Striped Fire (Monsters of New York #19)

Chapter One

“Housekeeping.”

Adam groaned. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he heard a feminine voice and a persistent knocking which echoed in his skull like a pounding sledgehammer.

“Housekeeping.”

Housekeeping. The word became clearer but made no sense. He opened his eyes a sliver and quickly shut them at the flash of brightness in his face. Nausea hit him leaving behind a foul taste.

Where was he?

A door creaked open, prompting him to move.

He mumbled a course as he fumbled to lift into a sitting position.

Impossible. Adam’s shoulders strained and his wrists jerked uselessly against the restraints keeping him bound to the headboard.

What the hell? He opened his eyes and twisted his body, attempting to see what held him down.

The movement brought his arms taut and made his aching head scream a protest. Handcuffs?

No, ribbons. How had he gotten himself into this predicament?

“Oh, my goodness,” a feminine voice screeched.

Adam turned toward it. His gaze skimmed over his body before reaching her and he realized with a start that he was naked except for his boxer shorts.

The woman stood at the door to the bedroom, her hand over her mouth in shock.

She wore a simple housekeeping uniform, and kept her long dark hair tied back into a ponytail.

“I’m sorry. I’ll come back later,” she said, beginning to back up.

“Wait, stop,” Adam croaked. “Help me.”

The woman paused in her tracks. She fumbled with the badge tied to a lanyard around her neck.

“Please, I can’t untie myself,” Adam explained.

She gave him a brief nod and approached him cautiously. He noticed as she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly trying to hide a smile.

“I don’t know how I got myself into this situation,” he muttered, dropping his head onto the pillow.

She leaned over him, dark eyes twinkling even as she managed to keep a straight face.

“You’re not the first,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the things we’ve seen.” She undid the knots of the ribbons holding him down. “At least they’re ribbons and not handcuffs. We’d have to call the locksmith to get you out of those if we couldn’t find the key.”

“Has that ever—”

She nodded enthusiastically. Adam rubbed his wrists and arms, realizing for the first time how sore they were. How long had he been out?

“I shall leave you here, um, to tidy up,” she said. “I’ll be back in a little bit.” She turned to leave.

“Thank you,” Adam replied. “I’d give you a tip but—”

“No worries.” She waved her hands at him. “You need to get dressed first.”

Adam nodded. She headed back out, but he didn’t miss her chuckle as the door clicked shut.

He let out a long sigh. How the hell had he ended up here?

Tied up in a strange hotel room by himself?

Sitting up, he veered and placed his feet on the ground.

His head throbbed painfully. He covered his face with his hands.

He was too old for this stuff. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a hangover.

Maybe the night of his divorce two years ago.

He nodded, whimpering pitifully at the rough movement.

That had definitely been it. He’d gone out to celebrate being rid of his ex and gotten himself drunk blind.

This, though, was new. He couldn’t remember anything.

Almost as if he’d been drugged. He frowned.

Slowly, he got on his feet. He’d piece everything together eventually, but for now, he had to take things one step at a time. Get dressed. Get out of here. Go home.

He tumbled toward his clothes and slipped on his jeans.

He reached into his pocket. His wallet was still there.

He pulled it out, a sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

It was empty. All his cash and credit cards were gone.

The only thing that remained was his driver’s license and a note written in sloppy handwriting:

Thanks for the night. Sorry to leave you in a bind. Kisses, Katya.

“Katya.” The memory assaulted him. “Katya,” he rolled the name in his mouth, tasting each syllable just as he’d tasted her lips.

He remembered her. Around 5’6”, fit, with bright green eyes and shoulder-length dirty blonde hair.

She was so young she still had that baby fat on her cheeks, but alternately her eyes were not doe-like and innocent, instead she had the gaze of a predator and a woman who had seen Hell and returned.

Adam tucked his wallet back in his pants.

He pulled on his t-shirt. He hoped she at least had the decency to pay for the hotel room.

He glanced around for his phone. It was also gone.

Cursing, he turned around in a full circle in the small room.

Spotting the bathroom, he headed in that direction.

Katya.

She hadn’t been his date for the night, she’d appeared out of the blue.

He’d been stood up by his Tinder date without so much as an explanation.

He shook his head. To think that at almost fifty, people were still playing games astounded him.

Annoyed, he’d decided to make the most of the evening and had ordered a drink.

The pretty minx with penetrating green eyes had brought it to him.

He recalled asking her if she was a server, since she hadn’t been wearing the characteristic black apron.

Her face had lit up into a seductive smile as she sat next to him.

“You noticed?” she asked. She set his drink down and that’s when he noticed she was carrying another one.

“I asked the server if I could bring it over. I was trying to find an opening to speak to you.” She blushed, although there hadn’t been a trace of embarrassment in her features, just well-trained flirtation.

He’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“You’re telling me you wanted to come speak to me, although you’re clearly, what, twenty-one or twenty-two and I’m forty-seven?”

She laughed. He recalled the sound. It was melodious with a tiny hint of innocence behind it.

“Older men are a lot more interesting than twenty-somethings. You’ve got your head screwed on right.”

“And a wallet to pay for your drinks, am I right?” He’d nodded at her cocktail.

She’d pressed her hand to her chest, feigning offense. “I’ve paid for my own drink and yours.”

Impressed, he raised his glass. “Let’s toast to that.”

They cheered and he took a hefty gulp of his whiskey-soda.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Katya.”

They began chatting. For some reason, he couldn’t remember the topic, just her face.

The way it moved when she spoke. Full of life, emotion.

He paid for the second round of drinks. She’d gone to get them.

She’d sat even closer—so close, he could smell her perfume.

Something flowery, sweet but not sickly.

Next thing he knew, her lips were on his. He didn’t think to refuse.

After that, darkness.

Adam ran his fingers through his hair. His phone was definitely gone along with his dignity.

Whoever heard of a police detective being duped, drugged, and robbed?

He was going to be the laughingstock of the station.

Sighing, he washed his face and rinsed his mouth before heading out the door.

He almost crashed into the housekeeper that had helped him earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I can’t tip you. My wallet is gone.”

She smirked and nodded, as if she already knew that was going to be the result.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, skirting past him and into the room to continue her work.

Adam shook his head.

Katya.

She might have tricked him last night, but she didn’t know who she had toyed with. He’d make sure he found her and get every cent she’d stolen back. He reached for his phone and cursed.

And he’d get his phone back too.