Page 186 of The Silent Note

“Something on my face?” I arch a brow.

A smile flashes, tugging at her pretty brown lips. “You’re just… really handsome.”

My heart flips and heat soars straight to my ears.

Grey laughs. “Zane, are youblushing?”

Dammit. “I don’t blush.”

“But your face is getting red.”

“It’s just hot in here.”

“The window is open.”

“Is it?”

“I can’t believe I made the great Zane Crossblush,” Grey teases.

“I’m not blushing,” I insist as I march to the window.

Grey returns to the bathroom and I can still hear her laughing as the shower runs.

At the window, cool air greets me and helps to calm my rushing pulse. I take a moment to appreciate the view.

It’s close to midnight, but the city is alive and bustling. Cars honk on the street below, their lights bouncing like red-dusted stars. All around us are flat rooftops and even taller skyscrapers. Commercial buildings push up into a velvet black sky.

I inhale deeply, letting the revelations of the night creep back into my mind.

Something isn’t right. Grey knows about the yakuza’s connection to Redwood. And earlier, Cadence left this room crying, so whatever they were talking about shouldn’t have put Grey in this frisky of a mood.

My suspicions mount.

Grey hasn’t been this forward with me, except for that one time in the car. No matter how much she wants me, that thin thread of morality, the one that keeps telling her being with me is wrong, still has her in a chokehold.

So what’s going on?

I glance at the notebook again. Or at least, where the notebook should be.

It’s gone.

Is that why she kissed me? Was it to hide the outcome of her investigation? What are the plans that she doesn’t want me finding out?

The wind is freezing. I push the window closed. It swings in way too haphazardly. Stumped, I lean out to check and notice a nail’s been drilled out of the bars.

The hell? What kind of shoddy work is this? If Grey had leaned on the sliding door, the whole thing would have collapsed.

I whirl around, rage engulfing me, but before I can call the front desk, I spot something wedged into the corner of the sofa.

It looks like a long stick, but it’s shooting straight out of the cushions with an unusual tension. When I get closer, I notice the ironwork is exquisite and boasts carvings of cherry blossoms. This was definitely not provided by the hotel. Looking at how deep it’s embedded, whoever sent this arrow flying did so with accurate force.

My gaze swings back and forth between the window and the sofa.

A slow, steady realization descends.

“No,” I whisper, the blood draining from my head to my toes. “No, no, no.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

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