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She watched the news for a while longer, keeping careful track of the time as she did so. She was to leave her room at precisely three minutes after four. No sooner, no later.
She rose from her chair at two minutes after, pulled on her jacket and moved to the door. As the tim
e changed to three minutes after, she opened her door and stepped out as she slung her pack over her shoulder.
Striding to the elevator, she checked the time. Dog had given her exactly two minutes to make it to the back entrance of the inn.
As she stepped into the elevator, she had to fight the feeling that she was going too far. Contacting Dog wasn’t a good idea—if Cabal ever learned of it . . . Meeting with him was an even worse idea.
How else was she supposed to get the answers she needed? How else was she supposed to find out why a killer thought he could kill Douglas again? Unless he meant to kill him through her.
She shook her head at the thought. The killer wasn’t insane. There wasn’t even a hint of insanity in what had transpired so far. Vengeance, yes. Anger, perhaps. But there was nothing crazy.
Did the killer think Douglas was still alive?
The thought almost froze her in her place as the elevator doors opened on the lobby floor, depositing her in the deserted hall.
Douglas wasn’t alive. She had seen him die; she knew she had. There on the floor of that horrible lab, a steel spike driven into his back.
She stepped into the hall, her steps slowing as she moved to the back entrance of the inn.
She hadn’t actually seen him die. She hadn’t seen his body at the burial. It was a closed casket funeral, supposedly at the request of family.
She’d wondered at the time, What family? Douglas had never mentioned family to her.
Lifting her head, Cassa paused at the back entrance, her hand clenched around the strap of her pack as she fought with the questions raging through her mind.
This killer was smart, methodical. He had managed to get seven men to return to Glen Ferris after word would have spread that the Dozen was being picked off, one by one. He knew what he was doing, and he knew how to do it.
He wanted Douglas. He wouldn’t be satisfied with Douglas’s wife.
She felt her heart racing in her chest now, and this time, it wasn’t from arousal. It was from horror. Terror.
She could feel herself shaking her head, feel the knowledge burning into her soul as surely as the mating heat burned through her body.
“Turning back, Ms. Hawkins?”
She turned with a gasp at the sound of Dog’s rough voice.
Eyes widening, she watched as he stepped from the doorway of one of the offices. Dressed in black leather, his silver and black hair framing his savage features, he looked like a demon come to collect souls.
Was her soul the one he had chosen? Or merely her life?
“You were supposed to meet me outside,” she said, feeling the fear as it rose inside her with a vengeance.
“So I was.” His brow arched with curious amusement. “And you were supposed to actually step outside that door thirty-five seconds ago. You’re late.”
“So I am.” She stepped back as he moved a step forward.
What had she done? She had known even as she stepped from that elevator that she was making a mistake. That she should have never agreed to this meeting. Now she could feel that certainty to the very marrow of her bones.
She should have never allowed herself to be drawn away from Cabal so effectively. She should have fought this out with him rather than trying to solve things the same way she had done all her life. Her way. Silently. Stubbornly.
Douglas had once told her that her stubbornness was going to cause him to kill her. Maybe, in a way, he had always been right.
“So much fear.” Dog scoffed mockingly as he watched her, his head tilted to the side as one thumb rested just inside the pocket of his snug leather pants. “You should have thought of the wisdom of this meeting before arranging it perhaps.”
No shit.
