What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(19)

For now, she intended to get a few hours’ sleep. She’d spent the entire night waiting in the Phoenix airport for her connecting flight. She was exhausted.

The snow had picked up speed while she’d been inside. With a grimace she opened the door of the SUV and grabbed her overnight bag. Her room was just down the sidewalk. It would be more trouble than it was worth to move the vehicle.

Slamming shut the door, she locked it and then turned to hurry past the row of mustard-colored doors. Intent on reaching her room before her eyes froze shut, she didn’t notice the dark form that appeared from the edge of the hotel until she heard footsteps crunching through the layer of ice coating the sidewalk.

The stranger was hunched forward, as if trying to make himself a smaller target for the icy wind. Something that might have been easier if he wasn’t wearing a puffy black parka that looked three sizes too large. Hands were stuffed in his coat pockets. A heavy stocking hat was pulled low, and his face was buried in the scarf that was wound in a deep layer of cashmere around his neck.

She stepped to the edge of the walkway as he neared, but at the same time his foot slipped on the frigid pavement and he lurched to the side.

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.