Too much. It was all too much. She needed to shake off her feelings of being buffeted by events, of reacting to the agendas of others. She had to refocus. Establish autonomy.

She changed into her gym gear and left the suite after keying the security system. The top floor of the hotel was secured, but Caitlin’s room was flagged for special containment. Before she had even made the elevators at the end of the corridor, a security man appeared, nodded to her, and moved to take up station.

‘Colonel Murdoch,’ he said.

She half acknowledged him as she swept past. He fell in behind her as she made her way to the elevators. There was a large fitness facility in one of the former convention rooms, just off from the pool and hot-tub area. It was tempting to default to the hot tub and simply soak her worries away. But Caitlin knew from experience that she would find no peace of mind or body without earning it. And besides, if she hit the tub alone she’d have to fend off any number of interested parties. No, the gym was the only answer.

She didn’t like to exercise so soon after eating, but the chicken salad had been small and light. Lean protein and leafy carbs made a good fuel. And if she started with some weight training after a moderate warm-up, she could burn it off before throwing herself into any high-intensity cardio. She knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the documents upstairs until she’d cleared herself of the emotional blockage that had built up during her conversation with Bret.

Her nose wrinkled when she hit the lobby. It always smelled of old socks and stale cigarettes, even though it was a no-smoking facility. And presumably the other guests used the laundry facilities. In the distance, she could make out the crunching noise of some raunchy dance tune, the clinking of glasses and silverware, the forced merriment of so many people trying to relieve themselves of the burden of living in a necropolis. She had no desire to explore whatever level of desperation waited in that direction.