Chapter 7
“You know,” Blake said as they sat across from each other. “You don’t actually stay here.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”
His gaze cut down at her, unreadable, though the faintest edge of amusement curled his mouth. “You’re registered across the river. Smaller hotel. Less security. You checked in under your own name. Not smart.”
She bristled, quickening her pace. “You have been following me.”
“Observing,” he corrected, his voice low and maddeningly calm. “Luckily, it was me. If it were someone else, you wouldn’t be here. And they wouldn’t be buying you drinks before taking you back to your room.”
Her stomach tightened, half nerves, half defiance. “You’re assuming I need saving.”
“I’m assuming you want to stay alive.” He got up from the table. “Shall we?”
She put on her jacket and shouldered her purse that held all the information she’d mined at the library today.
The night air of Budapest pressed cool and damp against Elise’s cheeks as she stepped out of the hotel bar.
Blake fell into stride beside her, moving with the quiet confidence of a man who didn’t have to force anyone to notice him.
That irritated her. Men who assumed they could just …
take up space. Except he wasn’t exactly wrong; she had noticed. And she was still noticing.
He adjusted his stride to match hers easily. “Also, your refusal to give up and let this search go means from this point forward, I’m staying with you. You don’t go anywhere alone.”
She stopped, hands planted on her hips, her heels clicking against the cobblestone. “Excuse me? You’re moving into my room?”
“Exactly that.” His tone left no room for argument. “You don’t have to like it.”
Oh, she didn’t. But she also wasn’t naive enough to miss the truth in what he said. If someone was watching her, there was nothing she could do to stop them. She was one hell of a reporter, but she was defenseless in a foreign country. Not a good feeling, now that he brought it up.
They resumed walking, her pulse ticking faster with each step toward her hotel. She distracted herself by reviewing what she’d uncovered because facts steadied her when men tried to bulldoze her.
“I need to go through tax records,” she said, lifting her chin as though daring him to stop her.
“Why?”
“Because the charity foundation I’m looking into has donated money to Antwerp’s galleries in the last three years. Millions. I’m not sure about Hungary. However, here, he’s donated to children’s hospitals, literacy campaigns, and scholarships. The guy who runs it is practically a saint on paper.”
Blake’s silence pressed between them, heavy.
“But it doesn’t add up,” she continued, her voice sharper now.
“You don’t amass that fortune without shadows.
The foundation’s board is stacked with …
I’m not sure what they are, but layers and layers of corporations.
And the Antwerp contributions? I want to see if these donations match when his ships come into port.
I also need to find a way to review the charity’s expenditures.
If they’re real, they should have to report their numbers to the government. ”
“You’re connecting dots that might not exist,” Blake said evenly.
She shot him a look. “Or I’m the only one willing to draw the line between them.”
The city glowed around them. Warm light spilled from cafés, the scent of roasted chestnuts curled through the streets, and laughter echoed off centuries-old facades.
But none of it softened her determination.
She wasn’t about to be cowed into silence by some suit with a protective streak.
She rolled her eyes. A Guardian. A man who wanted her to stop but now wanted to protect her.
His reasons were suspect at best, but she trusted him.
étienne had told her to trust the Guardian.
If Blake hadn’t said that word, she would’ve excused herself from the table and bolted.
How, she hadn’t any idea. But she would’ve gotten away from him somehow.
“Tell me something,” she said as they turned the corner onto her quieter street. “Why do you care if I keep digging? Because you’ve made it clear you’d rather I didn’t.”
His eyes met hers, sharp and impenetrable. “Because people who dig in Marek Zajac’s world tend to end up buried in it.”
A shiver slid through her, but she refused to let him see it. “I never said that name. And if you're right, you’d better keep up,” she said, pushing through the glass doors of her hotel. “Because I’m not stopping.”
The lobby was smaller than the one they’d left, tucked into the curve of a quiet side street.
Old brass fixtures gleamed beneath soft lamplight, and the night clerk barely looked up from his desk as Elise swept past. Blake’s presence behind her was a physical thing, a weight pressing between her shoulder blades.
She flashed her keycard, making for the elevator, and he followed without hesitation.
“Do you ever ask permission?” she muttered as the doors closed, the hum of the lift surrounding them.
“Not when time matters,” he said, leaning against the mirrored wall, his reflection tall and unyielding.
Her eyes flicked to him, sharp. “You realize how insane this sounds? A man I’ve known, what, an hour, announcing he’s moving into my room?”
Reaching up, he tapped his ear twice before looking at her. “You had your chance to walk away,” he said simply. “You didn’t. So, now, you get me.”
Her pulse tripped in her throat. Part irritation, part adrenaline, part …
something else she refused to name. When the elevator chimed and came to a halt, she strode out, heels making little noise against the carpeted hall.
Her door was halfway down the corridor, the little brass number glinting in the overhead light.
She unlocked it, pushed inside, and turned to block the doorway before he could enter. “Let’s set a few ground rules.”
His brows rose, but he didn’t move back.
“One, you don’t touch my notes. Two, you don’t dictate what I do. And three”—she jabbed a finger toward his chest, firm—“if you snore, you’re out the door.”
A smile tugged at his mouth, subtle but genuine. “Noted.”
“And if you think I’m letting you watch me change …”
“Elise.” His voice cut through her list, low and certain. “I’m not here to control you. I’m here to keep you breathing.”
The words landed heavy. She swallowed, suddenly aware of the muffled sounds of the city drifting through the window and the steady rise and fall of his chest just inches from her.
Reluctantly, she stepped aside. He entered, scanning the space with quick precision. She watched as he examined the windows, the corners, even the bathroom door. Professional. Efficient. It should have annoyed her. Instead, it left her oddly reassured.
She placed her bag on the desk and pulled out the stack of papers she’d been pouring over.
“Fine. If you’re staying, you might as well know what I’ve found.
Tomorrow, I’m digging into the Budapest port authority records.
These shipments line up too neatly with his donations.
It’s thin, and there’s no criminal activity that I know of, but it’s an anomaly, and I’m going to follow it. ”
He glanced at her notes but said nothing.
She lifted her chin, defiance sparking. “You can stand there all night like some brooding gargoyle, but it won’t change the fact that I’m not giving this up. People need to know who he really is.”
Blake met her gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Then I’ll make sure you live long enough to tell them.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t let him see her falter. Instead, she set the papers down, turned her back, and told herself she wasn’t rattled. Because she wasn’t. No matter how many threats closed in, she would keep walking straight through them.
The silence stretched after his declaration, heavy with the weight of things neither of them wanted to admit out loud.
Elise busied herself at the desk, flipping through her papers as though her life’s work wasn’t suddenly sharing a room with a stranger who carried himself like he’d walked straight out of a battlefield.
“You always this charming when you invite yourself into a woman’s room?” she asked without looking up.
Blake settled into the chair by the window, long legs stretched out, his profile cut against the city lights beyond. “Usually, I don’t bother with charm.”
“That explains a lot.” She shot him a sideways glance, her lips twitching despite herself.
His mouth curved faintly. “You could always pretend I’m not here.”
“Oh, that’ll be easy.” She set her notes down with exaggerated care. “Just ignore the six-foot wall of muscle guarding my hotel room door.”
“Six-four,” he corrected, almost absently.
She turned in her chair, brows arching. “Did you just … fact-check your own height?”
He shrugged, unbothered. “Accuracy matters.”
She laughed then, quick and bright, surprising herself. It had been days since anything had struck her as funny. Weeks, maybe. She leaned back, arms folded, studying him. “So, Mr. Accuracy, what exactly do you do when you’re not stalking stubborn journalists?”
“Security,” he said smoothly. No hesitation.
The answer was neat. Too neat. She narrowed her eyes. “Mmm. And I’m the Queen of England. Please note the Irish accent for the ludicrousness of that statement.”
He didn’t rise to the bait, just watched her with that maddening calm. Which only made her want to poke harder.
“You don’t have the posture of a bodyguard. Too self-contained. And you don’t act like a cop. Too quiet. So, what is it? Some secret Guardian gig? Double-O-something?”
“You should probably go to sleep, Elise.”
She grinned. “Ah, so it is classified.”
Though he shook his head, there was the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips.