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.
Shards of glass scattered around her as though World War III had erupted in the Navajo Suites. Flashing a brilliant red and yellow, the emergency lights sent a kaleidoscope of color racing through the room as Liza came to a crouch and quickly peeked around the couch.
Three dark-clad, masked figures were moving through the room. Two to the bedroom, while one began tossing furniture aside, throwing it out of his way. The electronic black shield covering his face gave him an automaton look, while the scrolling red ribbon of the auto-detection technology glinted at the top of the shield.
Shit!
Flipping behind the furniture before his head turned her way, Liza drew in a hard breath. She had only seconds to find a place to hide, or to reach the door.
The inner security lock had engaged when Stygian went out. It would take precious time to slide it aside—time she didn’t have.
Hurriedly moving to the opposite side of the couch, Liza dived behind the heavy chair that had already been thrown aside within a heartbeat of the couch bouncing against it.
The opened door to the connecting suite was just ahead of her, two figures racing from the room.
“She’s not there,” one rasped.
“She’s here. We tracked her before the window went in. Find her, damn it. There wasn’t enough time to get through the door.”
“Bright f**king idea blowing the lights,” another snapped.
The other didn’t speak.
Where was he?
Liza stared around her, heart racing, terrified to make the move to sprint for the connecting door and the exit leading into the hallway.
With her hands planted against the floor, her body ready to vault across the distance, she considered her chances—
The chair went flying.
Screaming out Stygian’s name, Liza sprinted for the connecting door as hard hands gripped her arm and a growl echoed through her senses.
Turning in the grip and kicking her leg out to connect with her assailant’s knee, she was gripped with rage. The heavy padding over the vulnerable area minimized the force of the blow, bringing no more than a guttural grunt as his grip tightened.
As he brought his other arm up to grab her neck, his fingers only brushed her flesh before she knocked them away, twisted again and dropped, screaming at the wrench in her arm a second before he released her.
Her foot slammed into his shin.
Padded.
Throttled rage escaped her at the triumphant laugh that echoed around her as another suddenly grabbed her other arm and within seconds she found her arms twisted behind her.
“Hurry, damn it, we don’t have all day.” The order was harsh, a sudden, ear-splitting automated shriek began blaring through the halls outside.
Throwing all her weight against the grip the two men had on her, Liza kicked both her feet out, connecting with the third’s chest and sending him stumbling back as the other two lost their grip on her.
Crashing to the floor, she ignored the bite of pain that drove into her flesh through the denim of her jeans and her undefended hands as she hit the shards of glass below.
Kicking out again, she tripped another while grabbing the heavy base of a lamp that had fallen from the table next to her. Swinging out, she let a satisfied snarl leave her lips as it connected with the face shield of the assailant who had been giving the orders. The crack of the sensitive shield sent a thrill of pleasure racing through her mind as she ducked from the other before twisting around, gripping the shield and tearing it from his face.