One movie turned into two. Halfway through the second, he fired off a text to Kyle asking for an update, and got the all clear back. Ten minutes later, he was asleep with his head tipped against the back of the couch, his almost empty bottle clutched in his fist.
When he woke, some Evangelist was talking crap on the screen. Yawning, eyes burning, he set the bottle on the coffee table, then turned the television off.
Time for bed. If he slept in this position any longer, his neck would take days to recover. As it was, his lower back protested as he dragged his tired ass off the couch.
The logical part of his fatigued brain forced him to check the door again; it was shut, locked, and safe. Using a hand to guide himself along the wall to the bathroom, he relieved himself, then washed up and staggered to the bedroom.
Tempted to just fall face-first onto the bed, he stripped off his shirt.
A soft snuffle brought his brain online fully; reaching for his gun, he stepped aside so the hallway light filtered into the room, over the bed where a goddamn pixie slept.
“What the fuck?” he whispered, letting his hand drift away from his weapon.
Tabitha lay on her back, her pretty features serene. The madness and manic energy she possessed was apparently a curse only when she was awake. She had the longest, palest eyelashes he’d ever seen.
Approaching warily, Grit wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now. He saw no weapons within her reach; her small hands were empty. He doubted she was a heavy sleeper—in her line of work, that was a death sentence all its own—which meant one wrong move and she’d likely rip his throat out.
Could he cuff her to the headboard before she woke?
His gaze roamed over her, seeing no signs of injury or blood. What was she doing here, and how had she got in? He knew he’d locked the damn door when he came in. It was reflexive habit, whether he was at home or on a job.
Carefully, not entirely sure he wanted to rile the beast into waking up, he skimmed the back of his finger over her soft cheek.
Pain jabbed into his wrist as her hand shot up, her fingers clamping around the joint from the underside, slamming his hand into the mattress beside her and pinning it.
He froze as the sharp tip of a knife poked into the side of his neck, wielded by her other hand.
Tsking quietly, opening her eyes leisurely as though she had nothing better to do, she peered up at him. The blue was fierce and amused. “Big boy, did no one ever tell you not to disturb a monster when she’s sleeping?”
He lifted his eyebrow. “You’re in my goddamn bed, Tabitha.”
“I got bored waiting for you to wake up.”
“That’s your excuse?”
The knife dragged lightly around his throat, the tip scoring a line in its wake. “I’m used to it. Every time I visit, you sleep like the dead.”
Grit’s mouth dropped open. He knew for a fact he wasn’t a heavy sleeper; like her, it was detrimental to his health. “How many times have you visited, Tabitha?”
She smiled absently, drawing the tip back and forth over his Adam’s apple. “Oh, just a few. I sit and wait, but you never know I’m here. You intrigue me; I don’t know why. You’re becoming a bit of an obsession.”
The words every man wanted to hear, he thought with a feeling of dread sneaking up on him. “Are you stalking me?”
“Maybe? I’m not sure.” A frown puckered the skin between her fair brows. “Something in me is drawn to you. I don’t think I want to kill you…” She seemed to mull that over. “No, that would be unpalatable. It’s like I want to be close to you because you make me… happy? No,” she said with a twist of her lips. “Not happy. I don’t know, but it’s frustrating.”
Well, he agreed with that. It was damn frustrating and not a little unnerving that she evidently spent a lot of time watching him sleep. “How did you get in? The door was locked.”
Tabitha snorted. “I have a key.”
“What?”
“Master key,” she muttered, her eyes sparkling as she drew the blade down the center of his throat to draw patterns on his chest. “I have master keys for all the hotels. Dublin, London, Paris, you name it, I have the key. Any I don’t have, I can get.”
He glanced down at the red lines scoring his skin. “Have you been in Elias’s room?”
Elias, Evander, and Callie were only a couple of doors down. Kyle and Austin had managed to score the room to their left.
Tabitha’s smile turned sly, but her eyes shuttered. “Dirty boys, those two. Always doing bad things to the girl. Not that she minds,” she muttered in a tone that said she didn’t understand why the girl didn’t mind.