She watched him leave then walked into the bedroom. Nothing appeared to have been touched. She moved across the room and opened the wardrobe. Jon pulled down an edge of the blanket and looked at her, but she held up her hand. At least he was still safe. Not that Hank could've disposed of Jon in the short space of time he'd been out of her sight. There was no way out of the room except through the front door where she'd been standing.
So how had Jon gotten in here in the first place? Even she, as slender as she was, couldn't get through the bathroom window.
She closed the door then turned and smiled as a cat sauntered through the bedroom doorway.
"Hi kitty," she said softly, walking over to it.
She bent down and held out her hand. Did the sleek black creature belong to the inn or to Hank?
Somehow, she couldn't imagine the night manager with a pet, although the cat must have followed him into the room.
The cat stopped. The look in its jewellike green eyes was oddly contemptuous. Maddie frowned. The cat in the forest had had eyes just like that, eyes that could chill a person's soul.
The cat regarded her for a moment longer, then snarled and lashed out. Maddie snatched her fingers away and stood up. "Be unfriendly then. See if I care."
Hank came back into the room, carrying plastic and tape.
"Don't mind Lennie," he said, continuing on into the bathroom. "She just doesn't like women."
Or men, Maddie would have bet. As if reading her thoughts, the cat flicked its tail in disdain and sauntered past, heading straight for the wardrobe door.
"Oh no, you don't." She stepped in front of the cat and tried to scoot it away with her foot. The sleek creature hunkered down and hissed, its eyes green slits of anger.
"Glare all you like, sweetheart, you're not getting in my wardrobe."
"Maybe she just smells a mouse or two," Hank commented.
Her pulse jumped, and she glanced up quickly. Hank leaned against the bathroom door, arms crossed as he studied her. This time there was definitely suspicion in his bright gaze.
"Mice I can handle. It's cat hair all over my clothes that I can't stand. I'm allergic to it."
"Perhaps you'd better let her check it, all the same. Lennie's a pretty good little hunter."
Lennie looked mean enough to pull down a bull, but there was no way she could open the wardrobe door with Jon inside. Though Maddie wasn't sure if this odd pair was the threat Jon had referred to, she certainly didn't trust Hank one iota.
"If I hear any mice running around, I'll let you know." And what sort of manager advertised the presence of mice, anyway?
Hank nodded, though she could see he was far from happy. "I've taped plastic over the window. I'll come back tomorrow and replace it for you."
By which time, Jon should be long gone. She hoped. Maddie nodded and watched Hank walk out the bedroom door, then glanced down at the unmoving cat. She'd throw the thing out if she had to, but she'd rather it just followed Hank of its own accord. The claws it kept flexing looked sharp enough to tear concrete to ribbons.
The cat continued to glare up at her. Maddie blinked, unnerved by the almost human intelligence in the animal's bright gaze. You haven't seen the last of me, foolish child, it seemed to say.
And I really have to learn to control my imagination.The cat finally rose and sauntered away. At the bedroom door, it hesitated and looked back. The warning was clear in its bright gaze.
It knew Jon was in the wardrobe. And it would be back.
Maddie clenched her fingers and followed the creature out of the room. She locked the suite door, closed her eyes and leaned against it for a moment. It was at times like this, when her imagination got the best of her, that she really needed a drink.
She licked her lips, pushed away from the door and walked back into the bedroom.
"Jon?" She opened the wardrobe.
His gaze met hers, and again she thought she saw concern in the rich depths of his eyes. "You okay?"
A chill ran over her. Sometimes he almost seemed able to read her mind. She held out her hand, and he took it, his skin rough against hers. At least his fingers were warmer than before. She helped him back to the bed, noting that his body was still icy through the damp shirt.
He practically collapsed back onto the bed. She studied him for a moment then walked around to get her carryall. Clothes had to be a first priority, then she'd re-bandage his arm.
She dug out her baggy old sweat pants and a T-shirt, and held them up. They'd go damn close to fitting him. He might not be too pleased at the jade coloring, but at least they would keep him warm until his own clothes dried.
She bent across the bed and lightly shook him. "Jon?" There was no response, so she shook him again.
"Don't," he muttered. "I need to rest."
So do I, buddy, and you're in my bed."You have to change first. Put these on while I go see if I can find some fresh bandages."
He pushed upright. She dropped the clothes next to him and walked into the bathroom. The soft rustle of clothing told her he was at least attempting to change. She hunted around in the bathroom cupboards, but couldn't find any bandages. She'd have to go back out to the car and get the first aid kit. Maddie glanced at her watch and gave Jon a few more minutes before she walked back in.
The clothing was a whole lot tighter on him than it was on her. The T-shirt strained across the width of his shoulders, and the pants… well, they were tighter than his own jeans—if that was possible. She shook her head slightly. Where the hell was her mind? Jon was a stranger, a complete unknown. Yet she'd given him her bed and her clothes, and placed trust in the fact that he meant her no harm. Had she learned nothing from the past?
His head came up suddenly, his eyes meeting hers. There was no deceit in that slightly unfocused gaze, no lies. And none of the contempt that had been all too evident in her husband's gaze.
Jon reached out and gently caught her hand. His fingers were a warm, suntanned brown, and his palms slightly callused. Totally the opposite of Brian's… why did she keep thinking of him? What was it about Jon that dredged up a past she'd much rather forget?
"Trust me, Maddie. I mean you no harm."
Trust me, trust me.How often had she heard that? How frequently had it been the warning of trouble heading her way?
"I'll have to go out to the car to get some bandages," she said, jerking her hand out of his.
His gaze narrowed slightly. "Be careful."
She gave him a tight smile. "I always am." Too careful, too cautious. Because when she wasn't, people died. "You rest. I won't be long."
She turned and walked quickly from the room.
Chapter Five
Fear surrounded him, an acid cloud that stung his mind and forced him awake. Jon jerked upright and, for an instant, wondered where he was.
The morning sun peeped around the outer edges of the curtains, gilding the framed painting opposite the bed. He half smiled. He had to be at the inn—there couldn't be many paintings around that used such appalling colors to depict a farmyard setting. Or many places that would hang it on their walls.
So why was Maddie in his room? And why was she so afraid?
He shoved the blankets aside and swung his feet out of the bed, then stopped, staring down at his legs.
Speaking of appalling colors, why in hell was he wearing these sweat pants? They were Maddie's—he could smell the lingering scent of roses. But what had happened to his clothes?
He couldn't recall much about the last half of last night, and what he did remember was a blurred nightmare he never wanted to repeat.
The fear swirled around him again. He rose too quickly and had to grab at the bedpost to remain upright. Although fast healing was a gift of his heritage, it would be a day or two yet before he would recover fully from the wound and the resulting blood loss. He took a deep breath, then padded quietly across the room.