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I yank the comforter off of my face and inhale sharply. My heart is racing and I’m covered in sweat. The nightmare clings to me like an uncomfortable second skin.
I drag a hand down my face and sit up slowly. I don’t want to risk the nausea if I move too fast. What I do want is a shower and a bagel.
“Maybe some therapy, too,” I mutter.
My throat is raw as if I’ve been yelling. Maybe I was talking in my sleep. Or screaming, for all I know.
A blush warms over me as I realize all of the things Timofey could have overheard.
I carefully clutch the blankets against my chest and creep to the end of the bed. I lean to the furthest corner and peek through the open double doors to see if Timofey is still asleep on the couch.
But it’s empty.
I frown and scramble off the bed, dragging the comforter with me. The living room is vacant. So is the bathroom. I even check the linen closet because…well, safe to say we have history with closets.
But no—he’s not hiding in there, either.
“Timofey?” I finally call.
There is no response. I’m alone in the suite.
I fold my hands over my stomach and take a deep breath. I’m nauseous, but I’m not sure if it’s the pregnancy hormones, the fact I haven’t eaten anything yet, the nightmare, or maybe just the fact that Timofey dragged me to another country and then disappeared.
Isn’t he worried I’ll run away?
When I pass by the sitting room the second time, I see the note.
I lunge for it. The air from my movements sends it fluttering to the floor and it drifts under the couch. I curse and slide my hand under the plush furniture until I feel the paper. I crush it in my palm and carefully get back up with some help.
The note is written on nice hotel stationery. The paper is thick with burgundy embossed trim around the edges in the same shade as the bellboy’s uniform. But all I can see is the sharp, angled writing in the center.
Have breakfast and relax this morning. You’ve earned everything coming your way.
—Timofey.
I don’t even hesitate; I drop the paper to the floor and run to the bedroom. The same jeans and shirt I wore on the airplane are crumpled next to the bed, but they’re all I have. I throw them on, splash water on my face, and rush out of the hotel. I don’t remember to grab a room key or my wallet until I’m in the stairwell, but the door is locked and it would be too late to go back, anyway.
I have to get to Ashley and Gram.
The bellboy from yesterday is in the lobby. I ask him to call me a car.
“You want that charged to your room?” he asks.
I want to kiss him for suggesting the idea, because my genius plan was just to get out a block ahead of my stop and run from the driver without paying. “That would be great. Thanks.”
If he notices my ragged appearance and breathlessness, he doesn’t say anything.
Timofey is paying him well enough not to notice anything, I’m sure.
The bellboy flags down a driver and asks me where I’m going. I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to give anything away that I don’t have to. But I don’t know exactly where I’m going, and I can’t speak Spanish, so I need him to translate for the driver.
“It’s called Los Sueños Bed and Breakfast.”
He smiles. “I know it. It’s very nice. Not as nice as staying here, but still lovely.”
I search his smiling face for any sign that he is going to betray me. Will he send the address to Timofey? Is the driver even going to take me where I ask?
A web of conspiracies and possibilities play out in my mind, but I shove them aside. I don’t have another option. Timofey got a head start on me this morning, and I don’t have time to waste.
