didn’t he seem surprised to find Madeline here? Madeline’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. But just give me a minute to straighten up.”
Until he knew who was responsible for shooting him, he couldn’t risk being seen. He’d put her in enough danger by simply asking her to rescue him. He walked across to the wardrobe and edged the door closed, leaving only a minute gap to see through. Madeline 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 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 whitesweater that hung to her thighs 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 sweatpants—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 pall around her. The only outward sign of her tension was her hands, which were clenched by her side. Jon hoped she kept her gaze away from the stranger’s. Her eyes were too expressive. One look into their amber flame 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. Madeline 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 theimage 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 that old and powerful.
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 Madeline a smile. “All fixed, ma’am.”
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 that he suspected Jon was hiding there, nothing more than a deepening of his frown before he turned away. Madeline followed the two men out of the room.
He stepped from the wardrobe and walked to the bed. Madeline returned to 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 whether 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
Until he knew who was responsible for shooting him, he couldn’t risk being seen. He’d put her in enough danger by simply asking her to rescue him. He walked across to the wardrobe and edged the door closed, leaving only a minute gap to see through. Madeline 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 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 whitesweater that hung to her thighs 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 sweatpants—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 pall around her. The only outward sign of her tension was her hands, which were clenched by her side. Jon hoped she kept her gaze away from the stranger’s. Her eyes were too expressive. One look into their amber flame 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. Madeline 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 theimage 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 that old and powerful.
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 Madeline a smile. “All fixed, ma’am.”
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 that he suspected Jon was hiding there, nothing more than a deepening of his frown before he turned away. Madeline followed the two men out of the room.
He stepped from the wardrobe and walked to the bed. Madeline returned to 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 whether 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
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