“Great.” I hesitated, glanced back at him. “Are you waiting down here?”

“Unless you’re inviting me up.” He tossed his keys, caught them.

“I won’t be long.” I resumed walking. “Wait here, save yourself the trip.”

“Make it quick.” A glint in his eye. “Or I might make you the same offer.”

The subtle warning nudged me up to my room where I collected my belongings and packed with less care than usual. I was wrapping my laptop cord when Harlow breezed in ten minutes later with her bags in hand. While performing one last sweep of the bed and floor, I explained our travel arrangements.

Ushering her into the hall ahead of me, I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob.

“Ready?” she prompted.

To resurrect my dead twin sister for the purpose of conducting an interview? “Yeah. Sure.”

Not at all.

Chapter 7

Between the late flight and the car ride, and Graeson appointing himself our driver, I managed three hours of sleep before we arrived at a two-star hotel in Andalusia, Alabama. Harlow, Graeson and I checked in then went our separate ways. I headed to my room for a shower and a change of clothes. At this point, I wanted the food I still hadn’t eaten more than I wanted a power nap before facing Vause.

Dressed in a black pantsuit with a white ruffled shirt, I twisted my hair into a tight bun at the back of my head then left the room and rode the elevator down to the lobby. I stepped off and bumped right into Graeson, who stood with his feet braced apart and arms crossed over his chest, waiting. His hands shot out to steady me, and even after I stopped wobbling, he was slow to release me.

The damp hair slicking to his scalp reminded me of the first time we met and the circumstances that had brought us together. I stepped out of his reach and headed across the lobby where leftovers from the free continental breakfast were being picked over.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice slid over my shoulder, his breath warm at my ear.

“I’m starving.” I pressed a fist to my gut. “I’m heading where the food is.”

He hooked my arm and spun me around. Once my head stopped whirling, I realized he was marching me out the front entryway.

“What are you—?” I struggled to get free. “The food is that way.”

“No.” His rough palm cupped my jaw and turned my head. “The real food is that way.”

The familiar red Shoney’s sign glowed from across the street, and my stomach gurgled. All-you-can-eat eggs, bacon, pancakes and home-style fried potatoes. That sounded so much better than bottomless orange juice and kiddie cereal.

“Wait.” I glanced behind us. “Where’s Harlow?”