Page 44 of Reaper's Desire

"Yes." My voice is curt as I scan the vehicle.

"Have you ever actually found a bomb under a rental car?"

"Twice."

She goes quiet after that. The drive to the hotel takes forty minutes through winding coastal roads with spectacular views. Isabelle watches the scenery with an expression I can't read, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a nervous rhythm that makes me want to reach over and still them. I don't. I keep both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road and the rearview mirror, watching for tails.

I cannot touch her again. If I do, I can't be responsible for what happens next.

"I know we're on the run, but?—"

Her voice cuts through the silence as we round a corner offering a gorgeous view of the coast, and I glance over at her. "But, what?"

"But… this is weirdly nice," she says softly. "Not the running-from-death thing, obviously. But it's beautiful here. This wasn't on my list of places to go."

I look at her sideways as I drive. "Not high-end enough for you, princess?"

Her soft expression turns to a glare, and I instantly regret needling her. I realize, too late, that she was giving me a vulnerable moment, softening up for a second and showing me something that I see now, after the fact, was important.

I've been closing myself off for so long I forgot how to see those things. And now that she makes me want to, even if I could let this happen, I don't know if I'd even be able to fuck it all up.

"No," she says shortly. "It just wasn't a place I thought of. But what I wanted was to feel far away from everything, and this feels like that. Even if we are running from people who want to kill us."

It's on the tip of my tongue to ask what a rich heiress could possibly need to feel far away from, but I don't. For once, I manage to keep from sniping back at her, and this time, the soft expression on her face doesn't vanish.

She looks so fucking beautiful like that, it hurts. And I keep one eye on her, watching her face, all the way to the hotel.

How can I kill someone who makes me feel like I never want to stop looking at her?

The hotel is a mid-range place that caters to budget-conscious tourists and doesn't ask too many questions. It's nicer than some of the other places we've stayed in, which should please Isabelle. I chose it specifically because it's forgettable—no luxury amenities, no concierge service, no security cameras in the hallways. Its draw is clean rooms and a staff that minds its own business.

I don't let myself think too hard about how much I like the idea that Isabelle might appreciate of the nicer hotel as I park in the back lot and grab our bags from the trunk. Isabelle follows me inside without speaking, her sunglasses still on, her posture rigid with tension. The lobby smells like cleaning products and stale coffee. A bored teenager behind the desk barely looks up as I check us in under another false name. "One room or two?" he asks in accented English.

"One. Two beds."

Isabelle makes a small sound that might be a laugh or a scoff. I ignore it.

The room is on the third floor, accessible by stairs—or a single elevator that groans ominously when we step inside. Isabelle stands as far from me as the small space allows, herarms crossed over her chest and her jaw tight. The elevator lurches upward with a mechanical whine that sets my teeth on edge.

"Charming," she says when we reach our floor. "Really five-star accommodations you've got here."

I huff out a breath, irritation flooding me. I thought she'd like it, after where we've been before. "We're not here for the amenities."

"Clearly."

"I thought you'd like the upgrade, princess." I look over at her, and she flips her sunglasses up, glaring at me, but says nothing.

The room is exactly what I expected—two double beds with thin comforters, a bathroom the size of a closet, and a window that overlooks the parking lot. Isabelle drops her bag on the bed nearest the door and looks around with barely concealed disdain. "This isnotan upgrade."

"You'll survive." I set my own bag down and move to the window for escape routes. It's a three-story drop to pavement, which is survivable in an emergency but not ideal. There's a fire escape on the east side of the building, and the parking lot exit leads to a main road with multiple turnoffs.

It'll do.

"How long are we staying here?" Isabelle asks. I can see the exhaustion in her eyes, the strain of the last few days catching up with her.

"One night. Maybe two while I figure out the next location."

"And where's the next location?"