Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,97

Fox. There’s no way you can get out.”

That meant he stood between me and the door now. But he couldn’t hurt me if he couldn’t capture me. And he couldn’t capture me if he couldn’t find me.

I had to remain silent long enough to draw him away from the door to come looking. I remained low to the floor, cursing the tight bodice. I held my breath, but it might not have mattered. His own breathing would have drowned mine out. His breath came hard, as if he’d just run up and down all of the hotel’s stairs. The sound filled the small space, as well as my ears along with the thumping of my blood in my veins.

The door handle rattled. “Is someone in there?” came a man’s voice.

“Yes!” I cried. “Help!”

My voice gave away my position. Mr. Hookly reached out and grabbed my hair. He pulled me up, dislodging my headpiece and Harmony’s elegant arrangement.

I hissed in pain and clasped his wrist in an attempt to ease the burn across my scalp.

“Miss Fox?” came the voice outside. “Mr. Armitage, I think she’s in here!”

I went to call out again but Mr. Hookly’s hand clamped over my mouth. He pulled me back against his body.

“Don’t say a word,” he growled.

Someone banged on the door. “Miss Fox!” It was Mr. Armitage. “Miss Fox, are you in there?”

My heart pounded, trying to burst out of my chest. I closed my eyes. Not that it mattered. I still couldn’t see in the dark.

“Get a key!” Mr. Armitage shouted. “Someone get a damned key off Chapman!”

Something cold and hard pressed against my throat. “I’ve got a knife!” he called out. “Let me go or I’ll kill her!”

The doorknob stopped rattling. The voices outside lowered. Beyond them, I could hear the music playing in the ballroom. Inside the storeroom, the only sound was Mr. Hookly’s and my hard breaths and the scent of his sweat. The edge of the knife scraped my skin.

My body was up against Mr. Hookly’s, my back against his chest, the heel of my shoe against the toe of his. It was unpleasant to be so close to this disgusting man, but it gave me the advantage I needed. I tightened my grip on the shard of vase I’d picked up when I’d been crouching, and stabbed it into his thigh.

He cried out, but more importantly, he relaxed his grip enough for me to slip free. I lunged for the door and fumbled for the lock. The precious second it took to find it cost me. He caught me and shoved me back against the shelves.

But I’d managed to flick the lock back.

The door opened and enough light filled the storeroom for me to make out Mr. Armitage charging in. Mr. Hookly swiped at him with the knife, but Mr. Armitage blocked the strike by grabbing Hooky’s wrist. He pinned Mr. Hookly to the shelves.

The storeroom light went on, revealing Detective Inspector Hobart standing in the doorway, a constable behind him. My uncle peered over his shoulder.

The knife clattered to the floor near my feet. Mr. Hookly bared his teeth in a snarl at Mr. Armitage. Mr. Armitage gave him such a cold look in return that I shivered.

“Cleo?” Uncle Ronald pushed past the inspector. “Cleo, are you hurt?”

“I’m all right,” I said. “Just a little shaken.”

He patted my shoulder. “Take him away, Hobart.”

The constable escorted Mr. Hookly, or whatever his name was, and my uncle ushered me out of the storeroom. The ball sounded like it was still going strongly and I sensed Uncle Ronald wanted to return to his guests.

“Go,” I told him. “I can talk to the inspector alone.”

He looked over my head at the inspector. “You can speak to her tomorrow. She should rest. She’s had an ordeal.”

“Of course,” Inspector Hobart said. “Tomorrow, Miss Fox.”

“I prefer to speak to you now,” I said. “While it’s still fresh in my mind.”

“Is there somewhere we can go?”

“My office,” Mr. Hobart said. I hadn’t noticed the manager there. He gave me a gentle smile. “I’ll have someone bring you tea.”

“And something stronger,” I added.

They all looked at me.

“For Mr. Armitage,” I said. “He looks as though he needs it more than me.”

Mr. Armitage’s chest expanded with his deep breath. My attempted joke fell flat. His features didn’t so much as twitch with mirth. His face was all hard, angular planes and his eyes darker than ever.

My uncle glanced towards the ballroom again then back at me. “I would send