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Leaving the computer as it is, I check my cell again, pulling down the screen and swiping to bring up any possible connections, but still, there’s nothing. Surely my phone would pick up on one, if there was one, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t just been switched off, or perhaps it is broken, like Blake said. It might just be the one thing he hasn’t lied about.

I snort softly to myself. Fat chance of that.

Feeling kind of guilty that I’m invading Dov’s privacy, I start my search. His room takes minimalistic to the extreme. There’s zero clutter. No photographs or keepsakes, just like his brother. Nothing of his past life. I search behind the monitors, in the desk’s cupboards and behind the curtains. I open the closet and find rows of identical dark t-shirts and jeans. It’s as though offering him a choice of clothing to wear is another thing to frustrate him, so instead of making those decisions, he just wears the same thing every day.

Though thinking about that, it’s not like Levi and Blake vary up their wardrobes either. These men dress for practicality, not fashion, and since they’re physical workers, their uniform also tends to be t-shirt or work shirts, jeans, and boots.

I think back to how the hotel must have been in the past, with all the glamorous people visiting, and what they’d think of the current occupants’ style. I glance down at my own outfit of sweatpants and a baggy sweater. Definitely not dressed for style.

I pause and let out a sigh. There’s no sign of a box.

Leaning in behind the monitors, I observe where the wires go. They should feed into something, if they’re connected. But instead of any kind of box, they go straight into the wall behind and vanish. Damn. Other than the power cables, they’re wired in. I chew on the inside of my lip. What does that mean? That there is an internet connection, but it’s wired? And if so, how do I connect to that?

I glance back at the screens. The three men have vanished from the spot in the hallway. I search for any sign of them. They have to be somewhere. Does that mean Dov might be on his way back to his room? What will I say if he finds me here? Could I tell him the truth?

It’s probably easier if I just get the hell out of here.

Something beneath the mattress catches my eye, a white corner poking out.

Curiosity catches me in its grip. I should leave, but now I want to see.

Reaching down, I pull out a sheet of paper.

It’s one of my drawings. I remember when I drew this. It’s of a kingfisher I’d spotted by the river. The picture isn’t finished, but it’s started to take life, the beak and head, and one wing done in such detail it looks as though it’s about to soar off the page. I recall what happened the day I’d drawn it. How I’d thought I’d been chased through the woods, but then had run straight into Blake, and, well, my mind had definitely been taken off my picture. Had that been Dov I’d sensed? Had he been watching me draw it, and then later sneaked into my room and torn it from the pad? I hadn’t even noticed it missing. I’d had my head so full of Blake and Levi and everything else that had been going on.

The fact that he’s kept one of my drawings touches me. I know it’s another of Dov’s ways of trying to connect with me. He wanted a piece of me close. I want to tell him that he could have just asked and I’d have given it to him, but of course I hadn’t even known he existed then. I hope now he knows he can come to me if he wants something.

Movement comes in the doorway.

I know it’ll be him before I even look up.

His huge form fills the space. His brow is furrowed as he stares at me, standing beside his bed, holding the picture he’d stolen.

Even though he’s the one who took my property, I’m bathed in guilt at being caught here. Will he ask my reasons for being in his room? Will he be angry upon finding me here? I don’t know how he’s going to react.

It dawns on me that I can use the drawing as an excuse.

I hold it up. “I noticed it was missing from my sketch pad. You took it.”

I’m nervous, my stomach flipping. The piece of paper flutters as my hand shakes. I should be afraid of him. He’s huge and unpredictable, and I know he’s hurt people, and worse.

His voice is a low growl. “I wanted something of yours, to be near you, even when I’m not.”

He has a slow, cautious way of moving, as though he hasn’t quite figured out how to exist in a body of his size.

“You could have asked me for something.”

He shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t.”

Because he was a secret from me then.

He holds me in his gaze as he steps closer. My feet are rooted to the floor.

“The drawing is beautiful, like you,” he says. “So full of life. It makes me think of the person I used to be.”

The menacing moment has passed, and I drop my shoulders, relaxing a fraction.

“Do you remember? Who you were before the accident?”