shifting to her. Had already shifted to her. The werewolf's appearance and confrontation confirmed other creatures were sensing it too. Which meant Amy needed the Matchmaker's book. The only permanent record of agreements, bonds, and barters, as well as well as tips for dealing with things like trolls determined to stay single, the book was vital to Amy's survival and success.
He went to her bag and once more read the letter from aunt to niece, poring over every detail, reading between every line. Had Camille suspected an attack? The letter was far too candid in his opinion and he was more than a little perturbed to see the Matchmaker's disregard for decent security measures.
His three attempts to phone Camille since he and Amy had safely reached the hotel had gone unanswered. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, eager for any direction to focus his search for Camille. When his cell phone buzzed against the table he snapped it up, ever hopeful. The text message was from Gilly:
No book here. Heading to the office. When will you be in?
Crap. Gilly was nothing but thorough and efficient. If she couldn't find the book, it wasn't in Camille's office. And Camille's letter all but said she'd sent the book to Amy. It chilled him to think of such a vital treasure circling the globe without an armed escort. If the secrets inside that book fell into the wrong hands...he just couldn't go there. As for the coded portion of Gilly's text, well, he couldn't go there either. The safe house wasn't an option until he knew the new Matchmaker and the book were safely together.
Amy woke from a fitful dream about an angry troll stomping out a fiery bridge. Relief was immediate, until she realized she wasn't in her own bed with Guinness warming her feet. She wasn't in the guest room at Maeve's place either.
She blinked a few times, bringing the ceiling into better focus, though it didn't reveal any profound information. The fabric under her hands screamed standard, mid-priced hotel, but it was an improvement over a bucket in the janitor's closet. Hopefully.
Just pushing herself upright left her head reeling. She smoothed her hair back and groaned as her fingers grazed the lump, causing another wave of pain.
"Easy there," the not-a-delivery man warned from across the room. "Would you like ice?"
"Are all stalkers so thoughtful?"
He grunted, but any real words were lost in the scrape and rattle of ice into a bag. "Here."
Peering at him, she realized he was standing at the absolute limit of his reach. She accepted the ice, and used the wall to hold it in place while she gathered her thoughts. "How long have I been out?"
"A couple hours," he said, returning to his chair across the room. "You should let your friend know you're okay and ask her to bring your things here."
She didn't bother to dignify that. No way was she staying in a strange man's hotel room any longer than necessary. There was only so much latitude she could extend to her aunt's security specialist. Guinness needed her. Her class expected her.
The ice took the edge off the pain, making it a little easier to deal with details. "Darian Knoll, right?"
"Yes, Ma-"
"Call me Amy." She didn't care for the Southern 'ma'am' thing. Manners were fine, and while she'd earned 'professor', she didn't feel old enough yet to be a 'ma'am'.
"All right." He nodded as if that was an enormous relief. "Amy. Are you feeling better?"
"Guess so." She glanced around, trying to determine where she was by the view through the window. A church steeple speared up from the rooftops nearby, but that wasn't much help in Charleston. She and Guinness had walked and walked, but she hadn't memorized which steeple went with which church on which street.
"This has been an eventful day for you. I've learned your attacker is still in custody. Which gives us time to move."
She looked down at her aunt's letter and her cell phone on the end table, well within reach. "Move?"
He nodded. "We need to get you
He went to her bag and once more read the letter from aunt to niece, poring over every detail, reading between every line. Had Camille suspected an attack? The letter was far too candid in his opinion and he was more than a little perturbed to see the Matchmaker's disregard for decent security measures.
His three attempts to phone Camille since he and Amy had safely reached the hotel had gone unanswered. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, eager for any direction to focus his search for Camille. When his cell phone buzzed against the table he snapped it up, ever hopeful. The text message was from Gilly:
No book here. Heading to the office. When will you be in?
Crap. Gilly was nothing but thorough and efficient. If she couldn't find the book, it wasn't in Camille's office. And Camille's letter all but said she'd sent the book to Amy. It chilled him to think of such a vital treasure circling the globe without an armed escort. If the secrets inside that book fell into the wrong hands...he just couldn't go there. As for the coded portion of Gilly's text, well, he couldn't go there either. The safe house wasn't an option until he knew the new Matchmaker and the book were safely together.
Amy woke from a fitful dream about an angry troll stomping out a fiery bridge. Relief was immediate, until she realized she wasn't in her own bed with Guinness warming her feet. She wasn't in the guest room at Maeve's place either.
She blinked a few times, bringing the ceiling into better focus, though it didn't reveal any profound information. The fabric under her hands screamed standard, mid-priced hotel, but it was an improvement over a bucket in the janitor's closet. Hopefully.
Just pushing herself upright left her head reeling. She smoothed her hair back and groaned as her fingers grazed the lump, causing another wave of pain.
"Easy there," the not-a-delivery man warned from across the room. "Would you like ice?"
"Are all stalkers so thoughtful?"
He grunted, but any real words were lost in the scrape and rattle of ice into a bag. "Here."
Peering at him, she realized he was standing at the absolute limit of his reach. She accepted the ice, and used the wall to hold it in place while she gathered her thoughts. "How long have I been out?"
"A couple hours," he said, returning to his chair across the room. "You should let your friend know you're okay and ask her to bring your things here."
She didn't bother to dignify that. No way was she staying in a strange man's hotel room any longer than necessary. There was only so much latitude she could extend to her aunt's security specialist. Guinness needed her. Her class expected her.
The ice took the edge off the pain, making it a little easier to deal with details. "Darian Knoll, right?"
"Yes, Ma-"
"Call me Amy." She didn't care for the Southern 'ma'am' thing. Manners were fine, and while she'd earned 'professor', she didn't feel old enough yet to be a 'ma'am'.
"All right." He nodded as if that was an enormous relief. "Amy. Are you feeling better?"
"Guess so." She glanced around, trying to determine where she was by the view through the window. A church steeple speared up from the rooftops nearby, but that wasn't much help in Charleston. She and Guinness had walked and walked, but she hadn't memorized which steeple went with which church on which street.
"This has been an eventful day for you. I've learned your attacker is still in custody. Which gives us time to move."
She looked down at her aunt's letter and her cell phone on the end table, well within reach. "Move?"
He nodded. "We need to get you
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