What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(23)

“Height? Weight?”

She reached up to wrap the robe tighter around her body as a cold shiver shook her.

“He was hunched over and wrapped in a puffy coat, but I would guess that he was average height and weight.”

Another nod before he was leaning down to pick up the coat that she’d dropped next to the chair. He ran his fingers over the sleeve until his fingers located the slash that penetrated the thick layers of fabric.

“The blade must have been sharp,” he said, speaking more to himself than her.

“Sharp enough to ruin my favorite sweater,” she tried to tease.

He dropped the coat, his expression tight. “This isn’t a joke, Carmen.”

She pursed her lips. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Without warning he was kneeling in front of her, reaching up to grasp her hands in a tight grip. “There’s a very good chance that you were cut by the lunatic who sent you those pictures.”

She tried to be angry at his chiding. She wasn’t a child.

But his skin was warm and his touch was easing the anxiety that churned deep inside her.

“If it was the killer, then why didn’t he just slice my throat instead of my arm?”

“Because he isn’t done with you.”

The soft words hit her like a sledgehammer.

A ruthless blow that she instinctively tried to avoid.

“If he was the killer, he could have forced me into a car or even into one of the hotel rooms,” she said.

He made a sound of impatience. “Are you trying to convince yourself that this was some random attack?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m scared.”

The grip on her fingers tightened. “Good.”

“Good?”

“You should be scared,” he assured her. “You need to go home and lock your doors.”

She jerked her fingers free. She’d spent her entire life being told to hide from the monsters that lurked in the shadows.

Don’t go looking for trouble, Carmen. . . .

The words of her grandmother whispered through her mind.

A fine idea in theory, but life had taught her that those monsters didn’t stay in the shadows. They pounced without warning, destroying her life.

“And then what?” she demanded. “Wait for him to sneak into my house and kill me in my sleep?”

His jaw tightened. “Let the authorities deal with it.” “Which one?” She surged to her feet, glaring down at him. “The deputy who called me a liar? Or your FBI contact who will look at the pictures when he manages to clear his desk of every other case he’s working on?”

“She,” he muttered in distracted tones.

“What?”

He slowly straightened. “The FBI agent I contacted is female.”

“Of course she is,” Carmen said with a roll of her eyes. Griff looked confused. “Does it matter?”

Yes. It did matter. But Carmen didn’t have a clue why, so she pasted a smile to her lips.

“Of course not.”

He heaved a sigh. “You’re not going home, are you?”

*

Griff did everything in his power to keep his thoughts from straying to the woman who was standing naked in the shower just a few feet away.

A herculean task, considering the thin walls of the hotel allowed him to hear the splash of the water and catch the scent of lemons that laced the humid air. What man wouldn’t be imagining his fingers running over her slender curves, which were damp and slick with soap? Or pressing her against the wall of the shower and wrapping her legs around his waist?

Grimly he headed out of the room. He had hopes the frigid air would clear the fog of lust from his brain. And he needed to get his computer bag, which he’d left in the passenger seat. While he was out he also took the opportunity to stroll down the icy walkway, snapping a picture of the two vehicles at the end of the hotel before returning to Carmen’s room.

He could hear the hair dryer coming from the bathroom as he booted up his laptop and used his phone as a hotspot for the Internet. Then he quickly typed in the license plate numbers of the two vehicles in the lot, along with the names of the hotel owners. He might as well run a search on them. The fact that the truck had been stolen from their lot, and the killer had been there at the precise moment to attack Carmen . . .

His brows snapped together.

How had the killer known that Carmen would be there?

Dumb luck? Griff shook his head. He didn’t believe in luck. Or coincidence. Or random chance.

He might have followed her, but how likely would it be he could have gotten a last-minute flight on the same plane?

While he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Griff’s fingers flew over his keyboard as he pulled up a program he’d designed for the FBI and typed Carmen’s name into it. The software would allow him to monitor Carmen’s online identity. If anyone searched her name or tried to break into her accounts, he would be notified.

He’d just finished his task when Carmen returned to the room. Her face was rosy from the heat of the shower, and her hair was a mass of golden curls that defied her attempts to smooth them as they tumbled past her shoulders.

She looked unbearably young and vulnerable.

At least until her eyes narrowed at the sight of his computer gear, which was spread across the bed as well as the small dresser.