For a second, Carmen’s mind went blank. The hard ripples of his abs were sculpted to perfection. She liked her men to be lean rather than bulked up with muscles. It was no wonder she’d been physically attracted to him from the minute she’d seen him jogging on the beach.
Thankfully unaware of the unwelcome lust that sizzled through her veins, Griff pointed to the long scar that angled from his hip bone across his lower stomach. There were pinpricks of paler skin that attested to the fact that he’d been stitched up by a doctor who was more worried about speed than skill.
“What happened?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “My neighbor decided he wanted my bike when I was twelve. I disagreed. He ended the argument by slicing my stomach open.”
Carmen abruptly sat on the end of the bed, her knees feeling weak.
Delayed shock.
“Mine isn’t nearly so dramatic,” she said, relieved when her voice didn’t shake at the memory of the stranger grabbing her arm.
“What happened?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really sure.”
“Carmen.”
“I mean it.” She tilted back her head to meet his fierce glare. “I’d just checked in to the hotel and was walking to my room when some man bumped against me,” she explained. “I didn’t realize I was really hurt until I took off my coat.”
His jaw tightened, his dark eyes flashing as if he was personally angered that she’d been injured.
“Was he a guest?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t see him coming out of a room.”
“Did he go into the office?”
“I’m not sure.” She shivered. “I was in a hurry to get into my room and lock the door.”
“Did you notice any cars in the parking lot?”
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to remember back to the moment she’d arrived at the hotel.
“There was a pickup and a compact car parked at the far end of the hotel,” she said, picturing what she’d seen as she’d pulled to a halt in front of the office. “And I think there were a couple cars near the café. I didn’t notice any other vehicles.”
He moved to pull aside the heavy curtain, glancing out the window.
“The SUV near the office belongs to you?” he asked.
“Yeah. I rented it at the airport.”
“The pickup and the compact car are still here,” he said. “I can run the plates, but I doubt the man who attacked you would have been stupid enough to be staying here.” Allowing the curtain to drop back into place, he returned to stand directly in front of her. “What about the man? Did you notice anything?”
She paused, searching her mind for anything that might help. Then she grimaced. The memory was blurred. Like a Monet painting where nothing was quite in focus.
“No. It was freezing and I was in a hurry,” she admitted. “Besides, he was wearing a huge parka and a stocking hat, plus he had a scarf wrapped around most of his face. I could pass him on the street and not recognize him.”
She braced herself for the typical male response. The roll of his eyes. The patronizing smile that said Of course a woman was too emotional to recall details of her attack.
Instead, his expression was one of sympathy, as if he completely understood her inability to recall specific details.
“You’re sure it was a man?”
The question made her pause before giving a firm nod. That was the one thing she was certain of.
“Yes.”
“White? Black? Hispanic?”
“He had his head lowered, and with the scarf I really couldn’t see more than a sliver of his face, but I think he was white.”
“Height? Weight?”
She reached up to wrap the robe tighter around her body as a cold shiver shook her.
“He was hunched over and wrapped in a puffy coat, but I would guess that he was average height and weight.”
Another nod before he was leaning down to pick up the coat that she’d dropped next to the chair. He ran his fingers over the sleeve until his fingers located the slash that penetrated the thick layers of fabric.
“The blade must have been sharp,” he said, speaking more to himself than her.
“Sharp enough to ruin my favorite sweater,” she tried to tease.
He dropped the coat, his expression tight. “This isn’t a joke, Carmen.”
She pursed her lips. “I know that.”
“Do you?” Without warning he was kneeling in front of her, reaching up to grasp her hands in a tight grip. “There’s a very good chance that you were cut by the lunatic who sent you those pictures.”
She tried to be angry at his chiding. She wasn’t a child.
But his skin was warm and his touch was easing the anxiety that churned deep inside her.
“If it was the killer, then why didn’t he just slice my throat instead of my arm?”
“Because he isn’t done with you.”
The soft words hit her like a sledgehammer.
A ruthless blow that she instinctively tried to avoid.
“If he was the killer, he could have forced me into a car or even into one of the hotel rooms,” she said.
He made a sound of impatience. “Are you trying to convince yourself that this was some random attack?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m scared.”
The grip on her fingers tightened. “Good.”
“Good?”
“You should be scared,” he assured her. “You need to go home and lock your doors.”
She jerked her fingers free. She’d spent her entire life being told to hide from the monsters that lurked in the shadows.
Don’t go looking for trouble, Carmen. . . .
The words of her grandmother whispered through her mind.
A fine idea in theory, but life had taught her that those monsters didn’t stay in the shadows. They pounced without warning, destroying her life.
“And then what?” she demanded. “Wait for him to sneak into my house and kill me in my sleep?”
His jaw tightened. “Let the authorities deal with it.” “Which one?” She surged to her feet, glaring down at him. “The deputy who called me a liar? Or your FBI contact who will look at the pictures when he manages to clear his desk of every other case he’s working on?”
“She,” he muttered in distracted tones.
“What?”
He slowly straightened. “The FBI agent I contacted is female.”
“Of course she is,” Carmen said with a roll of her eyes. Griff looked confused. “Does it matter?”
Yes. It did matter. But Carmen didn’t have a clue why, so she pasted a smile to her lips.
“Of course not.”
He heaved a sigh. “You’re not going home, are you?”
*
Griff did everything in his power to keep his thoughts from straying to the woman who was standing naked in the shower just a few feet away.
A herculean task, considering the thin walls of the hotel allowed him to hear the splash of the water and catch the scent of lemons that laced the humid air. What man wouldn’t be imagining his fingers running over her slender curves, which were damp and slick with soap? Or pressing her against the wall of the shower and wrapping her legs around his waist?
Grimly he headed out of the room. He had hopes the frigid air would clear the fog of lust from his brain. And he needed to get his computer bag, which he’d left in the passenger seat. While he was out he also took the opportunity to stroll down the icy walkway, snapping a picture of the two vehicles at the end of the hotel before returning to Carmen’s room.
He could hear the hair dryer coming from the bathroom as he booted up his laptop and used his phone as a hotspot for the Internet. Then he quickly typed in the license plate numbers of the two vehicles in the lot, along with the names of the hotel owners. He might as well run a search on them. The fact that the truck had been stolen from their lot, and the killer had been there at the precise moment to attack Carmen . . .
His brows snapped together.
How had the killer known that Carmen would be there?
Dumb luck? Griff shook his head. He didn’t believe in luck. Or coincidence. Or random chance.
He might have followed her, but how likely would it be he could have gotten a last-minute flight on the same plane?