“That is exactly what I needed. Thanks.” He rose and held out a hand. “You finished?”

I nodded and gave him my bowl. “Have you any suggestion as to which hotel we should use to book the two rooms and do our PIT mole test?”

He shook his head. “Just Google something with ground-floor access.”

He washed the dishes while I did just that. “There’s a Best Western not too far from the airport that has ground-floor accommodation.”

“Ring up and book a room with the ID we snatched from the vamps Rory crisped,” he said. “Then I’ll book another in my name.”

I rose, grabbed my purse to fish out the appropriate wallet, then rang up the hotel and booked a deluxe room under the name of Margaret Jones—the name on the stolen credit card.

Jackson made his call, and then we packed fresh clothes and toiletries into a bag because who knew how long we were likely to be at the hotel. On the way out, Jackson grabbed a wireless motion-sensor alarm from his “odd bods” storage unit—the same unit that held the imagining radar device he’d used at Rosen Senior’s apartment.

It didn’t take us all that long to drive across to Attwood. The hotel was also a conference center, which meant there was plenty of parking. We walked down to reception and requested adjoining rooms, then grabbed our bags and headed into the room Jackson had booked.

The ground-floor room was clean and rather spacious, fitted out with a king-sized bed, a TV sitting on a storage unit, a small desk, and a couple of chairs. The bonus, however, was the glass sliding door that led out to a patio area—very handy if we wanted to be sneaky about our comings and goings.

Jackson handed me his bag and began setting up the motion-sensor alarm. I continued on through the adjoining door; the second room was the mirror image of his. I dumped both bags onto the bed, then headed into the bathroom for a shower—a long and very hot shower that eventually managed to erase Hunt’s scent from my skin.

I wished it could do the same for my memories.

By the time I’d finished, Jackson was already in bed and asleep. I climbed in beside him, snuggled up to his back, and very quickly joined him in slumber.

I was woken hours later by his body twitching and shuddering. I blinked sleep from my eyes and then, as a cyclone of hurt and horror swirled through my mind—emotions that were his rather than mine—realized abruptly that he was dreaming about the assault.