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Hank came back into the room, carrying plastic and tape.
“Don’t mind Lennie,” he said, continuing on into the bathroom. “She just doesn’t like women.”
Or men, Maddie would have bet. As if reading her thoughts, the cat flicked its tail in disdain and sauntered past, heading straight for the wardrobe door.
“Oh no, you don’t.” She stepped in front of the cat and tried to scoot it away with her foot. The sleek creature hunkered down and hissed, its eyes green slits of anger.
“Glare all you like, sweetheart, you’re not getting into that wardrobe.”
“Maybe she just smells a mouse,” Hank commented.
Her pulse jumped and she glanced up quickly. Hank leaned against the bathroom door, arms crossed as he studied her. This time there was definitely suspicion in his bright gaze.
“Mice I can handle. It’s cat hair all over my clothes that I can’t stand. I’m allergic.”
“Perhaps you’d better let her check it, all the same. Lennie’s a pretty good little hunter.”
Lennie looked mean enough to pull down a bull, but there was no way she could open the wardrobe door with Jon inside. Though Maddie wasn’t sure if this odd pair was the threat Jon had referred to, she certainly didn’t trust Hank one iota.
“If I hear any mice running around, I’ll let you know.” And what sort of manager advertised the presence of mice, anyway?
Any other guest in her supposed position would probably have thrown a fit, but Maddie just wanted them gone from the room—man and cat both.
Hank nodded, though she could see he was far from happy. “I’ve taped plastic over the window. I’ll come back tomorrow and replace the glass.”
By which time Jon should be long gone. She hoped.
“And are you sure you don’t need a doctor?” His gaze challenged her.
“Quite sure,” Maddie replied firmly. She watched Hank walk out the bedroom door, then glanced down at the unmoving cat. She’d throw the thing out if she had to, but she’d rather it just followed Hank of its own accord. The claws it kept flexing looked sharp enough to tear concrete to ribbons.
The cat continued to glare up at her. Maddie blinked, unnerved by the almost human intelligence in the animal’s bright gaze. You haven’t seen the last of me, foolish child, it seemed to say.
And I really have to learn to control my imagination.
The cat finally rose and sauntered away. At the bedroom door, it hesitated and looked back. The warning was clear in its bright gaze.
It knew Jon was in the wardrobe. And it would be back.
Maddie clenched her fingers and followed the creature out of the room. Once it was in the hall, she locked the suite door, closed her eyes, and leaned against it for a moment. It was at times like this, when her imagination got the best of her, that she really needed a drink.
She licked her lips, pushed away from the door, and walked back into the bedroom.
“Jon?” She opened the wardrobe.
His gaze met hers, and again she thought she saw concern in the rich depths of his eyes. “Madeline. Are you okay?”
A chill ran over her. Sometimes he almost seemed able to read her mind. She held out her hand and he took it, his skin rough against hers. At least his fingers were warmer than before. She helped him back to the bed, noting that his body was still icy through the damp shirt.
He practically collapsed back onto the bed. She studied him for a moment, then walked around to get her carryall. Clothes had to be a first priority; then she’d re-bandage his arm.
She dug out her baggy old sweatpants and a T-shirt and held them up. They’d fit him pretty well. He might not be too pleased at the color—a vibrant jade—but at least they would keep him warm until his own clothes dried.
She bent across the bed and lightly shook him. “Jon?” There was no response, so she shook him again.
“Don’t,” he muttered. “I need to rest.”
So do I, buddy, and you’re in my bed. “You have to change first. Put these on while I see if I can find some fresh bandages.”
