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Leona rezzed the lock on the door of room number 203 and led the way inside. She set the unfinished pizza on the small table near the window and released Roxy, who bounced up onto the room’s one and only chair and then hopped to the table.

“I wonder how the honeymooners are doing,” Leona said. “I’ll bet they never expected to spend the wedding night from hell here in Lost Creek.”

Oliver stopped in the doorway. “What makes you so sure the other two guests are honeymooners?”

“Pure speculation. But what if I’m right? Think about it. A couple takes a wrong turn and ends up in a remote mountain town that has a very weird vibe. Night is falling fast. They check into an almost-empty inn that is rumored to be haunted. There is an ominous feeling about the small town. A storm strikes. Doesn’t that sound like the setup to a honeymoon from hell?”

“Or the plot of a Gothic novel.”

“Or that.”

“Or us,” Oliver said, “except that we didn’t take a wrong turn. We’re here on purpose. Hang on, I’ll be right back. I’m going to pick up a few things in my room.”

He disappeared into room 204. When he returned he was carrying his messenger bag, a glass, and a bottle of whiskey.

She watched, intrigued, as he closed and locked the door. “Where did you get the booze?”

“I packed it.”

“Very wise of you.” She glanced at Achieving Inner Resonance on the nightstand. “I packed a self-help book. In hindsight, that may have been a mistake.”

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of whiskey for both of us.”

“I’ll get the glass in the bathroom.”

She emerged a moment later, glass in hand, and found Oliver ensconced in the room’s one and only chair. Roxy was eating a slice of pizza.

She sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’ve been thinking about your theory that the other guests are honeymooners,” Oliver said, pouring two glasses of whiskey. “Sounds like you’re the romantic type.”

“Me?” She picked up the glass and took a fortifying swallow. The whiskey burned, quite pleasantly, all the way down. “Nope, not in the least. Just ask anyone who knows me. They’ll tell you I’m an overachiever. Very goal-oriented. Driven. To a fault, according to some.” She hesitated, remembering the scene in the lab with Matt. “I’ve been told I’ve got ice in my veins. But no one has ever indicated that I’m the romantic type.”

Oliver’s brows rose. “Who told you that you have ice in your veins?”

“Matt Fullerton, my most recent ex. To be honest, he wasn’t the first man to make that observation.”

“Got a lot of exes?”

“A few. What about you?” She regretted the question instantly. His annulment had to be a painful subject. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go there. Your personal history is absolutely none of my business.”

“True,” he agreed.

She knew she should take the conversational off-ramp and change the subject, but curiosity got the better of her. As usual.

“Were you matched?” she asked.

“Yes.” He gave her a thin smile. “We were an almost-perfect couple. Just ask the matchmaker.”

“Think you’ll register with a matchmaking agency again?” she asked.

“I doubt I could find one that would take me on as a client, not after the disaster. Theoretically the grounds for the annulment are confidential, but rumors travel in the matchmaking business. And why would I take the risk anyway? Things did not go well the first time. There’s no reason to think they would be any better the next time. If I try again there will be a Marriage of Convenience first. Then, if things are working, maybe take the leap to a CM.”

“I understand,” she said. She gave him a tentative smile. “I guess we have something in common. I don’t have any plans to register with an agency, either.”

“Is that right?”

He looked and sounded skeptical.

“Years ago I made the decision to dedicate myself to my career,” she said, employing her most sincere voice. “When it comes to relationships, I’m a free spirit.”

“Yeah?” He turned the whiskey glass in his hands. “How does your family feel about that?”

“My sister, Molly, understands. She was a free spirit, too, until things changed. But, as you can imagine, the moms are not happy about my decision. They keep pushing me to register.”

“Take it from me, the matchmaking agencies don’t always get it right.”

“Do you know where they got it wrong in your case?”

“Sure. My fault. They were working with bad data. I lied on the questionnaire.”

“You mean you finessed the para-psych profile sections.”

“Finessed, lied, whatever. In my own defense, all I can tell you is that I was following my mother’s advice. She said it was a conversation I could have later, in private, with the person who looked like a good match.”

Leona studied him over the rim of the glass. “Did you have that conversation with your match?”

“Yes. And she assured me that she was okay with my talent. But she changed her mind.”

“After the marriage.”

“Yes,” he said. “After the marriage.”

She thought about that for a moment, tasting the whiskey. “Doesn’t sound like she had grounds for the annulment, in that case. I mean, if she knew the truth before the marriage—”

Oliver looked bleakly amused by her na?veté. “See, that’s where things get interesting, legally speaking. All she had to do was claim I had not been entirely candid on the questionnaire. Which was true.”

“So she claimed fraud and you didn’t defend yourself.”

“Why would I want to force her to stay in the marriage? She was terrified of me.”

“Terrified?” Leona frowned. “That seems a little over-the-top.”

“I guess you had to be there.”

“I understand. Still, it’s a very sad story.”

“But it’s over.” He drank some whiskey and lowered the glass. “I can’t help noticing that you seem to be okay with my talent.”

She waved that off. “We’re not dating.”

“If we were dating?”

“I’d still be okay with it,” she said.

“You don’t know that. You’ve never witnessed my talent at full rez.”

She shrugged. “Fine. Show me.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Relax, I know where you’re coming from.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

She swirled the whiskey in her glass. “If you must know, I managed to scare the crap out of my most recent ex.”

“Sounds interesting. With your talent?”

“Yep.”

“Do I get details?” he asked, his eyes heating.

“It was a lab accident.”

“Accidents happen.”

She brightened. “They do, don’t they? Can I have some more whiskey?”