Kavenski still didn’t say anything. He didn’t even twitch. Instead, he continued to stare at her with those chilly eyes that reminded her what he was…a killer. A pro. As he stared at her, he was most likely contemplating the easiest way to dispose of her body with less emotion than he’d feel stepping on a spider.

Her imagination raced, her heart pounded, and she struggled to swallow with a suddenly dry throat. The air in the musty room felt thicker as dread filled her.

His considerable bulk blocked the one and only door, and the window was covered by the heavy polyester drapes. Even if she took him off guard with a dash to the window, there wouldn’t be enough time for her to open it—if it was openable.

Tension twisted her insides until it was difficult to breathe. She had to say something, or the silence would smother her.

“What are you doing in Martin’s room?” she demanded. Even though she was positive he knew her story was a complete lie, it was all she had.

When he shifted his weight, she flinched, but he just leaned back against the door and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Before Cara could do more than twitch toward the window, he dropped his arms to his sides. She froze, her gaze never leaving his face. The chill in his eyes was still there, but there was a slight droop to his mouth that made him look extraordinarily tired.

“Are you okay?” The words were out before she realized how ridiculous the question would sound. Even after it penetrated, her mouth kept moving, as if it were separate from her brain. “Have you been sleeping?”

He blinked at her.

“Not that it’s any of my business if you did or not.” Why are you still talking??? her brain screamed at her, but it was no use. The freight train of awkwardness had left the station and was hurtling down the tracks. “Now, if it were Marvin, my friend, then it would be my business, but you’re not Marvin. You’re a stranger. A stranger I don’t know. Not that you’d be a stranger if I did know you, so, um, you don’t have to answer that, if you don’t want to. Don’t feel obligated.”

“Martin.” His voice was unexpected. Deep and smooth and perfect for narrating adventure movies or candy commercials.

“What?” That unexpectedly delicious timbre threw her off. It didn’t match what she’d expected a killer to sound like.

His chest lifted with a silent sigh as he straightened away from the door. “Martin. Not Marvin.”

She tensed at his movement, but he just stepped sideways, opening a path to the door. “Right. Martin.” She couldn’t believe that she’d messed up her fictitious friend’s name. It was a stressful situation, sure, but surely she could keep track of her made-up lock-picking study partners for five minutes.

“You need to stop following me.”

She jolted again. Not only had he caught her breaking into his motel room, but he was aware that she’d been tracking him across town. Her sisters were right. She was not cut out for field work. If she managed to survive this encounter, it’d be best if she just stayed home and researched. That was what she was good at, not the chasing, tackling, and wrestling parts of bounty hunting.