Rogue - Michele Mannon Page 0,18

and it’s likely he’s an American. In addition to my wrists, my ankles are bound. An amateur job at best.

Not Diego then.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I test my bonds, but a wave of dizziness spreads over me. I’m forced to close my eyes. When I open them, I spy something familiar lying at the foot of the bed. What the hell? My stomach rumbles in protest as my eyes narrow on a familiar empty patisserie wrapper. This amateur’s eaten my croissants.

I allow my legs to drop off the side of the mattress. Pins and needles shoot up my legs as the tethers cut sharply into my ankles and cut off circulation. More proof I’ve been unconscious for some time. Damn chloroform. So much for an afternoon of sunshine and snapping selfies before the Eiffel Tower. Like any other normal tourist.

Yeah, who am I kidding.

Still this dumb ass’s lame antics amuse me. Call me perverse, whatever. In seconds, I’ve freed my hands and am efficiently working on the last of the simple knots he’s tied. It’s almost as if he wants me to break free.

Be careful what you wish for. Because I’ve no ambitions toward escape. Whoever he is, chances are he’s got answers for me. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll lead me one step closer to Novák. Yeah, one step—two might be expecting too much from the man.

Did he really save me from Novák’s men? Or was it some kind of power play. Battle of the Pricks—which one can keep a good woman down?

I stand, shake out my legs, coil both ropes up in two tidy rolls and place them on the chair, then begin my search of his room. Looking for clues, wondering if he’s a friend or foe.

Francis is your only friend right now, I remind myself. And as the expression goes, with friends like him, who needs enemies. Is it a coincidence that I speak with him for less than five minutes and then viola, Novák’s men are on me?

I shake off my rage, storing it away for a better time to give in to it, while I consider the room.

For an amateur, the room is remarkably tidy. No clothing, except the mask. No toiletries except for two small complimentary bottles of shampoo and a bar of soap—which I immediately take a whiff of. Lavender. Merciful lavender.

Pulling the heavy drapery aside, I stare out at the city below. The room’s a few stories up. Impossible to jump to the cobblestone sidewalk below without breaking bones. The building’s facade has a horizontal strip of balconies to my right and to my left, staggered one story up and one story down. I frown. For an amateur, he’s selected his room well.

Lights blink off in the distance, the Eiffel Tower wishing me good night. That, or it’s giving me the middle finger. How many lovers’ trysts have happened there? Marriage proposals? I love yous?

I yank the drapes closed, then close my eyes.

Steady, Kylie. Get with the program. Focus.

I brush aside my momentary lapse of reason and prepare for battle. Counting how many steps from the bed to the door and then the window. Getting a feel of the space. Taking in the weapons at my disposal, an old-fashioned black phone that’s been disconnected from the wall—so much for room service—the lamp, the ropes, the scarf still on my neck. I test the door. Predictably, it’s unlocked. If I wanted to, I could leave at any time.

But that’s not the game in play.

I settle myself on the edge of the bed and facing the door. Then my wait begins.

Patience and I have never been BFFs. Only a year ago, just prior to being recruited by TORC, I was forced into becoming more disciplined. To stay still, keep my trap shut, and pay close attention to the goings-on at Novák’s compound back in Shelby. TORC training and surviving Hell Camp was a test in itself.

In comparison, my sitting in wait on a comfortable bed in an air-conditioned room shouldn’t be such a grueling task. But five minutes into my wait, I begin to fidget. My gaze falls on the chair and a thought occurs to me. Did he pull it close to the bed to watch me sleep?

Reaching out, I place my hand on the red velvet cushion. Damn it. I should have considered this before my jolly jaunt around the room. No telling if it was warm or not.

Frustrated by my mistake and having nothing better to do than wait,