What did Carling want with that knife?
He ran his hands through his hair, and a knock sounded on the door. He strode over to answer it. A slender young woman with a sleek blonde pageboy, wearing a hotel uniform, stood smiling in the hall. When she caught sight of him, her smile died and her eyes went very wide. She looked poleaxed. She said, “Oh. My. God.”
“Sorry about that,” Rune said. “I should have put on a shirt.”
“Not on my account,” breathed the young woman. Her gaze fell as if under the weight of gravity and remained riveted on the trim waistline of his jeans.
“What can I do for you?” Rune said, impatient.
“Whatever you want,” she told him in a strangled whisper. Then her gaze flew up to his, as her cheeks turned a bright scarlet. “Ohmigod, I’m so sorry. Don’t tell anyone I said that, okay? I could lose my job.”
“I won’t.” He smiled at her, in spite of himself. “What I meant to ask is, why are you here?”
“The assistant manager, Mr. Rowling, sent me up to warn you and Councillor Severan that several members of the press have arrived. He’s downstairs dealing with them now. He wanted you to know that if you would like some privacy when you need to leave the hotel, just call down and he’ll arrange for you and the Councillor to have access to one of the service entrances.”
“Thank him for us.” He emphasized the “us” and watched her face fall. “We’ll call ahead if we need to.” Although he had no intention of needing to. It was one of the reasons why he had booked a suite with a balcony. He immediately had his own private entrance. Given the limited space, takeoffs and landings called for some finesse, but it was well within his ability.
“Yes, sir.”
He closed the door and turned around to face the interior of the suite. Two bedrooms, two baths. He didn’t need to wait for Carling to finish before he took his shower.
But he was still curious about why she took that knife.
He raised his voice and called, “How are you doing in there?”
“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Carling called.
She had found the bedroom she had picked as elegantly decorated as the living room. There was another vase of fresh-cut flowers, the bed was made with French linens and another pair of French doors opened onto the wrought-iron balcony. The marble bathroom was large and as luxurious as the rest of the suite.
Carling stared at her reflection in the bathroom. She was halfway through cutting off her hair. She had luxuriated in the hot shower, soaping herself all over with the complimentary soaps and shampoo. Then she had toweled off, and considered the long wet tangled mess that hung down her back, and her without a brush. So she had reached for the knife.
She could only achieve a ragged cut without hair scissors, so she considered the teenage boy with the choppy hair style and tried to mimic that effect. She left just enough length so it could be restyled with more finesse at a later time. She finished quickly then fluffed the damp silky locks and considered the effect.
A stranger in the mirror looked back at her. The short ragged hair emphasized the stranger’s high cheekbones, full lips and narrow jaw, and turned her long dark eyes huge. After wearing the heavy waist-long length for so long, her head and neck felt so weightless it was dizzying.
It would do for now. She suffered yet another pang when she looked at the large pile of hair on the marble floor, but the sense of freedom was a much stronger lure. She smiled, shrugged on the hotel bathrobe and walked into the living room.
Rune stared at her, stunned. “Oh bloody hell, you didn’t,” he muttered. He rubbed the back of his neck. “You look magnificent, but all that gorgeous hair.”
“It’s a season of change,” she said. And none of that hair was going to mean a blasted thing to her if she was dead, so she might as well enjoy the feeling of freedom while she could. “Who was at the door?”
“A hotel employee. The paparazzi have started to flock.”
“Of course they have.” She regarded him. “You haven’t showered yet.”
“I’ve been busy.” Rune grabbed a leather kit out of the duffle bag and gave Carling a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bloody fucking gorgeous, but fucking hell. I’m going to miss that hair. I’ll be five minutes. Wait to call the Djinn until I’m done, okay?”
Warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the physical, Carling touched his jaw in a brief caress. “All right.”
When he had left, she picked up her shredded caftan and looked around the living room for a wastebasket. She found one tucked discreetly under a table. When she pulled it out to stuff the caftan in it, she found a wadded-up piece of cloth already in the bin. Curiously, she pulled the cloth out and shook it open.
It was Rune’s T-shirt with the picture of the hairy man. What was his name again? Jerry Garcia. Rune had thrown his favorite shirt away when she wasn’t looking. He had to have done it just now, when she had been in the bathroom.