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He wanted to ease her terror, to comfort her, but fear ate away at his attempts. One thing was for sure: they weren’t safe here anymore.

“Oh my god. Brock, I’m going to prison.” A sob tore through Dani’s chest. Brock crushed her against his body. She scrunched his shirt in her hands, anchoring herself to him. Her nails dug into his skin, but if he cared, he didn’t flinch.

“I won’t let that happen. I promise.” The rough edge of his voice broke with doubt.

“They’re going to find us. Just like the men at the library.” She backed out of his embrace and fisted her hands in the hair at her scalp. “I mean, how do they keep finding me? Ubrigg’s men, the Interpol agent, the guys from the library . . . It doesn’t make sense.”

Brock straightened. “Where’s your phone? The non-encrypted one?”

She went to her purse. “It’s here. But it’s off and I even pulled the battery. That makes it untraceable—right?”

“Yeah. Far as I know.” He snapped off the back of the device. A small chip, no bigger than a SIM card, fell onto his lap.

Her vision blurred and she reached out to grab the wall. “What’s that?”

He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and held it up. “It’s a tracking device. Get your stuff—now.”

Ice coated her veins, making her skin pucker. Questions whipped through her mind. “How did that get there?” Still holding the device, Brock ushered her toward her suitcase. The fibers of her lungs cramped on every breath. Someone had been close. Close enough to plant the device—but why not kill her then?

“We need to get as far from here as we can. We’ll discuss it later.”

His words popped the bubble of gray that wanted to suck her into oblivion. She grabbed the stray garments on the chair then ran to the bathroom for her toiletries. By the time she’d zipped up her go bag, Brock had his suitcase upright and was scanning the perimeter of the room. He slapped his hands to his pockets. “Got your passport?”

“Still in my bag.” She slung it over her shoulder. “Why? It’s not like I can use it. We’ll be lucky if we make it out of the hotel without someone calling the cops.”

“Damn it. You need a disguise.” He pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Can you do anything with your hair?”

She toyed with the strands confined in a ponytail. “Like color my hair? I don’t have any dye.”

“Nah. We don’t have time for that. Maybe later. I have a hat—can you tuck it under?”

“I think so.”

He pulled a baseball cap from his bag and handed it to her. She freed her hair from the elastic, wound up the strands on top of her head, and fit the baseball cap overtop. Then she tucked the wayward strands under the rim.

Brock dug deeper in his bag and pulled out a sweatshirt. “Wear this instead. It’ll hide your frame. The yoga pants still give away that you’re a woman, but with your face hidden, you won’t draw that much attention.”

She fit the sweatshirt over her head and turned to the mirror. Whoa. The hat and lack of hair framing her face made her features appear sharper. And makeup-free face and the men’s sweatshirt certainly aided in making her look less feminine.

“Still beautiful.”

She snapped her gaze to Brock’s in the mirror. She had to tip her head back an inch to take in his full height. He stepped behind her and his body towered over hers, his frame easily twice her width. He brought his hand to the nape of her neck. A tingling sensation rippled over her skin. He planted a kiss on the top of the cap and squeezed her shoulder.

“Time to go.”

She nodded and followed him out of the room. In the elevator, he hit the button for the garage.

“Where are we going if I can’t use my passport?”

He leaned his back against the elevator wall and grinned. “You’re forgetting where we came from.”

Chapter

Nine

Brock rubbed his hands on the steering wheel as they sat in Jardin Anglais park overlooking Lake Geneva.

“You can’t be serious,” Dani said. “How can you tell who’s a tourist?”