Chapter 22
chapter
twenty-two
My hotel room smelled faintly of detergent and a lingering note of designer cologne.
Vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
I rolled my clothes with mechanical precision, fitting cotton, denim, and wool together like a puzzle with only one correct solution.
Shirt, trousers, underwear. Repeat. My hands knew what to do even if the rest of me didn’t.
Every muscle protested when I bent, when I twisted, when I reached for the corner of the suitcase. My body catalogued the night in dull aches and tender places I refused to inventory.
The clock on the nightstand glowed 4:23 a.m.
Luka’s reflection flickered in the window, a double-exposed ghost. He sat in a padded leather armchair, leg slung over his knee in a figure-four, dressed head to toe in black, motionless. He hadn’t said a word since we’d come in.
Though he tried to hide it, exhaustion radiated from him—a gray cast beneath his cheekbones, the fine tremor in his knuckles gripping the chair arms, his eyes rimmed red.
Once I’d packed away my final items, I zipped the suitcase and slid it to the floor. I perched on the edge of the bed. The silence was as thick as the duvet. I looked at Luka, then at the three feet between us, then at my hands, which were busy twisting the hem of my sweater into a rope.
“All done,” I finally said, desperate for something to fill the silence.
He looked up, but his face was like a statue. “Did you remember everything?”
I checked the drawers, the bathroom, the outlets, every shadowed corner. Nothing of mine left behind.
Then my eyes snagged on a folded sheet of paper on the nightstand, half tucked beneath the lamp base. I walked over and picked it up. My name—ALEX—was printed on the outside. I unfolded it, the cloying scent of cologne heavy on the paper. Neat, felt-tip block letters marched down the page.
Hello, little fox…
The blood drained from my fingers so fast I nearly dropped the note. The words blurred on the page, but there was no mistaking the opening line. The paper trembled in my hand.
I didn’t want to read the rest.
I did anyway.
I’d hoped to reconcile, to spend an evening of delight in your company. I’d hoped you’d see reason. But alas not. It’s a shame you’re leaving so soon. We’ll never know what could have been.
Safe travels,
—R
A shudder rolled through me, scalp prickling, gut cinched tight.
Luka was standing at my back.
I jolted. The note fluttered from my hand. I hadn’t heard him move—hadn’t even felt the air shift behind me.
“What is it?”
I crouched down to pick up the paper and crumpled it in my fist. “Nothing.” My voice fractured.
He clamped his hands on my shoulders and lifted me to my feet, spinning me to face him.
“Don’t lie.”
I stared at the collar of his sweater.
“Tell me.” Softer this time.
I licked my lips, fought for air. “He was here.”
Luka’s eyes narrowed.
“Richard. In this room.”
A muscle ticked in Luka’s jaw. He held my gaze for a second longer, then peeled my fingers open and took the crumpled letter. He scanned the page once, then a second time, eyes darting between words.
His focus snapped to the door, then to the window. “We’re leaving. Now.” He snatched up my suitcase and strode to the door. I scrambled to catch up, grabbing my purse, coat, and laptop bag.
“How did he even—” I started, but Luka’s hand was already at the small of my back, propelling me through the doorway.
“Not now.” His voice was a low, lethal hum, just above my ear. “You don’t know who is listening.”
The corridor was quiet—too quiet—at 4:30 a.m. Cleaning solvent hung in the air. Old carpet. Ghosts of cigarette smoke.
My gaze swept the hallway, catching on every glowing green exit sign, every CCTV dome, every darkened alcove where someone could be standing if they wanted to be.
Every cell in my body vibrated with the knowledge that Richard had found me here, had been inside my room, had left me a note like a cat dropping a dead rat on a doorstep.
Luka closed his hand around my elbow, firm and unyielding.
“Time to go, mila.”