His mouth twitched.
“—but this might be a helpful piece of the puzzle.”
He took it, then proceeded to stare at me like I was a miracle. “How?”
“I watched her place the note in her pocket. I splashed the vodka into her face and used the momentary confusion to snatch it right up.” I turned my index and middle finger into a pair of scissors, pinching them together. “It only took a second.”
He opened it, peeling back the pages. In big black ink, there were a few scrawled lines. JP is a yes. Irene says we’re a go.
“I don’t know what the hell any of that means,” I said slowly. “Except doesn’t this handwriting look familiar to you?”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the threat we’d both gotten. I’d kept it in there for this kind of moment. Side-by-side, it was obvious they were a match.
“I’ll be damned,” Abe drawled. “Either Peter Markham wrote that threat or is taking messages for the person who did.”
When we pulled up to The Langham Hotel, two firefighters were walking out of the lobby and back to a truck with flashing lights. Groups of people stood huddled in corners, and I saw hotel staff rushing around with blankets and bottles of water.
“Interesting,” I said slowly, glancing at Abe. We paid, exited the cab quickly, only to be immediately rushed by two important-looking staff members.
“Ms. Argento,” the one man said. “Mr. Royal, we’re so glad you’re here. We weren’t sure—”
“What happened?” Abe said sharply.
The man escorted us into the lobby, past groups of people—and gasped when he saw our faces. “Dear god, are you alright?”
“One hell of a baby shower, trust me,” I said. “Now what’s wrong? Something with our rooms?”
“I’m so sorry to tell you two small fires began in your hotel rooms about an hour ago,” he said. Alarm bells exploded in my brain. Abe was gripping my wrist. “No one was hurt, the fires didn’t spread, and the brigade got here quickly enough, thank heavens. Seems like faulty wiring with one of the lamps in your room, Mr. Royal. The spark caught and spread to Ms. Argento’s room, unfortunately. The sprinklers went off, and while they did their job, I can’t speak for the state of your laptops and other items.”
Abe’s fingers tightened on my skin. I knew his mind must be racing at a sheer gallop as quickly as mine.
“The police will investigate, of course, and in the meantime, we’ve been gathering your items and getting you new rooms, and obviously the Hotel will pay for everything, and I mean everything. We will spare no expense, and please know we feel positively dreadful about all of this.”
“Especially since we were also threatened just last night,” Abe said. “I would find it hard to believe these two situations are separate or random.”
My fingers were flexing open and closed, adrenaline starting to shiver up my spine again. I didn’t yearn for these threats, yet each one was another clue, another lead, another tie to Bernard’s anger at our existence. Regardless of whatever this manager or the police believed, Abe and I knew this was no coincidence.
“Of course,” the manager said, looking seconds away from fainting. “Both our security and the police are conferring as we speak and will be by shortly to take statements.”
“Can we see our things first?” Abe asked. “Privately?”
We were ushered into a small side room by a group of apologetic staff—but Abe was having none of it. “Sloane and I need to look through our things without interruption.”
The manager nodded and said, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you… knew each other?”
“Yes, we do,” Abe said curtly and slammed the door in his face. Exhaled long and slow before finally turning around and making eye contact.
“Before we evaluate what happened, I need to tell you something,” he said. “The guy, the guys, who attacked us were wearing shirts that identified them as Dresden Security.”
I cocked my head. “Why do I know that name?”
“I’m sure you’ve come across them in your travels as an investigator,” he said. “They’re a private security firm favored by the extremely wealthy and the extremely criminal, often overlapping. They’re trigger-happy and more than willing to do their worst if a client asks. They have been used by Victoria Whitney, Dr. Ward—”
“—and let me guess, Bernard,” I interjected.
His nod was grim. “That night, with the bartender, I think our attacker was Dresden.”
I ran my hand through my hair, stared at our wet and watery clothing. “And I bet those same guards did this, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” he murmured, coming to stand next to me and staring at all of our water-damaged items. He picked up his laptop, which was as drenched as both of mine. My files had curled in on themselves and were soggy to the touch. All of the pictures splattered and ruined. I tried to turn my laptop on—a fruitless endeavor that had me sighing with real frustration.
“Goddammit.” My head dropped to the wet machine, fingers clenching in a soaked dress. I could care less about clothing, but my research, the evidence, my computers were essentially my entire business, my entire life. Abe’s hand landed on the top of my head, stroking lightly.
“This is a very real fucking message,” he said. “People could have been hurt. Or worse. This isn’t a lame attempt at mugging us to make us feel unsafe. If we don’t listen, I don’t think their next threat will be one we’ll be able to ignore.”
I looked up at him from my squat. His fingers sifted across my forehead. “Bernard is scared.”
“Very much so.”
“So we can’t leave now.”
He gave me a half-smile. “Glad to know I’m not the only foolish one in this partnership.”
“No, sir, you are not,” I said. A very un-Abe-like fabric caught my eye. “Is that a Hawaiian shirt?”
His hand left my head. He rubbed it once down his face. “A going-away gift from my team. They thought these shirts might lead to romance.”
“You’d never wear this,” I teased.
“I swear it,” he replied.
“You packed it anyway?”
The slightest blush lit his cheeks. “It was their gift to me. Of course I would bring it.”
The way this man restrained his emotions incited a tender ache in my chest. “How about that romance?”
His eyes dropped to my mouth. Our kiss. That kiss. “Romance has found me on this trip. Unexpected, to say the least.”
Now I was blushing. And blushing hotter when my fingers uncovered a soggy book beneath the shirts. “Wed to the Pirate Captain?” I read.
“Another gift,” he grunted.
I peeled open a page, aimed a discerning smile at the man standing over me. “You intrigue me, Abe Royal.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
He held eye contact, and I finally realized I was kneeling. In front of Abe. Whose expression was equal parts lust and a growing affection.
“I don’t mean to bring us back to—” he started.
“Of course,” I said, startled. “Of course, we, uh… we need to talk to the police.”