She nodded, a little too eagerly. The woman obviously wanted to help and stay out of trouble. “I think so. Maybe Sonora.”
“Is there anything else this man told you?”
Rosie shook her head a little too quickly. “I no think so. I so sorry. Please—I need job—”
“You’re fine, Rosie,” Angie said. “Thank you for your help.”
Tennyson slipped her his card. “If you think of anything, call me.”
He turned back to the security guard. “Do you have any video footage from the elevators? Can we see the one Rosie was on?”
“Of course.” The guard asked Rosie a few questions to determine which one she had taken, then pulled up the correct elevator at the right time. Rosie appeared in the elevator. On the fourth floor, a man wearing a crisp suit stepped inside. He kept his back to the camera, as if he knew he was being recorded.
Just as Rosie had said, the man was tall with dark hair. Tennyson guessed, just by looking at the video, that the man was in his thirties.
Was it Dante? He just couldn’t tell.
“Can you scroll back? I want to see the footage before he got on the elevator. I need to see his face.” He glanced at his watch. The police should be here at any minute. At that point, they’d take over, and he might not be privy to this information.
The guard did as he asked. He spotted the man walking down the hall. He wore the same crisp suit. But he’d pulled on a baseball cap. His face was still shadowed.
Tennyson’s jaw hardened. Whoever this man was, he’d thought of everything. He knew where the cameras were, and he knew how to avoid them. He’d somehow known which room Mallory was staying in, which housekeeper serviced the suite, and when Mallory was gone.
More and more unease churned inside him. This wasn’t good. He needed to get Mallory out of this hotel. He needed to increase security measures.
But right now, he needed to get back up to Mallory.
CHAPTER 13
Mallory stood as soon as Tennyson walked back into their suite. She was still talking to the detective and had filled him in on everything that was going on, detail by painful detail. Kori had been beside her the whole time, and though she appreciated the woman’s presence, she wasn’t Tennyson.
Upon seeing him, some of Mallory’s unease faded, and somehow, she knew everything would be better.
Their gazes connected. He’d discovered something, she realized. Tennyson joined their circle and introduced himself to the detective.
“A man asked one of the housekeepers to leave the perfume in the room as a surprise for Mallory,” he told the detective. “I confirmed the details with the hotel staff downstairs.”
Mallory’s hand went to her stomach. She had nothing left inside her, yet nausea still roiled. “Who? Who was it?”
Tennyson shook his head, the lines on his face taut with concern. “We couldn’t make out his features. He was careful to keep his face away from the cameras.”
“Could you tell anything about him?” the detective asked.
Tennyson paused before responding. “He was tall, thirtyish, with dark hair.”
Grant shook his head tersely, obviously frustrated by the lack of information. “That could be anyone.”
Tennyson raised his chin. “I know. It’s not much to go on.”
“Did the housekeeper say anything else?” the detective asked.
He pressed his lips together before answering. Mallory’s blood spiked. What was Tennyson so hesitant to say?
“He had a Mexican accent. From the Northwest region probably.”
“A Mexican accent?” Realization hit her like a punch in the gut. “He’s one of Dante’s men. Sanchez, maybe. Sanchez was tall with dark hair.” And he was bound to know about the perfume.
“Don’t jump to any conclusions yet. There’s still a lot we don’t know.” Tennyson’s compassionate gaze nearly felt physical as he offered her reassurance.
“Don’t worry. We’ll look into this, especially given all that’s happened,” the detective said.
“If you learn anything, I’d appreciate being kept in the loop,” Tennyson said.
“I’ll share whatever I can.”
“We’re going to need to get on the road,” Tennyson continued. “It’s not safe to stay here. You have our contact information.”
As the detective walked away, Tennyson turned to Grant. “Who knows her tour schedule?”
Something flashed in Grant’s eyes. Annoyance maybe? “Her appearances are posted on her website.”
“Who knows what hotels she’s staying in?”
“No one. Just me and a few other people with Verto.” Grant stared at him challengingly.
“What are you getting at, Tennyson?” Mallory asked. The subcontext of the conversation unsettled her.
“Someone found out you were staying here,” Tennyson said. “There could be a leak from within.”
Grant pulled his lips back in defiance before letting out a bitter sigh. “No one on my team would do that.”
“Then explain how this person knew where Mallory was staying.” Tennyson’s hands went to his hips.
Mallory felt her gut clench. She watched Grant, waiting for his reply. Finally, he shook his head, and his shoulders slumped.
“I can’t. I can’t explain it. I wish I could.”
“I’m going to need a list of everyone who knew where she was staying. We need to end this before someone tries to take it any further.”
She expected an argument, but instead Grant nodded. “Seems like a good idea. I’ll make that list for you. Mallory’s safety is of the utmost importance.”
“Exactly.”
But Mallory wasn’t sure her safety was even a reality at this point. Someone wanted to terrify her, at the least. At most, they wanted to harm her. She feared they might succeed.
“Mallory, I need to speak with you,” Tennyson said.
She looked up from the couch where she sat. They’d moved to a new hotel for the night. They’d only arrived ten minutes ago, long enough to deposit their belongings. It was late—nearly midnight already. Yet she was wide-awake and craving coffee. Grant had obliged her and gone downstairs to find some since the machine in their room wasn’t working.
“Sure thing. What’s going on?” The serious tone of his voice put her on edge.
He sat stiffly beside her. “I need to let you know that Agent Turner is on his way up. I wanted to tell you sooner, but things kind of got crazy.”
Alarm shot through her. “Agent Turner? Again?”
“That’s right.” Tennyson drew in a long, slow breath.
His eyes latched onto hers, and she could see the hesitation there. He didn’t want to tell her. But why?
“There have been some developments,” he said.
Before he could go any further, there was a knock at the door. Tennyson stood and looked down at her a moment. “I’m going to be here if you need anything, Mallory. Just know that.”
Her apprehension only grew at his words. She also stood as the agent walked into the room. She nodded toward the middle-aged man with thinning blond hair and a thick neck. The man had always been kind and professional toward her.
“Good to see you again, Mallory.” Agent Turner set his briefcase on the coffee table.
Mallory directed him to sit down, anxious to find out what was going on. He lowered himself onto the chair across from her. Tennyson sat beside her—closer than she’d expected.
Was it because he anticipated she’d need moral support?
Dear Lord, help me get through this. Whatever this is.
“I won’t waste any time,” Agent Turner started. “Last night, this body washed ashore at the port in Norfolk.”
Agent Turner slid a picture across the table.
“In Norfolk . . .” The facts collided in her head. The first dead body had been found in Cape Thomas. Now Norfolk. Those were both places she’d been . . .
Agent Turner nodded. “At the Gazette Suites
.”
Her heart rate ricocheted at his announcement. “The hotel where I stayed?”
He nodded grimly.
Her throat squeezed as she took the next picture Turner handed her. It was another lifeless woman.
“Have you ever seen these women?” Turner asked.
She shook her head, no sign of recognition flashing in her. “No, I haven’t.”
She set the pictures side by side and narrowed her eyes. “These women . . . they both look . . . like me.”
Tennyson grimaced beside her. He’d realized it, too.
“Yes, that’s true,” Agent Turner said.
“I don’t understand.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose, trying to make sense of everything.
Turner leaned toward her. “Mallory, both of these women were branded.”
Her eyes widened. “With the Inferno symbol?”
He nodded solemnly.
She leaned back, trying to right her world before it started to spin more.
“Is someone trying to send me a message?” she asked.
“We don’t know. Is there anything that stands out in your mind? Anything that happened that might explain this?”
“Dante’s dead. He couldn’t have done this.”
The agent nodded slowly. “But he still has men out there.”
“That symbol is pretty well-known.” Her own scar from where someone had branded her began to throb. “Someone could have found out about it. This could be . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what this is.”
“We’re looking into this, Mallory. We’re going to figure out what’s going on.”
When Agent Turner left, Mallory turned to Tennyson. “I need you to do me a favor, Tennyson.”
Curiosity flashed in his gaze. “What’s that?”
“I need you to track down Jasmine, the girl Jason was with the night my parents were killed.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I need to know if she saw anything that night. Mostly, I need to know if my dad really was working with Dante Torres.”
“Why would you ask that?”
Pressure simmered inside her. “Because when Jason pulled me aside after the interview, he claimed he saw my father with Torres.”
A strange emotion washed over Tennyson’s expression—but only for a moment, and then a neutral expression returned. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
CHAPTER 14
The next morning, they traveled south to Atlanta. Tennyson had informed Mallory that he’d changed their accommodations to a new hotel and put the reservation under his name.
She had a book signing scheduled for tomorrow and a television interview the next day. She’d need to replenish herself today in order to give her best. She sat on the couch, attempting to write a few thank-you letters, and tried not to fret.
Kori stood at the door; Grant had disappeared into his bedroom; and Tennyson had excused himself for a moment.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She looked up and saw Tennyson standing over her. He truly was handsome. Breathtaking, for that matter.
The old Mallory would have flirted until she got her way—and her way would have been getting his phone number, having him ask her out, having a good time until one or the other lost interest.
But it was more than physical appearance that intrigued her—he acted with integrity. He showed respect to her. He seemed to value self-control.
He moved around the couch, coming to sit beside her. Her heart rate sped as their arms brushed.
She didn’t remember ever feeling so nervous around a guy.
She recalled his inquiry about her thoughts. “I’m just thinking about how quickly life can change.”
“I agree. In the blink of an eye.”
“Scents have the amazing ability to take people back in time,” she said softly.
He frowned. “They do. I’m sure the perfume yesterday has been hard on you.”
“Every time I think about that smell, I try to replace it with memories of the apple orchard my grandparents owned. Replace troubled thoughts with happy thoughts, right?”
“It sounds like your grandparents meant a lot to you.”
“They did. They brought me down to earth, and I always felt like I could be myself with them and not the person my parents had wanted me to be. They were salt of the earth people who worked hard for every dime, and treasured the simple things in life.”
“They sound like great people.”
“When I was with them, I wanted to be the same as they were. I did a lot of things I wasn’t proud of as a teenager, Tennyson.”
“Most of us did.”
She shook her head. “Since I was rescued, I’ve learned to make it on my own. Honestly, I’ve had no one to depend on but myself. Sometimes the thought of it is daunting, and other times it’s empowering.”
“That’s the beautiful part about life—the ability for second chances.” His eyes crinkled as he turned his full attention on her. “So, what brought this about?”
She put her pen down and leaned back. “When I talked with Jason, I realized what a jerk I was. To be honest, I don’t think it’s ever who I truly was. Maybe everyone who’s a spoiled brat says that. But I remember when I was with my grandparents, I always felt like I could be who I was instead of who I was raised to be.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure that makes sense.”
“Your dad was high-powered. I imagine he had a lot of expectations for you.”
“He was so different than my grandparents. When he was a teenager, he began working at an appliance shop. He learned how to repair washing machines and dryers. He scrounged together enough money from that to pay his way through college. Before he was thirty, he’d opened his own store. Before he was forty, he decided to go into business for himself manufacturing washers and dryers. Now the Baldwin name is in most households.”
“Where did you fit into that timeline?”
“It sounds cliché, but my father married my mother when he was sixty and she was twenty-five.”
“Wow.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I was born two years later. My dad’s only biological child, even though he’d been married twice before. Everyone really knew that he was only truly married to his job. That was the most important thing to him.”
“That had to be hard on you.”
She shrugged. “He spent every waking moment trying to better his business. His ultimate success—or failure—was based on his capital worth.”
“That’s a hard way to live. He does indeed sound very different than your grandparents.”
“They were my father’s roots. Granddad owned a farm. He worked hard, making use of the land. They had a simple life. My grandma died when I was eleven, but my grandfather lived into his nineties.”
“Your granddad and dad were opposites, it sounds like.”
“In every way—except the working hard part, I suppose. The way my mom told it, my father had offered to build my granddad a mansion anywhere he wanted. Grandpa never wanted anything to do with it.”
“He sounds wise. You know what the Bible says about the love of money.”
“It’s easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. It’s the truth. With money, you feel self-sufficient, like you have no need for God. But I bet my parents . . .” Her voice caught.
“I’m sorry.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve talked enough about my family. I really don’t know anything about you.”
His jaw flexed, but just for a moment. Mallory wondered what had happened in his past to cause that reaction. There was something painful there. Would he ever share what it was? Or was she reading too much into their relationship?
“There’s not much to share.”
“A man who became one of the military’s most elite? I bet there is.”
He shrugged. “I grew up in Indiana.”
“Indiana? I pegged you for a Midwest ty
pe of guy.”
“You pegged right. I’m the middle of six children. My dad was a cop. He’s retired now and living on a golf course. He deserves it.”
“Your mom?”
“She was a part-time nurse for a while. On and off during my childhood, for that matter. When she wasn’t working or being with us kids, she loved walking.”
“Walking?”
A smile played on his lips, and Mallory could see his fondness for his family. “She did all of the races. In fact, some people called her the speed-walking champ.”
Mallory let out a chuckle. “That sounds like a nice childhood. Do you still talk to your family a lot?”
“All I can. I only make it home three or four times a year. I wish it was more.”
“That’s pretty good.” She pulled a leg beneath her, delighted that he was sharing. She found this other side of him fascinating. “How’d you become a SEAL?”
“It’s what I always wanted. I played some football in high school and was offered a scholarship to play in college. I decided to go into the military instead. Went through SEAL training. I actually made it.” He raised his eyebrows and his eyes twinkled, like the fact still surprised him.
“Not only did you make it—you made it into the elite of the elites. SEAL Team Six.”
He nodded slowly, humbly. “That’s right.”
She bit down, contemplating whether or not to ask her next question. “But you got out.”
The lightheartedness slipped from his demeanor. “It was complicated.”
“I see.”
“I lost someone I loved.” Hard lines appeared across his face. “Her death wasn’t the reason I got out of the military, but it definitely factored into my later decision to leave. Her name was Claire.”
“Pretty name.” She remembered the picture she’d seen on top of his wallet the first night he’d been on duty. Was that olive-complexioned, dark-haired beauty Claire?
“She was the love of my life.” His lips pressed together a moment.
Mallory waited, hoping he would share more and giving him the space to do so, if he wanted.
“She died—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door burst open and Grant stepped inside. He glanced at his watch. “All right, I’ve got lunch. Who’s hungry?”
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