Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“It’s not too late. I think we need to call the police,” I suggest again.
As the words leave my mouth, I fight down the urge to puke. I feel defensive with just these few simple questions from Z. The thought of having my life picked apart by the police, emergency personnel, lawyers, reporters… it’s abhorrent.
“For the last time, we’re not calling the police.”
The sense of relief I feel at his vehement statement is telling.
Z closes the few feet distance between us. He grips my blanket-covered arms, helping to hold me up as he looks into my eyes and reiterates, “I need to know everything. Have you ever met that man before he burst into your room?”
My head is throbbing. The last thing I want to do is relive the last few hours, but I know it’s important, so I force myself to remember.
“I was out clubbing with my friends last night. A cab dropped me off at the lobby entrance around one. I remember because the lobby bar was still open, and I went there to see…” I cut off just in time to avoid confessing I’d actually been looking for him. “…to see if Katja and Dex might be there having a nightcap.
“While I was there, the man with the scar on his face came up to talk to me. At first, he seemed nice, but as I turned to leave, he creeped me out.”
“So, you talked with him?”
Wasn’t he paying attention? “Yeah, we bumped into each other, and I apologized.”
“That’s it?” he asks, sounding hopeful.
I do my best to remember what my attacker said that had made me uncomfortable. “No. He asked if I’d had a good time dancing at the club tonight. I asked how he knew I’d been out dancing, and he admitted to following me on social media. In fact, he made it sound like he’d been stalking me online, mentioning events from my past. It weirded me out, so I excused myself and left right away.”
“Shit.” Z runs his fingers through his hair before adding, “Did he follow you right away then?”
“I didn’t think so. I was careful to get into the elevator alone. I kept watching over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following me. It was only once I came into my suite that he pushed the door open behind me.” My head hurts as I remember the terror of those first few minutes as I’d realized just how much trouble I was in.
“So, he wasn’t in the same elevator as you, right?”
Why is he asking all of these questions?
“No. I told you…”
He cuts me off. “That means he had to either take the stairs or the employee elevator since his normal elevator doesn’t stop on this floor.”
What the hell is Z talking about? What other elevators are there?
“I guess it’s possible he ran up the stairs that fast. I’m only on the sixth floor… and the exit from the stairwell is right outside my door…” My voice trails off as a few puzzle pieces fall into place. “But how would he know what room I’m in?”
“You’ve been living in the hotel for months. And since you post every move you make on social media, that makes you a soft target. Unless you’ve been moving around the hotel, it wouldn’t be that hard for him to figure it out.”
Why does it sound like he’s blaming me for this mess again? “This is The Whitney! This should be one of the safest places in the city, for crying out loud,” I retort.
Z ignores my defense and starts barking orders again. “Do you have a bag packed yet?”
When I don’t reply, he releases his last hold on my arm and brushes past me, heading for my walk-in closet. He flips on the light and starts rummaging through my things, pulling out a pair of casual yoga pants, a couple t-shirts, and one of my oldest college sweatshirts.
He shoves the pile into my arms before returning to the drawers to pull out a few random panties, bras, and socks. The fact that I’m not insisting on my intimates matching like normal is a clue to how upset I am.
“Go into the bathroom. Take off the bloody bra and panties you still have on. Wrap them up in the blanket and leave them all on the tiled floor. I’ll be sure to clean it all up when I come back down.
“Then put these clothes on. Oh, and find a scarf you can put over your hair to hide the blood streaks. You can’t shower until you get to my room so try not to touch things. I don’t want you to transfer blood residue if you can avoid it.”
“But… I thought you said no one would even know he’d been here.”
“That’s the plan. And while I can control the security camera evidence, I have no idea how many people might have seen the two of you talking to each other in the bar. Better safe than sorry.”