Shattered (LOST #3)(5)

“Right.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I don’t have to worry about that.”

She stepped toward him. “Jax?” He’d made her curious now.

But he was backing into the elevator and shaking his head. “Forget it. I think it was a mistake.” Then he flashed his broad grin at her. What she thought of as his panty-dropping grin. “Though seeing you is always a pleasure.”

He was wearing a mask, one that hid his true emotions. In that moment, she was sure of it. For an instant, he’d let her glimpse behind the mask, but that instant was over.

“Have a safe trip back home. And who knows? Maybe our paths will cross again one day.”

“Maybe.” She was missing something there. She hesitated, then called, “Jax?”

But the elevator doors slid closed.

Sarah took a deep breath. Okay, so that had been unexpected. Pretty much everything about Jax Fontaine was unexpected. The last time she’d seen him—just days before—he’d told her, “When you need me, come find me.”

Only he’d been the one to find her. Asking questions that had put her on edge.

The carpet swallowed her footsteps as she hurried to her room, and maybe it was because she was thinking so much about Jax or maybe she was just off her game, but it took Sarah a moment too long to realize that her door was ajar. She blinked, staring at it, then she tried to hurriedly back away.

But the door was yanked open. A man stood there. A man covered from head to toe in black. She whirled away from him, but he grabbed her and yanked Sarah back against him.

“Time to pay.”

She opened her mouth to scream, but his gloved hand covered her lips.

NORMALLY, JAX WASN’T a coward. He feared no one and nothing. But . . .

The elevator opened. He stepped into the lobby. Glanced around. The rich and the pompous filled that place. Sure, these days he pretty much counted as rich, but he wasn’t pompous, and he couldn’t stand the sight of those pricks.

The marble floor of that hotel gleamed. Sarah had switched her hotels since her arrival in New Orleans. Probably because she hadn’t thought the last place was secure enough.

Since I broke into her hotel room. That had been a one-time deal. He’d just needed to talk with her and he’d been . . . concerned . . . about her well-being.

There were only a handful of people in that world that he cared about. Normally, he didn’t give a shit about most folks. But Sarah, with her dark, mysterious eyes—she’d gotten beneath his skin. And he’d just almost told her the biggest secret of his life.

Well, one of his top five, anyway.

He paused in the lobby. Unlike the other jerks running around that place, he was wearing jeans and a battered jacket. The concierge was frowning at him, so Jax just glared at the guy. The concierge then got very busy shuffling his papers.

The past doesn’t matter. Why the hell did I ever come here and ask about LOST?

He strode toward the exit. The doorman hurried forward.

Only . . .

Jax glanced back. The LOST group knew their shit. He’d seen them in action. He’d read reports about their successes. If anyone could discover the truth for him, it would be LOST. And the only LOST agent who might actually push for the others to take his case?

Sarah.

“Sonofabitch,” he muttered.

The doorman backed up.

Jax turned on his heel. Okay, so this time, maybe he’d even try asking nicely. The problem with that plan was that Jax didn’t exactly know how to do anything nicely.

Maybe the sexy little profiler could show him.

So once more, he found himself riding up that elevator. Only this time, he was alone. But Jax could have sworn he caught a light, sweet scent hanging in the air. Vanilla? Yeah, that was Sarah’s scent. When he’d been close to her—close enough to kiss, and he’d sure wanted to kiss her badly—that scent had teased him.

It had also aroused him.

The elevator ascended quickly, and soon he was up and high and stopping on Sarah’s floor. No one was in that hallway. All the doors were shut. He knew which room was Sarah’s—he could always get any intel he needed in New Orleans. A phone call had done the job for him. So he strode toward Room 3809. He lifted his hand and knocked. Rather politely, he thought.

There was a thud of sound from inside the room. As if Sarah had dropped something.

His brows climbed. Jax thought that he’d hear the pad of her footsteps coming toward him, but, other than the soft thud, there was no other sound coming from that room.

He knocked again. Harder. “Sarah, we need to talk.”

She couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there. Jax didn’t intend to leave until he’d had his say.

HER ATTACKER HAD a knife to Sarah’s throat. He’d nicked the skin a moment ago, when Jax had first knocked on her door.

Jax.

Right then, he was her main hope of survival.

“Make a sound, and I will slice your throat right here and now.” The man’s voice was a low, lethal whisper from behind his mask.

“Sarah, we need to talk.” Jax sounded determined. And he was pounding on her door again—harder this time. If he kept pounding like that, he’d attract attention from some of the folks in the other rooms. That attention would be wonderful.

Her attacker pulled her back against him. The knife didn’t leave its spot at her throat. He was maneuvering her, trying to get her—toward the connecting door? Yes, yes, he was. He was trying to get her to the door, and then he must think he could get her out by going through the other room. Or maybe he didn’t intend to get her out of the hotel. Maybe he’d be killing her as soon as he could.