As she stepped into the main room, she saw more of the man’s clothing had spilled out of a large duffel on the opposite side of the bed. Whoever this man was, he’d been here for a while. “How long have you been staying here?” she called over her shoulder.
“Why? Thinking of charging me rent?” he asked right behind her.
She spun around, startled. But he only walked over to a pair of jeans lying across his bed and let the towel drop. She tried not to watch him pull on the jeans, going commando, before he tugged a black T-shirt over those broad shoulders.
He turned to look at her, and she realized that she’d forgotten to hold the gun on him. She quickly raised it. He had no reaction to the weapon—just as he’d had no reaction to her finding him in her hotel taking a shower as if he lived here. He did live here.
The man had maddening gall even if Devlin Wright had employed him, since the sale was far from a done deal until the papers were signed, and Devlin seemed to be dragging his feet.
He settled that deep blue gaze on her. “This was not the way I’d hoped we’d meet,” he said in that same lazy drawl. His grin made him all the more handsome—and clearly dangerous.
“Excuse me? Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you doing in my hotel?”
His gaze traveled all five foot six of her, slowing in critical places before finally settling all that heat and intensity on her face. She felt as if she’d just been frisked naked.
“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve heard so much about you, Casey Crenshaw, that I feel as if I already know you.” He cocked a brow, deepening that grin to expose two perfect dimples. “Some of what I heard about you was even good.” He must have seen that she wasn’t amused at his attempt at humor.
He took a step toward her and held out his hand. “I’m Finnegan. Finnegan James. But please, call me Finn.”
She ignored his hand as she took a step back toward the open doorway to the hall. “Finnegan James?” she repeated, her pulse jumping in response to the familiar name. It took her a moment to remember where she’d heard it, since that name had been all over the news months ago—and so had a very different headshot of him. She frowned, trying to superimpose the businessman’s face from the television onto this wild-looking man’s features. In shock, she cried, “You’re...him.”
There was just enough resemblance that she knew this was the same Finnegan James of San Francisco who’d sold his tech business for an astronomical amount of money at the end of last year and, having become ultrawealthy overnight, disappeared. The next headline she’d seen had read Foul Play? Multibillionaire Bachelor Now Missing.
“People are looking for you,” she said angrily. “What are you doing here in my closed hotel?” At first glance, she’d just assumed he’d been squatting here because he was homeless. Instead, he was some supersmart, very rich man who’d made his fortune before forty. He’d been dubbed eccentric, single-minded, brilliant and very private both personally and otherwise. So she figured if he was hiding out here, she could add weird and possibly mentally imbalanced.
She took another step back, even though she still had the gun trained on him.
“You going to use that?” he asked, motioning to the gun.
“If I have to.” She had the barrel aimed at his heart—just above his impressive six-pack. The man was incredibly built. With those long legs, she figured he could reach her and take away the gun before she could pull the trigger.
But if she were him, she wouldn’t bet his life on it.
“I asked what you’re doing here.”
“I thought it was obvious,” he said, cocking his head at her.
“Not as obvious as the shower. You’re trespassing on private property.”
“You’ve got me there. I definitely have been.” He smiled, softening the sharp planes of his face and making her aware of how much more handsome he was now than in the photo she’d seen of him on the TV news. In that photo, he’d looked way too serious compared to the killer smile he was laying on her right now. The smile, though, seemed to make him more of a threat, since it was a little crooked and charmingly disarming.
“If I tell you why I first came here, promise not to laugh,” he said almost shyly.
That was a promise she could keep. She was not in a laughing mood.
“I was hoping to see Megan’s ghost before you had the hotel razed. I figured it might be my last chance. And, no, I didn’t see her, but there were times when I swear I felt like she was trying to run me off,” he said with a laugh. “The banging, the digging, the footsteps in the hall...” He shook his head. “I can tell you think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. Although actually admitting I originally came here looking for a ghost makes me sound...a little odd.”
“No, not at all,” she said sarcastically. His answer confirmed what she’d feared. The man was delusional. She really had to get him out of her hotel. If he was telling the truth. “But just to be clear, Devlin Wright didn’t hire you?”
He frowned. “Devlin Wright? Why would he hire me?”
To get the price on the hotel down. Devlin had been slow on getting her a definite offer for the place, so she wouldn’t have been surprised if the man was trying to pull a fast one. She knew Devlin. He’d worked here the summer Megan was murdered. That was why she’d been suspicious when he’d contacted her about buying the hotel and land for some investors he said that he’d gotten interested in the place.
“You need to leave,” she said now to Finnegan James. “There’s a motel in town called—”
“The Sleepy Pine. If you’d prefer that, although I wasn’t planning on leaving until
