Page 13

Then he was gone.

I didn’t dwell on it.

“Come out for drinks later?” I asked Jason.

“Sure. If I’ve got the time, I’ll send you a Snap.”

“Sounds good.”

I waved, and went to find the shower.

Back at Room 214, the door was locked, but luckily I had a key. Maksim had gotten there first. I could hear the shower running. Water going, steady, like a distant river.

Perfect.

I know, I know. I should’ve left it. Nobody with a working brain would deliberately annoy a man built like that when he’s naked and possibly homicidal. But I had a bad feeling in my stomach after losing, and there’s nothing on earth that soothes a bad feeling like making somebody else’s day worse.

I knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, Maksim! I need the shower too. You’re taking forever. We’re both guys, right? I could just come in.”

I was expecting silence. Total, arctic silence.

“No,” said the voice behind the door.

His voice was deep and firm, like a wave rolling through a storm. It was just one word, but the accent came through and hit me right between the shoulder blades.

I stood there. Considered my options. Decided, for once in my life, that I didn’t want to push it.

It wasn’t the tone. It was something else, something I couldn’t name, a note under the word, like he was holding something down with both hands. It made the back of my neck prickle. It made me want, briefly, to respect it.

So I did the most out-of-character thing imaginable: I sat down on the bed and waited.

I opened Snapchat and watched a few girls send me photos. They were hot. They were also hitting on me because I’m a hockey player with a good jaw and a great last name, and I felt nothing at all. I scrolled anyway. I told myself it was because I was tired.

The bathroom door clicked open.

He walked out with a towel around his waist. His skin was pink from the heat, and there was water on his chest, and his hair was slicked back off his face, and I glanced up, looked for one full second, and muttered “show-off” to myself, and grabbed my clothes.

It was a short shower. I wasn’t in the mood for anything. Fifteen minutes, and I came out in a T-shirt and joggers.

He was still getting dressed. A black shirt that hugged everything, black jeans, dark hair combed neatly back. He looked like a man dressed for a date, or a funeral. It was hard to say which.

Our eyes met for half a second.

Where is this guy going?

And then it hit me.

Tonight was the night. I’d wondered where he went at night. I’d wondered why he never ate. Where he disappeared to when everybody was asleep. I was going to follow him and figure it out. I was going to find something I could use.

I dressed fast, in a simple T-shirt and pants that cost a fortune, and I felt a little better wearing my own armor. I waited three minutes after he left.

When I was sure he was gone, the stalking began.

“All right, ice prince,” I said to the empty room. “Let’s find out your dirty little secrets.”

There was a car waiting at the curb, and it was his car. It was long and black and sleek and probably worth more than a house, the kind of car you buy when you don’t need to worry about money and care a great deal about not being seen. I stood behind a snowbank across the street and watched him fold into the driver’s seat.