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A yawn interrupted Regan’s internal argument, splitting her jaw and making her eyes water.
“When was the last time you slept? As in, really slept?” Blake asked.
“How long ago was Las Vegas?”
“Wow. Okay, you need rest.” He stood and tugged her to her feet. “I’ll leave you to sleep. No one is going to wake you up or assault you with noise, and the curtains block a lot of light. I’ll be next door if you need me.”
She gripped his fingers tighter when he tried to pull away, and an irrational surge of panic built inside. “No.”
“What’s wrong?”
Everything, but that didn’t explain what she was doing. “I don’t want to sleep alone. I don’t mean like sex or anything. But don’t leave me in here by myself and walk out the door.” She was being stupid and childish, and she couldn’t help herself.
“Okay.” His simple reply chased creeping shadows to the back of her mind, and the fist around her lungs loosened. “Door stays open, and I stay with you.”
She nodded, not having a response or trusting herself to speak.
He pointed her toward the bed. “Shoes and jeans off.”
She hesitated. Which didn’t make any sense. He’d seen her naked.
“So you’re comfortable.” He unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over the back of a nearby chair, took off his socks and shoes to set aside, and shed his slacks. He pulled back the comforter. “You need sleep. Come on.”
“Okay.” She stripped down to her T-shirt and panties, and climbed into the bed.
The moment he lay next to her, she curled up against his chest. She hated how safe this felt, but when he wrapped an arm around her, more of the shadows receded.
He trailed his fingers through her hair, and she allowed herself to fall into the comfort. She was grateful he didn’t say anything else. It was going to be hard enough to sleep as it was.
****
“REAGAN.” A MALE VOICE slammed through her dreams. She forced her eyes open, and a jumble of images assaulted her mind, overlapping the unfamiliar room. She jolted up and scooted away until her back hit the wall.
“It’s just me.” Blake stood nearby, watching her. He was already dressed.
She gave a nervous laugh. “I know.” She climbed from the bed and pulled her jeans on.
“You can go back to sleep if you want, but I wanted to let you know I was leaving before the next guy comes in to replace me for the morning.”
Reality sank back in, lowering her heart rate with it. She wanted to crawl under the covers and stay there for a hundred years. Besides the abrupt awakening, she’d slept better than in ages.
“The room is yours for as long as you need it, but I don’t know how long it will be until I can work myself back into the rotation of being here at night. I’ll try and make sure that whoever is next door gives you space.”
She nodded.
He kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
After he left, and she dressed, she stood in the room for several minutes, paralyzed with doubt. She forced courage through her veins, rebuilt the walls around her, and walked into the hallway. There was a woman in a bathrobe, a few doors down, bending to fetch her paper.
“Morning.” Reagan flashed her a friendly smile.
The woman waved.
She could do this. Walk out of the hotel. Take her tail with her.
She spent most of her day like the one before—wandering town near the grocery store where she’d received the wire transfer, in hopes one of Hare’s people would approach her. If she didn’t get a nibble today, she’d send out a stronger signal tomorrow.
When six rolled around, she was starting to think she needed to do exactly that. She returned to the same Chinese restaurant for dinner. She knew the layout of the place, so it was as close to reassuring as she could get.
She took a seat at the crowded bar. As people left and new patrons arrived, she kept her head down, despite the urge to examine every face. If her company was looking for her, seeing them coming wouldn’t do her any good, and she didn’t know what anyone looked like anyway. Not Jabberwock’s or Blake’s people
The seat to her right was vacated. Less than five minutes later, someone else slipped in.
“You here alone, gorgeous?” Dormouse’s familiar voice—one that would both haunt and take point as the hero in her dreams for a long time—almost shattered Reagan’s chill.
Reagan didn’t twitch, despite the pounding of her heart. “I’m waiting for friends, but they’re running late.” She hoped the words were seen as a warning rather than a threat.
“Buy you a drink while you wait? I’ve been told I’m good company.”
Reagan risked a glance. She didn’t recognize Dormouse, which was probably the point. The other woman wore large glasses that distorted her cheeks and eyes, and her hair was black and hung in loose ringlets down her back. She was dressed in a faded concert T-shirt and denim skirt.
“A drink sounds good. Dirty martini,” Reagan said. Not knowing who was watching her or how much they could hear, she felt unsafe having a conversation out here. She needed an excuse to pull Dormouse away.
Dormouse waved the bartender over and ordered the drinks. Even dressed down, each movement she made was smooth and refined, as if she knew the world was watching.
Reagan wanted to learn how to do that. Another time, of course.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.” Dormouse’s tone was casual.
“I haven’t been in town long. Still figuring out the lay of the land and such.”
Their drinks were served, and Reagan reached for hers. She caught the stem on her fingers and dumped the martini into her lap. “Shit.” She jumped back from her seat, shaking liquid from her hands.
“Clumsy. That’s cute.” Dormouse grabbed a wad of napkins and dabbed up some of the excess.
Reagan scowled. “I need to wash some of this off.”
“I’ll help.”
The moment they were in the bathroom, Dormouse backed her against the far wall, near the door going who-knew-where. With only three stalls in the place, a quick glance was enough to show they were alone.
“How long do you have?” Dormouse whispered in her ear. She gripped Reagan’s hips, and pressed close. If anyone walked in on them, they’d look like they were making out.
“I don’t know.” Reagan shook her head. “Two minutes? Thirty seconds?”
“No one from Wonderland is supposed to approach you except me. Where have you been?”
“I’m only telling Hare.”
Dormouse nipped her neck hard enough it stung. “Not happening.”
“Tell him I haven’t spilled his secret.”
“If you mean about Hatter, the word is out, and he’s vanished.”
If only they knew. Hare would, soon enough. Reagan couldn’t ignore the twinge of guilt at the thought of the betrayal—playing one against the other for her shot at freedom. “Not that secret. One no one else knows. One Jabberwock wants kept safe.”
“Bullshit.” Dormouse stepped back. “Where does this door go?”
“I’m not sure. I saw the video.” She didn’t know why she mentioned it. The damn thing haunted her every time she let it back into her head.
Dormouse paled. “Of what?”
“The rape. Your execution. I wanted to applaud you, especially after I was forced to watch it more times than I can count.”
“Where have you been?” Dormouse asked again.
This was a dangerous bluff, but Reagan had to take it, in order for things to come together her way. “I’m only telling Hare.”
“Miss, are you all right in there?” A male voice carried through the main door.
Dormouse shook her head and took her chances with the rear exit.
Less than a second after she vanished, the bathroom door slammed open, and two men in suits burst in, guns drawn. A third stood to the side.
“On the ground, now,” another man ordered. “Hands behind your head.” He nodded at the spot Dormouse had disappeared through.
As Reagan followed their commands without question, she prayed the other woman was long gone.
Guy number three left to find Dormouse, and one of the remaining suits cuffed Reagan, then hauled her to her feet. They were only a hair gentler than last time.
Guy-Three returned a moment later, shaking his head. “The other one is gone. Who were you talking to?” He growled.
Reagan shrugged. “My new girlfriend. Amazing kisser. I’m thinking it’s time to switch teams.” She didn’t feel any of the bravado she projected. Her pulse galloped, and she was surprised she didn’t piss herself.
The suit who cuffed her jerked her arm, grinding against the burns hidden under long sleeves.
She couldn’t fight her whimper. Protesting wouldn’t do her any good. Even if she screamed, and someone called the cops, and the video went viral, it didn’t mean anyone would ever see her again.
One of the suits with a gun said, “Let’s get her out of here.” He and his buddy holstered their weapons, and Guy-Three threw his jacket over Reagan’s shoulders, covering her cuffed hands.
They surrounded her as they escorted her from the restaurant.
There was no blindfold this time. The drive was short and took them to a local police station. They tossed her in a room with a mirror, attached her cuffs to a bolt on the table, and walked out.
The moment they were gone, she looked straight at the glass, and in a voice as steady as possible, said, “This is a bad way to do this.”