Britt sucked in a deep breath.
Titus Freeman …
Brittany’s father.
“FBI, Interpol, and PIIB,” the male voice from the phone responded.
Her breaths quickened as she pressed her ear against the door, anxious for more information.
The Visitor asked, “How did it happened?”
“Gruesome shit,” the other man said, then exhaled a long sigh. “White phosphorus. He burned up and couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. Not even water would help.”
Britt reeled from the visual, bile rising in her throat as tears pricked her eyes. Who would do something like that to anyone? Why had Brittany’s father been killed? And why were major intelligence bureaus from the US and the Palmchat Islands involved in the investigation?
The Visitor said, “With Titus dead, there’s no point in continuing.”
“What are you going to do with her?”
“Kill her,” The Visitor said with no emotion. “Can you get rid of the body for me?”
There was a long pause, then the other man said, “I don’t want to get involved. You know that?—”
“You owe me,” The Visitor thundered.
“Fine,” the other man said. “Let me know when you’re done.”
Something hard slammed into the wall, echoing in the hallway.
But nothing was louder than the pounding of Britt’s heart.
The Visitor’s intentions were unmistakable. Her usefulness to him was gone. He’d kept her because of Titus Freeman, likely hoping she could be used as a pawn to manipulate the man or replace his daughter without him knowing. She wasn’t sure what The Visitor expected her to do if she went along with that plan, but it didn’t matter anymore.
Titus Freeman was dead.
And The Visitor planned to kill her.
But she wasn’t dying today.
Darting away from the wall, Britt pulled the shower curtain back, turned the water to the hottest setting, and stepped inside, drawing the curtain closed. The audio volume didn’t change. The pelting water drowned out the words of Brittany Freeman’s life. Steam billowed around her as she rubbed the soap in her hands. Sudsy water cascaded to the floor. She peered through the thin gap between the curtain and the shower wall, watching and waiting for The Visitor to enter.
Seconds ticked by before the door handle turned slowly. The door caught on her clothes. He leaned down to pick up the damp garments, turning them over and over as his gaze slowly moved to the shower curtain. Britt rubbed her palms together until the tiny bar of soap disintegrated, then rested a shaking hand on the faucet handle. The Visitor stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.
Britt took a deep breath and slowly turned the water off. Closing her eyes, she pulled the curtain open and raked her hands through her wet hair, smoothing the tangles. She took one step, then another, before opening her eyes and letting out a fake gasp.
The Visitor’s eyes were locked onto her naked body, dragging over her curves.
“You’re late,” Britt said, lowering her arms.
“I know,” he responded.
“I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I’m here now,” he said, then pointed toward the wet clothes on the bedpost. “Your clothes got wet.”
She shrugged and took one step, shrinking the distance between them. Her body brushed against his as she placed her hands on his chest. His hand clamped on her wrist, and she looked into his dark brown eyes. An insatiable attraction blazed in his gaze as he yanked her closer. Their bodies flush, her skin brushing against the roughness of his clothes. His erection undeniable.
He moved closer, face dangerously close to her lips, before sliding his cheek against hers. His lips pressed against her ear gently, but his words were deadly. “Your plan isn’t going to work …”
