her clothes, and placed trust in the fact that he meant her no harm. Had she learned nothing from the past?
His head came up suddenly, his eyes meeting hers. There was no deceit in that slightly unfocused gaze, no lies. And none of the contempt that had been all too evident in her husband's gaze.
Jon reached out and gently caught her hand. His fingers were a warm, suntanned brown, and his palms slightly callused. Totally the opposite of Brian's… why did she keep thinking of him? What was it about Jon that dredged up a past she'd much rather forget?
'Trust me, Maddie. I mean you no harm.'
'I'll have to go out to the car to get some bandages,' she said, jerking her hand out of his.
His gaze narrowed slightly. 'Be careful.'
She gave him a tight smile. 'I always am.' Too careful, too cautious. Because when she wasn't, people died. 'You rest. I won't be long.'
She turned and walked quickly from the room.
Chapter Five
Fear surrounded him, an acid cloud that stung his mind and forced him awake. Jon jerked upright and, for an instant, wondered where he was.
The morning sun peeped around the outer edges of the curtains, gilding the framed painting opposite the bed. He half smiled. He had to be at the inn—there couldn't be many paintings around that used such appalling colors to depict a farmyard setting. Or many places that would hang it on their walls.
So why was Maddie in his room? And why was she so afraid?
He shoved the blankets aside and swung his feet out of the bed, then stopped, staring down at his legs.
Speaking of appalling colors, why in hell was he wearing these sweat pants? They were Maddie's—he could smell the lingering scent of roses. But what had happened to his clothes?
He couldn't recall much about the last half of last night, and what he did remember was a blurred nightmare he never wanted to repeat.
The fear swirled around him again. He rose too quickly and had to grab at the bedpost to remain upright. Although fast healing was a gift of his heritage, it would be a day or two yet before he would recover fully from the wound and the resulting blood loss. He took a deep breath, then padded quietly across the room.
'The room's a shambles—can't you come back later to fix the window, Mr. Stewart?'
Maddie's voice stopped him near the bedroom door. There was nothing in her soft tones to indicate the fear he could almost taste.
'Hank,' the stranger replied. 'And I'm afraid not. It's either now, or it won't get done for several days.
Last night's storm caused a bit of damage, I'm afraid.'
There was an underlying threat in the man's tone, one that told him the stranger wouldn't take no for an answer. But why was the man so determined to get into his room? And why didn't he seem surprised to find Maddie here?
Maddie's fear jumped a notch. Maybe she could sense the unspoken menace in the stranger's voice. She cleared her throat softly, then said, 'Okay then.'
Until he knew who was responsible for shooting him, he couldn't risk being seen with her. He'd put her into enough danger by simply asking her to rescue him. He walked across to the wardrobe and edged the door closed, only leaving a minute gap to see through.
Maddie walked in a second later. Her gaze went to the bed, then swept quickly to the wardrobe. She smiled tightly and continued on to the window. Her hair was a tangled mess of ringlets that bounced along with every movement. He'd been wrong about the color being chestnut. It was more a rich, red gold that hung down her back like a river of flame. The fluffy white sweater she wore hung to her thighs, and did nothing for the slender figure that had brushed against him last night and haunted his dreams. But at least her legs were clad in dark green leggings, not baggy old sweat pants—probably because he was wearing them.
She was, he thought with a slight smile, all color and energy and warmth, despite the fear that hung like a storm all around her.
The only outward sign of this was her hands, clenched by her side. Jon hoped she kept her gaze well away from the stranger. Her eyes were too expressive. One look into the amber flame of her gaze, and the stranger would know she was hiding something—or someone.
The man who followed her into the room was big. Not tall, just built like a man who'd spent half his life lifting weights.
And he wasn't the same Hank Stewart that Jon had seen pictures of several days before, although they looked enough alike to be brothers.
Maddie opened the blinds, and sunlight streamed in. The stranger winced and stepped back into the living room. A second man brushed past him, carrying a toolbox and a small pane of glass.
Jon studied the man now passing himself off as the night manager. Was he merely light sensitive, or did he have a more sinister reason for hiding from the sun? Was he dealing with something as simple as a vampire?
The big man shifted, moving back to the doorway. The sunlight touched him and, for an instant, revealed a gaunt, weathered face and muddy-brown eyes that were as dead as stone. Jon blinked, and the image was gone, replaced by the open, friendly face of Hank Stewart.
The man wasn't a vampire. Only the very ancient vampires could stand the touch of the sun, and the stranger certainly didn't have the presence of something old and powerful that was evident in ancient bloodsuckers.
Yet a faint wisp of dark magic told him that the stranger wasn't entirely human, either. He frowned.
Scattered images ran through his mind, erratic memories of last night's events. This man had been in his room then, too, and with him had been a shapeshifter. Could it have been the same shifter he'd seen in the forest? Surely a town as small as Taurin Bay couldn't have more than one in the area?
The minutes ticked by slowly. Eventually, the repairman came out of the bathroom and gave Maddie a smile. 'All mended and cleaned up.'
She nodded and crossed her arms, staring at the night manager. The man posing as Hank Stewart was frowning at the wardrobe. There was no real indication he suspected Jon was hiding there, nothing more than a deepening of his frown before he turned away. Maddie followed the two men out of the room.
He stepped from the wardrobe and walked to the bed. Maddie came back into the room and stopped, her eyes showing the uncertainty he sensed in her.
'How are you feeling this morning?'
Her voice was soft and slightly husky, and as warm as a whiskey on a cold night. A sound any man could get used to. He wondered if it was natural, or caused by fear.
'Better,' he said. 'Though I would like to know how I got into these… pants.'
Her gaze ran down his body then danced away, and he had to stop himself from smiling when he saw the blush creep across her cheeks.
'Your clothes were soaked, and I didn't want you running around naked.'
After the flight here last night, he wouldn't have been able to run anywhere. And she still hadn't explained why she'd dressed him in her clothes instead of his own. 'So why didn't you just get something out of my bags?'
The look she gave him was both wary and confused. 'This is my room. Your clothes aren't here.'
He glanced across at the painting. 'This is the Captain's suite, isn't it?'
'Yes.' She hesitated, and a flash of understanding ran through her eyes. 'You were staying here, too—before someone took that potshot at you?'
Potshot. What a quaint way of putting the attempt on his life. 'Yes. Looks as though someone didn't expect me back, either.'
