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She managed to breathe, but it didn’t slow her thumping heart. “Did you call the police?”
“My security company is investigating. Unfortunately, they tell me the outdoor camera malfunctioned, and there’s no video of the incident. Who is it, Zoey? An ex-boyfriend? A jilted lover?”
Her heart stopped and started again. Tristan’s mouth moved, but it took a full five seconds before his words made it past the dull curtains in her mind. His eyes caught hers, trapping them within their steely confines. Game over.
She set the sandwich on her plate and wiped her mouth with a napkin. When telling a lie, it was always best to stick close to the truth.
“No one I know.”
She thought he might say something after he’d stared her down, but he didn’t. Instead, he opened the sack, put his food on a plate, pulled out a stool, and sat next to her. She managed to take another small bite of her sandwich.
“Why do you wear a wig?”
She coughed, almost choking on the mouthful of sandwich, but managed to swallow. She took a drink of water. She had wondered if he’d noticed the wig. It was safer for him if she didn’t explain her reasons.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“I promised you a single date, not an inquisition.” Lillian set her plate aside and stood. “Where can I take a shower? I’d like to get back to the hospital.”
“You haven’t finished your lunch.”
“I had a big breakfast in the middle of the night, remember? I’m not hungry.”
His eyes labeled her a liar, but he polished off his sandwich and stood, pointing her toward the grand staircase to the floor above. “You room is the first bedroom on the left. I put your suitcase there, and there are plenty of towels and washcloths in the bathroom.”
She brushed by him, pretending to be oblivious to the heat of his hard body and the annoying scent of his minty cologne. But she couldn’t control a shiver at his next words, which seemed to chase her up the stairs.
“I will learn what has you so frightened, Zoey, whether you decide to tell me or not.”
The minute Zoey was out of sight, Tristan grabbed his cell phone and made his way to his office, kicking the door shut behind him. He found the number in his recents for Brian Townsend, a high school buddy who ran the security firm he hired, and called it. Then he paced back and forth in front of the window until Brian picked up.
“Any leads on the attempted break-in?”
“None yet, but I’ve tightened security.” Brian’s raspy baritone managed to sound both confident and surprised. “You have more evidence?”
“No, but I have another assignment for you.”
“Sure, my man. What is it?”
“I’d like you to do a thorough investigation of a woman I recently met. Her name is Zoey Mills.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“Not much. She’s a nurse who lives in Denver and works in an emergency room. She’s in Cleveland because her childhood friend, Hannah Milano—is ill. I have a hunch she’s gotten herself into some difficult circumstances. I need to know what or who is causing her problems.”
“I’m on it. M-I-L-L-S?
“Yes.”
“How old is she?”
“I’d say she’s in her late twenties.”
“What does she look like?”
“She’s petite, slim, about five-four, with green eyes and long blonde hair. Her hair and eye color may not be natural—she wears a wig. I have a photo of her…I’ll text it to you. I want daily reports. And I’ll pay double if you can get this information to me fast. There’s some urgency.”
“Gotcha.”
