"The room's a shambles—can't you come back later to fix the window, Mr. Stewart?"
Maddie's voice stopped him near the bedroom door. There was nothing in her soft tones to indicate the fear he could almost taste.
"Hank," the stranger replied. "And I'm afraid not. It's either now, or it won't get done for several days.
Last night's storm caused a bit of damage, I'm afraid."
There was an underlying threat in the man's tone, one that told him the stranger wouldn't take no for an answer. But why was the man so determined to get into his room? And why didn't he seem surprised to find Maddie here?
Maddie's fear jumped a notch. Maybe she could sense the unspoken menace in the stranger's voice. She cleared her throat softly, then said, "Okay then."
Until he knew who was responsible for shooting him, he couldn't risk being seen with her. He'd put her into enough danger by simply asking her to rescue him. He walked across to the wardrobe and edged the door closed, only leaving a minute gap to see through.
Maddie walked in a second later. Her gaze went to the bed, then swept quickly to the wardrobe. She smiled tightly and continued on to the window. Her hair was a tangled mess of ringlets that bounced along with every movement. He'd been wrong about the color being chestnut. It was more a rich, red gold that hung down her back like a river of flame. The fluffy white sweater she wore hung to her thighs, and did nothing for the slender figure that had brushed against him last night and haunted his dreams. But at least her legs were clad in dark green leggings, not baggy old sweat pants—probably because he was wearing them.
She was, he thought with a slight smile, all color and energy and warmth, despite the fear that hung like a storm all around her.
The only outward sign of this was her hands, clenched by her side. Jon hoped she kept her gaze well away from the stranger. Her eyes were too expressive. One look into the amber flame of her gaze, and the stranger would know she was hiding something—or someone.
The man who followed her into the room was big. Not tall, just built like a man who'd spent half his life lifting weights.
And he wasn't the same Hank Stewart that Jon had seen pictures of several days before, although they looked enough alike to be brothers.
Maddie opened the blinds, and sunlight streamed in. The stranger winced and stepped back into the living room. A second man brushed past him, carrying a toolbox and a small pane of glass.
Jon studied the man now passing himself off as the night manager. Was he merely light sensitive, or did he have a more sinister reason for hiding from the sun? Was he dealing with something as simple as a vampire?
The big man shifted, moving back to the doorway. The sunlight touched him and, for an instant, revealed a gaunt, weathered face and muddy-brown eyes that were as dead as stone. Jon blinked, and the image was gone, replaced by the open, friendly face of Hank Stewart.
The man wasn't a vampire. Only the very ancient vampires could stand the touch of the sun, and the stranger certainly didn't have the presence of something old and powerful that was evident in ancient bloodsuckers.
Yet a faint wisp of dark magic told him that the stranger wasn't entirely human, either. He frowned.
Scattered images ran through his mind, erratic memories of last night's events. This man had been in his room then, too, and with him had been a shapeshifter. Could it have been the same shifter he'd seen in the forest? Surely a town as small as Taurin Bay couldn't have more than one in the area?
The minutes ticked by slowly. Eventually, the repairman came out of the bathroom and gave Maddie a smile. "All mended and cleaned up."
She nodded and crossed her arms, staring at the night manager. The man posing as Hank Stewart was frowning at the wardrobe. There was no real indication he suspected Jon was hiding there, nothing more than a deepening of his frown before he turned away. Maddie followed the two men out of the room.
He stepped from the wardrobe and walked to the bed. Maddie came back into the room and stopped, her eyes showing the uncertainty he sensed in her.
"How are you feeling this morning?"
Her voice was soft and slightly husky, and as warm as a whiskey on a cold night. A sound any man could get used to. He wondered if it was natural, or caused by fear.
"Better," he said. "Though I would like to know how I got into these… pants."
Her gaze ran down his body then danced away, and he had to stop himself from smiling when he saw the blush creep across her cheeks.
"Your clothes were soaked, and I didn't want you running around naked."
After the flight here last night, he wouldn't have been able to run anywhere. And she still hadn't explained why she'd dressed him in her clothes instead of his own. "So why didn't you just get something out of my bags?"
The look she gave him was both wary and confused. "This is my room. Your clothes aren't here."
He glanced across at the painting. "This is the Captain's suite, isn't it?"
"Yes." She hesitated, and a flash of understanding ran through her eyes. "You were staying here, too—before someone took that potshot at you?"
Potshot. What a quaint way of putting the attempt on his life. "Yes. Looks as though someone didn't expect me back, either."
She shifted from one foot to the other then crossed her arms. He wondered if her uneasiness stemmed from the situation or his presence in her bedroom. "Someone obviously suspects you're still alive, though," she said softly.
The only thing obvious was that she was in serious danger. The night manager, or the man now masquerading as him, wouldn't have been acting so suspiciously if he didn't suspect her somehow. For her own safety, she had to leave.
But something told him that getting her to leave wasn't going to be an easy task.
His thoughts stilled… were the things he'd hidden behind the bathroom vent still there? Christ, he hoped so. He'd hate to have to tell his old man that he'd lost the ring. It was a family heirloom and had survived five generations of Barnett males. He wanted to pass it on to his own son one day. Not that that looked likely, given his present job.
He resisted the urge to get up and check. If it was gone, there was nothing he could do about it now. It was more important to sort out what was going on and find the missing kid before the next new moon.
"You're right. Someone does suspect I'm alive, which means you'll have to leave, Madeline."
"Please don't call me that. I prefer Maddie."
She wouldn't meet his gaze, but he caught her flash of pain anyway. Who had hurt her so badly that she now hated her given name? "Maddie, did you hear what I said?"
"Yes. But I'm not leaving."
"You have to—" "I don't have to do anything!"
He raised his eyebrows at the vehemence in her voice. Pain ran through the swirl of emotions coloring her aura, a river of tears she would never shed. Her gaze was determined when it met his, and anger stained her cheeks a pretty pink.
"My nephew disappeared two nights ago. I want you to help me find him."
Damn.He ran a hand through his hair. Two teenagers this time, and only five days to the new moon. "I'll find him, but you have to go back home. I can't protect you twenty-four hours a day, and someone must suspect you're somehow connected with me." Why else would the stranger be so interested in the room?
She clenched her hands and glared at him. Even half-closed and full of anger, her almond-shaped eyes were lovely.
"I don't expect you to protect me. I can look after myself, thank you."
"Don't be ridiculous. These people have already tried to kill me. I don't want you hurt."