’t hook up with anyone.” She spat the words in a savage whisper. “And, even if I did, it’s none of your business.”
He grunted. “It is now.”
She reared back. “Did my father send you?” She tried to read his expressionless features. “Or have you turned into my own personal stalker?”
Not likely considering most days he could barely tolerate her.
“If I was going to stalk you, you wouldn’t know about it until it was too late.”
She held his stare, unimpressed by his argument.
“Hey, I just lied to an officer of the law to keep your ass out of a Mexican jail. A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Gratitude?” She put the bottle down and crossed her arms. “Gratitude for breaking into my hotel room and getting me tangled up in a web of lies about a death that I had nothing to do with.” She planted her hands on her hips.
Leaned forward, keeping her voice low. “Maybe you killed Francois in a jealous rage—and this way you have an alibi too. And I’m supposed to feel beholden to you for saving me and then maybe show you a little gratitude.
” She let her eyes drift down his chest. All the way down.
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw worked, but he swallowed whatever his first reaction had been. “You’ve seen through my dastardly plan. You’re right, of course.”
She blinked in surprise.
He raised his hands impatiently. “Not about me killing anyone in a jealous rage, but that is how a deranged stalker might think. You can relax. I’m not here because I have some secret crush or care about who you sleep with.
” His expression said exactly how little he thought of her in that department.
It made the effect of his kiss all the more galling.
He climbed to his feet and pulled a black shirt off the back of the chair and slipped it on. Started buttoning it up.
She dragged her eyes away from his body. “Of course, you don’t care.”
He was so freaking annoying.
She began to shiver, the damp towel under the robe cold against her skin. She turned around and loosened the belt, dropping the towel before pulling the robe back around herself.
She caught Krychek’s gaze in the mirror—the heat in his eyes definitely not indifferent, but then he was a guy, and guys were easy. She’d forgotten about the mirror, and he was the type to pay attention to every detail.
Her cheeks burned.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she muttered bitterly, reminding them both that he’d once yanked her out of a bathtub and tied her naked to a bed.
And if she could have reached one of her father’s weapons that day, she would have put a bullet in him.
She was relieved she hadn’t because, it turned out, he wasn’t some sadistic attacker but instead one of her father’s closest colleagues, searching for answers about what had happened to him.
Regardless, she owed him payback for what he’d done to her.
Serious payback. Payback that would make him regret thinking he could do whatever the hell he wanted to another human being without consequences.
Not that she wanted to physically hurt him—not permanently anyway. Just impact him in the same way he’d impacted her. Dent that stoney demeanor. Prick that rhino hide.
There were a multitude of other sins she held against him more than seeing her naked—like the way he’d deliberately scared her outside that bar, and the fact he’d casually handed her off to be detained by some of his fellow HRT operators who’d openly discussed sedating her to keep her quiet.
But it was the way her body reacted to the heat she saw in his eyes that angered her most—the knowledge she found him attractive made her seethe with resentment. Him figuring that out would be the final humiliation. She’d die before she admitted it.
She turned away.
“Daisy. Look, I’m sorry.” He sighed.
He sounded completely defeated and that got to her more than anger would have.
“For everything I did to you. I was an asshole.” She watched him in the mirror as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I screwed up, big time. I was wrong. I apologize for all of it.”
The fire went out of her.
He’d apologized before, but it was different this time. Her father was safe now. She didn’t have that incessant worry nagging at her, making her willing to forgive anybody anything so long as someone brought him back to her alive.
She wasn’t sure she was ready to let go of all the things Jordan had done to her—not yet. “I’m still mad.”
“Oh,” he slipped on his socks and shoes. “Trust me, I know. You wanna get dressed?”
Dressed?
She was going to bed. Why would she get dressed?
Then something clicked into place inside her brain. “What happened to Francois wasn’t an accident, was it?” She tried not to watch as he tucked the shirt into his pants and folded those sleeves over ridiculously sexy forearms.
How could arms be sexy? It didn’t make sense.
He met her gaze. “I don’t believe it was an accident, and I don’t believe he took his own life.”
Her mouth went dry in panicked realization. “Murder?”
That was why Krychek had broken in here and put on that crazy charade. But who would murder a man who was generally well-liked and respected in their arena, despite his womanizing ways?
Panic grabbed her as another thought struck. “They’ll see on the security footage that you arrived after I did. They’ll know we lied—”
“The hotel security feeds were down, and I didn’t use your door.”
She glanced at the window as her stomach pitched. Had he climbed down from the roof? She hated heights the same way she hated enclosed spaces. The idea scared the heck out of her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of asking for more details. Or of being impressed.
Then she registered what he’d said about the cameras. “How do you know that the cameras were down?” She crossed her arms tight over her chest again as a terrible feeling swept over her. “Is this some sort of op?”
Did he kill Francois? Is he working with someone?
“No.” He came toward her and curled his fingers around her upper arms. She found herself staring up into earnest pale blue eyes that were gray-green around the iris.
Maybe that’s why he always looked haunted—the ghostly color of his eyes.
“At least, if it is an op, it’s not one that I have any knowledge of, and I don’t believe the US is involved. ”
She gripped his arms, felt the steel in him. Found herself believing him because despite all their fiery confrontations, she trusted him. “Tell me everything that you do know.”
“I will, but we need to get out of here first.”
Daisy let go as he stepped back. “My flight isn’t until morning.”
“We can’t risk staying here. Get dressed while I pack. We’ll figure out a plan. Please.”
It was the “please” that did it. She grabbed a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt covered in white graphic physics equations, along with underwear. Headed into the bathroom.
“Talk while I dress.” She left the door slightly ajar.
He grunted.
She could hear him opening and closing drawers. It felt really weird he was in her room, handling her things. “Start with why you’re here.”
If this was her dad—
“If you want to hold this against anyone, hold it against me. I wanted to set your father’s mind at ease so he could be with Rowena without any stress after what he’s been through.
So I volunteered. And I figured I could use the time when you were in sessions to kick back and relax. Catch up on my holiday reading.”
She stilled. “You’ve been watching me all week?”
“Not every step. More like broad strokes, making sure you weren’t kidnapped by some pissed-off cartel member.”
She hadn’t known he’d been there. She considered herself pretty savvy and paid attention to her instincts the way her dad had taught her, but she hadn’t spotted him once. That was sobering.
“You followed me enough to see me talking to Francois on the beach earlier.”
“That guy wanted to do a lot more than talk,” he growled.
“I know. I considered doing it with him.” That got her the stoney silence she expected. “How do you have access to hotel security feeds?”
She heard the zipper on her suitcase opening as she stepped into her jeans.
“I asked a friend to help me access them.” The words came out reluctantly. “That way I knew when you left your room in the mornings. The last thing I wanted was to bump into you and for you to discover I was here. It was a great plan. Worked like a charm.” The wryness in his tone slayed her.
She wasn’t about to show weakness. “So you were stalking me.”
“Protecting you.”
“You say tomayto, I say tomahto.” She raised her brows. “You disabled the feeds after you heard about Francois?”
“I never messed with any feeds. I simply watched them. Someone else disabled them.”
Everything stilled inside her at that. “That same someone killed Francois?”
He seemed surprised she’d reached that conclusion even though it was the only one that made sense if Francois had, indeed, been murdered.
“That would be my guess.”
She pulled on the bra and T-shirt. “How do I really know it wasn’t you who cut the feed and who killed Francois and is now using me as an alibi? Maybe he was the op all along, and I’m the patsy.”
“Why would I come to your room? I could have gotten in and out exactly as you said. You’d never know I’d been here.” His voice came deep and frustrated from the other side of the door jamb.
That was true.
“And the only reason I’d have to hurt him is if he laid hands on you—and he didn’t.”
She jerked open the door. “Who lays hands on me isn’t your business.”
Something flared in his eyes, but he ignored her statement. “Finished?”
Without waiting for her to answer, he slipped inside the cramped bathroom and swept all her makeup and skin care products into her travel bags.
He even snatched up her dress and underwear from earlier, plus the keycard Francois had given her.
He gave her a look that obviously judged her morals, which revived her fury.
The physical reminder of Francois made the idea of his death seem all the more surreal.
If she’d gone with him maybe he wouldn’t be dead—or maybe she’d be dead too…
That was a sobering thought.
She watched enough crime shows to know the keycard was evidence that could be used to point blame in her direction. Access. Her fingers bunched into fists. They needed to get rid of it.
“If you didn’t kill him, do you know who did?”
He hesitated. “No.”
“But you have suspicions?” She ran her fingers through her damp hair as she followed him out of the bathroom.
He grunted again. Obviously, he wasn’t planning to tell her anything.
It reminded her of conversations she’d had with her father over the years, and it irritated the crap out of her all over again.
She wasn’t after State secrets, just a little reciprocal honesty.
If she lied, it was all felony offense, when they did it, it was national-freaking-security.
“Where are we going?”
He stuffed her toiletries bag into her case and zipped it up. She checked the room for anything he’d missed, including the safe where she’d locked up her passport, but he’d been thorough and proven hotel safes weren’t exactly secure.
She put on her socks and sneakers, stood, and held out her hand. “Passport and wallet, please.” She had no intention of being dependent on him.
He thrust her purse into her hand. “Check it on the way out of here.”
He opened the door and strode down the corridor.
He rubbed Francois’s keycard against his pants then slipped it into a bag of garbage on a maid service cart.
His room was at the far end of the hallway, the other side of a fire door.
He opened it, and she stepped inside. It wasn’t as tidy as she’d imagined, but he packed in less than thirty seconds, then shouldered his backpack, took her case handle in one hand and her fingers in his other.
Together, they headed for the stairs.