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No, the only thing out of place was the pillow in the center of the bed, and she doubted Fergus would see anything unusual about that?—
“What’s this?” He stepped forward to stand at the bottom of the bed before reaching down for the pillow.
“Don’t touch it!” Thea ignored the increased pounding in her head as she rushed to grab the pillow and hug it against her chest.
“Is that the pillow you told me had been stolen?” he prompted gently.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing me of lying?”
“No—”
“This pillow wasn’t here when I left my suite this morning,” she told him defensively. “No matter what you might think to the contrary.”
“I don’t?—”
“Yes, you do,” she accused fiercely. “You were skeptical earlier when I told you the pillow had been stolen from my apartment in London. Now, because it’s in my hotel suite in Paris, you must think I was lying about the whole thing.”
* * *
Did he?
Fergus wasn’t sure what he believed anymore.
He did know, after one look at the pillowcase, obviously designed for a child—he thought it might be a Disney princess?—on the pillow sitting incongruously in the middle of the king-size bed in a suite in this prestigious Paris hotel, that it didn’t belong there.
“I was so distracted by finding it here when I came back earlier,” Thea continued, “that it allowed someone to come up behind me and hit me on the back of the head. Someone who had somehow managed to get into my suite and was still here when I returned. The door was ajar when I got back. But I just thought it was the maid cleaning the rooms.” She frowned.
“But it clearly wasn’t.”
She shivered. “No. I entered the suite and called out for the maid. When she didn’t answer, I realized something was wrong.”
“Did you see who struck you?”
“As I said, they hit me from behind, so no.”
Fergus’s thoughts raced in rapid-fire succession, the conclusion to all of them very clear. “It would seem your stalker has followed you to Paris after all.”
“Does that mean you believe me now, about the stalker and the stolen pillow?”
“I never said I didn’t believe you.”
“You didn’t need to. It’s okay,” she sighed. “What choice did you have? I am my mother’s daughter, after all.”
And the sooner Fergus dismissed that association, the better. Because he now had no doubts that someone was stalking Thea, and that they had attacked her a short time ago.
“Would I be right in thinking this pillow, the pillowcase, at least, has some sort of emotional connection to your deceased father?” The childish design indicated that might be the case.
“You’re good at your job, aren’t you,” Thea admired.
“Very good.” False modesty was out of place here.
She nodded, tears glistened in those beautiful golden eyes. “Dad took me to see the film the year it came out. I was eight, and I begged to have the themed duvet and pillowcase as a Christmas present. My mother said they were too expensive, that the money could be better spent on a night out for the two of them. But my dad—he bought them for me anyway.”
Fergus could too easily imagine the selfish Jessica denying her daughter such a trivial gift if it meant spending money she would rather spend on somethingshecould enjoy.
“It was the last Christmas we had together before he—before my dad died,” Thea revealed. “The duvet cover was lost somewhere along the way, with all the moves we made after that,” she related flatly.
* * *