The Innocent: A Vanessa Michael Munroe Novel by Taylor Stevens Page B

rolled to the right
.
    Instinct
.
    Speed
.
    She turned. Came from below. Plunged a knife upward, connected under his chin and thrust it deep. Euphoria flowed
.
    The attacker dropped to his knees, eyes wide
.
    Green eyes
.
    Her stomach reacted violently
.
    His face. Soft. Familiar. A shock of recognition ran through her
.
    She gasped for air. Slumped forward and then, head tilted upward, with the primal shriek of rage and pain still rising, opened her eyes
.
    Not to the midnight sky, but to the bland, off-white ceiling of the hotel room.
    Heart pounding, Munroe slid her legs over the side of the bed and stood, looking down at the aftermath of slumber. The sheets and her clothes were drenched, the pillow beside her shredded. She rubbed her fingers, feeling tenderness where friction had burned them raw. For this she had purchased three hours of sleep out of the last forty-eight. So little rest invited trouble, and agitated as she was now, there would be no natural return to the slumber that she so desperately needed.
    Munroe shuffled to her bag, pulled out a bottle, and tipped the contents into her mouth.
    It was nearing nine in the morning, at the same corner place where Logan had followed Munroe yesterday, and the café was filled with morning traffic. He sat at the far end of the room, his back to the wall, listening to a language that he only half understood, observing the bustling crowd, and through the storefront window watched the passersby. Across the table Gideon sat dazed and sleepy-eyed, and the fragrance of coffee blended with the sweet scent of the pastries that filled the empty space between them.
    Conversation was sparse, and any words spoken were only filler. They were both tired, having spent far too many hours during the night planning and then rehashing options, and if it weren’t for the prearrangement to meet Munroe and Heidi here for breakfast, Logan would have been happy to steal another hour or two under the covers.
    He glanced again at his watch and took a sip of coffee. The girls were ten minutes late. He wasn’t familiar enough with Heidi’s patterns to know how many minutes past an appointment defined her version of tardy, but he knew Munroe. She was her own woman and worked her own schedule, but if she committed to be somewhere at a certain time, she would show—on time—always.
    Logan took another sip and then another glance at his watch. Gideon, noticing the movement, chuckled. Logan ignored him and, hisface to the window, saw Heidi pass on the other side. She entered the café, eyes scanning the room, and seeing Logan, approached the table.
    “Where’s Michael?” Logan said.
    Heidi’s head turned puppy-dog sidewise. “I thought she was with you,” she said. And then in response to Logan’s deadpan expression, “I overslept—didn’t hear the alarm—I just figured she left without me.”
    Logan blanched, and his heartbeat, fast and heavy, made it impossible to attempt conversation. To the others, Munroe’s absence would mean little—a stroll about the neighborhood or the desire to check out a lead—they would assume she would return in her own time. But he knew better.
    Her promise to get Hannah repeated in his mind, a mantra that was the calm against his panic. Munroe had given her word—her
word
—but perhaps now, in her current state with the medicating—the drugs—her word meant little.
    “Heidi, I need your key,” he said. She looked at him quizzically, and he remained silent, hand outstretched. Finally, after a moment, she pulled the room key from her purse and handed it to him.
    “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”
    He left for the hostel at a near run.
    The room was as he’d expected, with Heidi’s things on one side and most of Munroe’s few belongings on the other. Stacked neatly on the bedside table were the documents he had given her, and he could see from the way things were laid out why Heidi assumed that Munroe had simply