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She dumped the bag on the bed and rooted around inside for what nestled in the bottom: Daire’s tee-shirt. Crawling up the bed to flop onto her back, the pillows caught her head. Burying her face in his shirt, she closed her eyes to reassure herself everything would work out.
He’d be going crazy. If he loved her, he’d be worried. His scent filled her senses and unwound her muscles. Somehow, they’d see each other again. She had to believe that. She had to.
In a foreign country, without a passport or ID or any proof that she was a US citizen, how could she save herself? Daire had said play along. For now, she didn’t have any other choice.
SOMEONE KNOCKED ON the door, yanking Tess from a deep slumber. It was dark. She couldn’t see, couldn’t remember. Still, Daire was nearby, so she was okay. No, wait. The smell came from the shirt wound around her arm, draped on the pillow.
She sat up to look around. The window was only half covered. There were lights outside, but no sound.
The knock came again.
Zeus. Right. They were in Europe. In a weird hotel or apartment or something. Byron. Hugo. Everything came back slowly.
“Yeah,” she called out to whoever was knocking to let them know she was awake.
The word provoked a memory. Raising his shirt, she pushed her face into it, cradling it in both hands.
Whoever was on the other side of the door announced, “Dinner will be served in an hour.”
The voice wasn’t familiar or American. Zeus wouldn’t run errands himself; their host must have a staff.
“Thank you,” Tess called, pleased that whoever they were, they didn’t expect her to present herself straight away.
She wanted a shower, needed to explore, needed to figure out what the hell was going on. Zeus had planned this. The guy was ten steps ahead.
Dropping her weight onto the bed, she tossed Daire’s shirt on her face and closed her eyes. She should get up. Look around, get her head in the game. Coming round from sleep was taking a while. Maybe because there wasn’t anything worth getting up for.
What would Zeus want her to do? Put a bullet in his head? Wouldn’t it be ironic if she finished what the highly trained Olympus operatives couldn’t? Byron and Hugo might not like it, so she may have to take them out too. That would be fine. Murderess-at-large… hardly her style.
And there were logistics to consider. With the staff, people in the lobby, and drivers outside, she’d have trouble disposing of bodies… not that she knew how to do that. If Daire was around, he’d have a plan, he’d be in charge already.
Maybe if she got herself arrested, her Heart would show up to break her out. Could be that causing an international incident was inevitable.
Damnit.
She rolled off the bed and tossed Daire’s shirt back to her bag.
Determined. Focused. Sure. She didn’t have the luxury of lazing around or letting anyone else take charge.
The room was an odd shape with walls that met at different angles. Like a trapezoid with a corridor leading off it. That corridor gave access to a long closet with a bathroom beyond. With a full-size tub built into the marble and a separate glass walk-in shower, it was obvious no expense had been spared.
London was an expensive city to live in. One of the most expensive. The space was nothing to what they’d had in Hugo’s desert house, but it was bigger than the Beast. Funny then that the Beast was the only place on Earth she wanted to be.
After checking there were necessaries in the bathroom, she retreated to the closet and discovered outfits inside. Clothes had been bought for her, without her input… again. If any of the men knew or respected her, they’d fill closets with fabrics and let her work.
She didn’t want to think about how long she may be separated from her Heart, at the mercy of Zeus and his benefactors. The clothes suggested it could be a while.
They were more respectable than the garments that had been purchased for her in Vegas. That could be chalked up to the climate. London wasn’t as humid as the desert.
Picking out pants and a knitted sweater, Tess located a towel and went into the bathroom. Bath or shower? In the tub, she could forget her worries and make believe she was still in Vegas. But the shower would steam up obscuring her nakedness. Knowing so little about Zeus, she couldn’t guess as to how far he’d go on the surveillance score.
Bathing was as much about cleansing her body as her mind. Anything could be important, any detail relevant. She might not know or understand why, but she had to be ready in case the chance to talk to Daire came up.
Today, tomorrow, whenever she next saw her Heart, she would be ready to tell him everything. Staying alive was her primary mission. She had to see him again. The hope of that, the possibility of being reunited with him, would keep her going. Daire was a guiding light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel Byron and Hugo had led her down.
FIFTEEN
A CLOCK ON THE NIGHTSTAND read twenty-one oh three. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, so couldn’t tell how long was left to wait.
