He bumped into her with enough force to make her lose her balance, but before she could fall, his hands shot out to grab her arm. She felt a pressure, as if he was holding her too tight.
She jerked her arm free, ignoring his muttered apology as she hurried to unlock her door and step into the room. With more force than necessary she slammed shut the door and slid home the deadbolt.
The encounter had thoroughly unnerved her. She wasn’t sure why. She was at a hotel, so strangers were bound to be scurrying around. And it was slick enough that anyone could lose their footing.
Still, she couldn’t halt the sudden tremors that raced through her body.
She switched on the light and dropped her bag and purse onto a chair that was near the window nearly hidden behind heavy curtains. The dim bulb battled against the gloom that shrouded the cramped room, revealing the double bed that was covered by a worn blanket and the pressboard dresser holding a TV that was older than Carmen.
Not exactly the Ritz, but once again she noticed the scent of polish and bleach that assured her it had been recently cleaned.
That was good enough for now.
She reached to unzip her coat, frowning at the pain that burned through her upper arm. She peeled off the heavy garment and allowed it to drop onto the shag carpet. Then, she lifted her arm to discover what was wrong.
Her breath hissed through her teeth as she caught sight of the blood staining the sleeve of her sweater.
Damn.
She’d been cut.
*
Griff wasn’t a fan of traveling during the holidays. He was even less a fan after endless hours of crowded airports, planes stuffed with cranky children, and a drive through a raging snowstorm from Kansas City to the small hotel on I-70.
More than once he told himself to turn around and go home.
Why ruin his Christmas by chasing after Carmen Jacobs? It wasn’t like she was any of his business, thank God.
But after she’d left, he’d been unable to scrub the image of her pale, worried face from his mind. There had been a brittle tension that had hummed around her body, and shadows beneath her eyes. She was truly worried.
He’d tried everything. A hot shower. Lunch out with a beautiful woman who’d hinted she wouldn’t mind spending a lazy afternoon in his bed.
At last annoyed with his inability to enjoy his day, Griff had driven home and stomped into his office. Maybe if he sent the photos on to his FBI contact, he could shove Carmen out of his head.
Collecting the Polaroids, he’d been in the process of stuffing them into a padded envelope when he was struck by a chilling thought.
After spreading the pictures across his desk, he’d studied them for a long time. Then he’d grabbed a book off his shelf and flipped to the page he wanted.
Suddenly any attempt to dismiss Carmen and her worries was shattered. Damn. He needed to warn her what he’d found.
He’d tried a dozen times to call her, only to have his messages go straight to voice mail. No surprise. She hadn’t been very happy with him when she’d left.
He would have to track her down the hard way.
Contacting his friend in the FBI, he’d sent the pictures with an overnight carrier service and then settled in front of his computer to work his magic. With ruthless precision he hacked into Carmen’s privacy, discovering the credit card purchase of an airline ticket from Los Angeles to Kansas City.
Shit. It was worse than he expected.
She’d not only ignored his advice to return to her home, but the stubborn woman was heading to the precise spot the killer had struck just two weeks ago.
Calling himself all sorts of an idiot, he’d shoved some clothes in a bag and headed to the airport for his hellish journey.
It was near three o’clock the next afternoon when he’d pulled into the icy parking lot of the Fairview Hotel. He’d already done another hack into Carmen’s credit card to make sure she was actually staying there.
Entering the office, he’d discovered that the middle-aged woman in the office was easily distracted with one simple request for directions to the nearest gas station. While the woman was plucking a roadmap from a wire rack hung behind the counter, Griff easily managed to peek at the registration book.
Carmen Jacobs, Room 7.
With a vague thanks for the directions, Griff left the office. A part of him was relieved he hadn’t had to resort to knocking on each door, while another part was furious that anyone could have discovered where she was staying.
And that she was there alone.
Moving the four-wheel-drive truck that he’d rented at the airport, he parked it directly in front of Carmen’s room. Reaching across the seat, he grabbed his backpack and climbed out. Then, with long steps he moved through the snow that continued to drift from the sullen sky. With a frown, he glanced toward the distant security light that was blinking off and on.
It was no wonder a thief had targeted this hotel.
One surveillance camera that even a rookie could tell was a fake. One light pole that left most of the parking lot shrouded in shadows. And one manager on duty who no doubt fell asleep behind the desk by ten o’clock.
With a shake of his head, he lifted his hand and rapped on the door. Silence. He rapped again. And again.
Was she out? Maybe she’d walked to the nearby diner to get a late lunch.
But what if— He was in the process of reviewing the wide variety of evils that might have befallen a young woman on her own when the sound of steel scraping against steel warned him the deadbolt was being pulled aside. A second later the door was opened a half inch to allow Carmen to stare out at him in blank shock.
Had she been expecting Santa Claus?
“Griff?” She shook her head, as if he was a figment of her imagination that would disappear in the swirling snow. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped forward, hoping there might be some heat leaking through the narrow opening.
“Right now I’m freezing my bal—” He bit off his words. “Are you going to let me in?”
She scowled. “Now?”
He shuddered as a blast of wind nearly knocked him off his feet.
“The sooner the better.”
For a long minute she debated, clearly wanting to slam the door in his face. At last she pulled it wider.
“Fine.” She gave a wave of her hand. “Come in.”
“Very gracious,” he drawled as he stepped into the cramped room.
She shut the door behind him with a force that was just below a slam.
“You’re lucky I didn’t make you get on your knees and beg.”
He watched as she marched to stand in the center of the room. She was wearing a short terry cloth robe that allowed him a stunning view of her legs, and her hair was tangled around her flushed face.
Heat pooled in the pit of his stomach. She looked deliciously disheveled. As if she’d just crawled out of bed.
“Were you sleeping?” he asked, trying not to glance at the bed that was only inches away.
She hunched a shoulder. “It was a long trip.”
He snorted. A long trip? Did she endure an elderly woman poking her in the ribs with her knitting needle? Or a kid kicking the back of her seat for three hours straight?
“No crap,” he muttered.
She took a step backward, as if wanting to put some space between them. A futile effort. The room was the size of a closet.
“How did you find me?”
He turned away to toss his backpack on the chair and pulled off his leather coat. He needed an excuse to hide his expression, since there was no way he was confessing that he’d used his hacking skills to track her down.
It didn’t look like she was hiding a weapon beneath the skimpy robe, but better safe than sorry.
“I knew you would try to track down information on the women in those pictures,” he instead said. “You’re like a dog with a bone when you decide on a goal.”
She released a short laugh. “Thanks a lot.”
He shrugged, laying his coat on a nearby chair. “It’s true.”
Griff sensed her gaze burning a hole in the side of his head. “Okay, I’ll concede I can be stubborn, but you couldn’t have known I’d be at this hotel.”