Chapter 5
Gwen
The hallway carpet muffled my footsteps. I was still smiling. I couldn’t help it. The wine had been perfect, the food had been incredible, and the company had included… Oh my god, it had included a man in a beige sweater with a deep voice who knew Latin.
Latin. Other than academics, who knows Latin?
A single word of Latin, Gwen.
But still. A humble man with broad shoulders who knew a word of Latin and Italian wineries.
I tapped the keycard on the lock and pushed the door open with a sigh.
And stopped.
The bathroom light was on.
I hadn’t left the light on. I’d been rushing to get ready for dinner, but I always turned off lights when I left a room. Always.
Maybe?
None of the other lights were on. Maybe I’d forgotten one—I had been in a hurry when I’d left. I flicked on the overhead light, holding the door open, and scanned the hotel room. My papers were all over the place, my running shoes sat by the door, and—
My stomach rose into my throat.
My laptop wasn’t on the desk. It was gone. The rest of the desk looked the same. But the laptop was gone, the bathroom light was on, and I couldn’t let go of the door handle.
Leave, Gwen. Turn around, go down to the front desk, and call security.
Instead, I stood motionless and listened.
Nothing. No sound. No movement. No breathing except mine.
Maybe I had left the light on. Maybe housekeeping had been through here. Maybe I’d accidentally bumped the desk, and my laptop was on the floor? Maybe I was overreacting.
I slipped out of my high heels and tiptoed toward the desk.
The laptop wasn’t on the floor. The charger wasn’t there, either.
I lifted the telephone receiver off its base on the desk, gripping it tight in one hand.
With the other, I pulled the cord free of the phone so I had a weapon or something close enough to one.
My pulse was beating so hard I felt it in my neck.
Slowly, I pushed the bathroom door open. Nobody behind it. I yanked the shower curtain back, the rings screeching against the rod, as my whole body braced for someone to be standing there.
Empty.
The closet? I crossed the room, receiver raised, and pulled the closet door open.
Empty. Just my clothes and my suitcase.
I dropped the receiver onto the desk, pulled my phone from my purse, and dialed Lance.
“Gwen?” he answered.
“Um…” Why was I calling him? I should have called the police. But he’d been a SEAL. He’d worked in personal security long before we’d met. Some part of me, deep inside, knew that Lance Collins was a man who would protect me. And give me a hug. I probably needed a hug more than anything.
“Gwen? Are you there?”
I blurted out, “Someone broke into my hotel room.”
“Are you in your room now?”
“I am. There’s no one here. I checked. But—”
“Don’t touch anything. Where are you staying?”
“Brenton Arms.” I let out a slow, shaky breath. “Room 215.”
“Hold on.” His voice grew muffled. He was talking to someone, but I couldn’t make out the words. He was giving directions. To a cab driver? With his GPS? “I’m five minutes away. Stay on the line with me.”
“Okay.” I sank onto the bed and crossed my legs, trying to stop them from shaking.
My notebook lay on the floor beside the bed, face down and splayed open. It had been on the bed when I left. Someone had knocked it off, or picked it up, or moved it while they were going through the room. Or maybe I’d knocked it off while I was getting ready. Maybe?
My chin trembled, and tears pricked at the backs of my eyes.
Don’t cry. Not while you’re on the phone.
The good night was gone. The wine, the laughter, the amazing food and even better company—stolen, right along with my laptop. I was in a city I didn’t live in, in a hotel room someone else had been inside, and my body just kept shaking.
Why was it always my research? Why was that the thing people took from me?
Lionel’s face flashed through my memory.
My post-doc mentor had thought he deserved to take my research, too.
I was suddenly three years in the past, reading the paper he’d slapped his own name on.
He’d stolen everything from me—my position, every ounce of credibility, and every relationship I’d built in my field.
This is not the same thing, Gwen. This is a break-in.
It was only a crime, not a betrayal.
So why did it feel the same?
Because someone was in your bedroom, went through your things, and they took your research.
“Gwen?” came Lance’s voice from the phone.
“Yeah?”
“I’m on my way up.”
“Okay.” I hurried to the door and pressed my face against it, watching through the peephole. I heard his footsteps, loud and fast, before I spotted him running to my door. I swung it open as he arrived and threw my arms around him. The tears broke free the second my head hit his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and backed me into the room. “Hey. I’ve got you. What happened?”
“Someone was in my room, Lance.” I clung to him as we moved through the room. “They took my laptop and went through my stuff.”
“Sit down.” He eased me onto the edge of the bed and crouched in front of me. “When did you get back?”
“Ten minutes ago? The bathroom light was on, and I had a feeling.” I wiped my face with my hands, and the room came back into focus.
Arthur filled the doorframe. What was he doing here? His gaze swept the room like he’d done at Ferraro’s, but this time, it didn’t stop on me. He reached under his jacket and drew a handgun, causing every nerve in my body to light up. “You got her?”
“I do,” said Lance.
I couldn’t let Arthur see me like this. I rubbed at the tears on my cheeks, then under my eyes to clear any smudged mascara.
“He was driving me home and wanted to come up when you called.” Lance stroked my knee while Arthur flowed through the room like he’d been there a thousand times.
Bathroom first. Behind the door. Behind the shower curtain. Inside the closet. Behind the curtains. He angled sideways at the few corners, weapon leading. I sat on the bed, unable to move, as a man secured my hotel room with the same smooth movements I’d only ever seen in movies.
“Clear.” He holstered the gun and said to me, “Did you touch anything?”
“The phone.” I pointed at the receiver I’d left on the desk. “I disconnected it and used it to…”
Oh my god. I’d used a plastic phone receiver to check for intruders, which he had just done with a gun. What had I been thinking?
He nodded once, even though I didn’t finish my pathetic explanation. “I spoke to the evening manager on my way up. They’ll pull security footage and access logs for the police. You did call 9-1-1, right?”
“No.” Heat rose up my cheeks, and I squeaked out, “I called Lance.”
He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, dialed, and held it out to me. “Tell them what happened.”
I took the phone and let my head roll forward while I talked. The 9-1-1 operator walked me through the basics, while Lance settled on the bed next to me.
“Are you safe?” she asked me after we’d gone through everything.
I stared at the carpet, the panic and adrenaline finally ebbing.
Lance’s hand smoothed up and down my back, while Arthur’s brown dress shoes paced the floor.
They were a stunning cognac brown, square-toed, with a dark patina where the upper met the sole.
They were the shoes of the man I’d sat next to for dinner, who’d come when I’d called his friend for help, not the mercenary or the rich man’s son the article said he was.
Safe? I was probably safer in this moment than I’d ever been in my life. “Yeah, I’m safe.”
“The police will be there in a few minutes. Do you need me to stay on the line with you?”
“No. I’m okay. I have security with me.” We said goodbye, and I hung up. “The police will be here soon.”
“Good.” Arthur approached me, his big hand out for his phone. “Walk me through what’s missing.”
“My laptop?” Why did that sound like a question? I stood, my legs unsteady. You’ve got this, Gwen. Take a breath. “It was on the desk.”
“What else?”
I crossed to my open suitcase and picked up my jewelry roll, which was sitting on top. My grandmother’s pearls were gone. The gold bracelet my mother had given me for my thirtieth birthday. A pair of diamond studs.
“Jewelry,” I said, and my voice cracked. “The most expensive pieces.”
“Anything else?”
“I don’t have anything else.”
Arthur hovered by the desk, where the notes, photos, and printouts sat. “What about your research materials?”
“They’re still here. I think.” I joined him by the desk and looked without touching. Everything seemed to be there, but… not quite where I’d left it. Or maybe I was imagining it. I couldn’t be sure of anything right now. “But most of my research was on the laptop.”
He made a noise in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a hum. “Do you keep a cloud backup?”
“Everything syncs automatically.”
“What about remote wipe capabilities?”
My head snapped in his direction. “Why would I—”
“If it’s recovered, you can restore it from your backup.” He didn’t look directly at me. It was more like our conversation at the restaurant, where he leaned toward me, but kept his eyes forward. “But if it isn’t, don’t let them have any of your information.”
“It’s just hardware, I guess.” I pulled out my phone and opened the app. Three taps and the laptop was wiped clean. My research. Gone. Again. “When you say information, do you mean private stuff? Or do you think this could be connected to the sword?”
Arthur paced back to the door and checked the peephole. “It’s hard to say, but better safe than sorry.”
I glanced at Lance, who patted the spot on the bed next to him.
“Are you comfortable staying here tonight?” Arthur asked, still watching the hallway.
The thought of sleeping in this bed, in this room, in the dark… could I do it? I sagged onto the bed next to Lance before my knees gave out. “I don’t think so.”
“You can crash at my place,” Lance said.
“No.” Arthur turned from the door, his glower landing on Lance.
Lance sat forward, as though he were about to stand. “She’s my—”
“I’m calling Samantha.” Arthur pulled out his phone again and began dialing.
“For fuck’s sake, Arthur.” Lance did stand, closing the distance between them. “Have a little—”
“Hi, Sam.” Arthur put up his hand, cutting Lance off. “I need a hotel rec. Gwen’s room was broken into.”
“I’ve got this,” Lance hissed.
Arthur kept his hand up as he spoke with Sam, summarizing what had happened. He held the phone out to me. “She wants to talk to you.”
I took his phone. “Hi?”
“Gwen, come stay with us tonight. We have a really nice guest room, the building has great security, and Antonio has a new almond cookie recipe he pulled out the ingredients for five minutes ago.”
Almond cookies? A small laugh escaped me. “I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing. Do you need a pickup?”
“I’ll call a car.”
“I’ll drive her,” Arthur said, loud enough for Sam to hear.
I looked up at him, at his downturned mouth, and definitely didn’t want to impose on him, either. But something in his expression said he was ready to throw me over his shoulder and force me to accept the drive.
A half hour ago, that thought would have thrilled me. But now? Tears pricked at my eyes again.
“Perfect,” Sam said. “Antonio’s prepping the oven, so take your time.”
I hung up and handed the phone back, as someone knocked on the door.
“Brenton PD,” came a man’s voice from outside.
Arthur headed to let them in.
Lance sat next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “We’ve got you, babe.”
Babe. I’d always hated it when he’d called me that. “Thanks.”