Page 108 of Risky Obsession

“I’m not Tory,” I muttered. “I’m Lacey Brooks. Police detective. Liar. Worst person in the world.”

I was about to ruin the best thing to ever happen to me.

CHAPTER 21

Kane

As I carried the ice bucket along the silent hallway, my body hummed with after-sex vibes. Tory was so fucking hot. It had been a long time since I’d had sex, and I’d never been with a woman who drove me wild like she did.

I didn’t find an ice machine on our level, and at the end of the hallway, I took the stairs down to the mezzanine floor. Maybe after a couple of glasses of champagne, we could do that all over again, but slower this time. I wanted to savor every piece of her hot body.

Menacing voices echoed to me from the lobby below. I pressed my back to the wall and peered over the grand banister. A man dressed in black was at the reception desk, but the dangling chandelier obstructed my view of him.

“Murder!” the young woman behind the counter said.

Who was murdered?

A chill ran down my spine. The man at the counter shifted closer, giving me a better view of his back. His broad shoulders and the muscles bulging beneath his tailored suit were not from casual exercise.

“Two Australians are the prime suspects,” the man said.

Oh fuck!

“Are any Australians staying here?” His voice thundered off the marble floor.

The woman stepped back, exchanging terrified glances at the bellhop who had greeted us earlier.

“Please, sir.” The woman raised trembling hands. “We cannot disclose information about our guests. It’s against?—”

“What about now?” The asshole aimed a gun at her face.

She screamed and ducked below the counter. The gunman swung the weapon toward the bellhop.

My heart launched to my throat. He was the bastard who had attacked us at the last hotel.

I bolted back to our room, taking the stairs two at a time. My mind crashed all over the place. How did he find us? Who was murdered? I flung the door open, and Tory gasped. She’d pulled on her pink tracksuit and was seated on the bed.

I double-bolted the door, pleased that those locks would take some effort to break through.

“What’s wrong?” She jumped up.

“We have to go,” I said, racing toward the table with the maps.

“Why? What’s going on?” She sprinted to her bag and tugged on her socks and runners.

I shoved the folded maps into the envelope. “The guy who attacked us is in the lobby.” I pulled on my leather jacket and slotted the envelope into my inside pocket.

Tory shoved clothes into her case.

I pushed open the window, and frigid air blasted my face. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll just grab my things—” She sprinted toward the bathroom.

“No time. Get your jacket.”

“Goddammit.” She ran back to her case and yanked the zipper closed.

I tossed my duffle out the window. “Give me your bag.”