The hot water and steam of the shower was relaxing, enough to kick the butterflies in her stomach into submission. Her muscles ached. The tendons and ligaments in her upper shoulders and back throbbed as if she’d been moving heavy furniture all week instead of throwing her weight against the screen sifter. It was just another brutal reminder that, although she was thin, she was pathetically out of shape.

She stood under the unrelenting water, craning her neck from side to side in an attempt to work the muscles loose. Maybe Mike could crack her back for her. She smirked. Now that was a pickup line she’d have to remember: say, care to get on top and crack my back?

Once the conditioner was rinsed out of her hair, she turned the faucet off and reached for a towel. Her hair was getting long. It seemed like she’d need to use two or three of the thin, white hotel towels to sop up the excess water. No matter, she could resort to using the room’s hair dryer and, in forty-five minutes or so, the feeble little machine might get her hair dry. Damn it, of all the things to leave at home. She hadn’t planned on needing to look as attractive and desirable as humanly possible. If she had, she’d have brought along a better selection of makeup.

She towel dried her hair enough to keep water from trickling down her back, and then wrapped another towel around her body. It was a good thing she’d done a load of laundry the previous day. Not that she had “date” quality outfits with her, but she was fully aware which pair of jeans accentuated her curves the best. She pulled on a red vintage style t-shirt emblemized with a grayed out Union Jack. It was casual and cute, though she was reasonably sure her clothes were the last thing on his mind.

The steam from the small bathroom had filtered out into the sink area, fogging up the mirror and giving everything a generally damp feeling. She wiped her hand across the condensation covered mirror. In the unobstructed reflection she could see a figure, a man, standing directly behind her.

She bit back a shriek and jerked around. There was no one there; the room was empty.

“Shit.” The words felt as if they bubbled out of her throat, pushed out by her rapid heartbeat. She gripped the countertop with one hand to steady herself. The reflection in the mirror was clear and crisp. It wasn’t a shadow or the light playing on the steam from the shower. It was a man. It was him, the man who’d been watching her for days. He’d stood and watched her at the Spangler Farm. He’d breathed on the back of her neck, whispered in her ear as she worked in the test pit.

Now he was in her room.

Madison swallowed hard, peering into the main section of the hotel room. It was empty. Nothing was out of place, no one was watching her from any corner of the room; yet, she didn’t feel completely alone. He was still there.

Her hand faltered on the countertop and she sank backward, half sitting, half leaning against the sink. The air in the room felt soupy and stale. Gooseflesh rippled down her still damp arms and across her back. What in Christ’s name did he want from her?

She felt him next to her, his breath on her shoulder. Please.

Could he hear her when she spoke to him? It was worth a try. “I’m not sure I know how to help you.”

But she knew someone who did.