She couldn’t stare in that mirror another second and see the girl she had been, the fear she had known, the desperation that had been so much a part of her that summer.
Remembering was a bitch, and the memories weren’t comforting ones.
They were filled with fear and the stark reality of everything that had been taken away from so many.
Each time she stared into that mirror, she saw the results of the plastic surgery that had been done. A bit here, a bit there, a tilt of the eyes, a difference in her cheekbones. Just enough to make her look enough like Liza Johnson—
Just enough to make Fawn resemble Claire.
And she remembered that ritual, the words spoken, the scent of the herbs, the cadence of the chants and the feel of the dew from the sweat lodge as it rained down upon her.
And that moment—that heartrending second—when Honor Roberts had slept, and who Liza Johnson had been had slipped inside her.
It had begun slowly, moments after Cassie Sinclair had left the room. A fragment here. A fragment there. Nothing solid or concrete yet, but enough—
The loss of who she had been had saved her.
The death of two young women, buried with the utmost ceremony, and in the utmost secrecy, had allowed her and Fawn to live in peace—for a while at least.
Tonight, she wanted to dance them out of her mind, drink them from her consciousness and deal with them tomorrow.
Not tonight.
Besides, she also needed to discuss a few things with Claire.
Did the other woman remember as well?
Was that the reason for the fear each time Liza had nearly given herself away?
“Liza?” She nearly flinched as he moved to her, his tone deep, rasping as the backs of his fingers grazed her cheek. “Where did you go, baby?”
Swiping her tongue over her lips nervously, she gave a quick shake of her head. “I’m right here, Stygian. I’m just hoping you’ll take me somewhere. I have yet to leave this damned room and I can’t handle it any longer.”
Thoughtful, with a gleam of disbelief and skepticism, he stared down at her before nodding slowly.
“Let’s see if we can get you out of here for a few hours then,” he said, sending a flare of anticipation racing through her.
“Thank you.” Relief raced through her.
“I’ll go arrange things with security so the others can go as well,” he told her as he moved away from her, taking the sense of warmth that wrapped around her whenever he was near.
Turning, she moved to the windows and gazed at the darkness surrounding the hotel.
Rubbing at her upper arms to dispel the chill racing up them, she eased back from the window, suddenly wishing Stygian were still there.
The windows were bullet and laser resistant, the room itself highly secured.
Yet Gideon Cross had managed to bug Jonas Wyatt’s room, which she was certain was even more secure.
There was something not quite right, though, something out of place, out of sync.
Tilting her head, she stared out into the darkness, wondering what was missing, or what was added.
Something wasn’t right—
As the thought raced through her mind, a blinding flare of light suddenly flashed through the room. The resulting explosion seemed to rock the entire hotel.
Liza went to the floor, rolling, instinct and her photographic memory of the location of each piece of furniture flashing through her mind as she scrambled behind the sofa.