Chapter 5 - The Midnight visitor
The door to Room 9 was unlocked. That was the first warning sign.
Cole Mercer and Wade Hollis weren't standing outside. Their post was empty, the small folding table where they usually sat drinking black coffee pushed aside against the wall. The digital surveillance camera mounted above the door lens had been neatly hooded with a small piece of surgical tape.
Naomi paused with her hand on the brass handle. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a heavy, rhythmic thud that sounded like a drumbeat in her ears.
Trap, her instincts screamed. Get out.
Instead, she pushed the door open.
The suite was pitch black, save for the pale wash of moonlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass windows. New York City stretched out below like a circuit board of neon and shadow.
Silas Grayson was standing by the window.
He had discarded his hospital gown. He wore only a pair of dark gray athletic trousers, his magnificent, scarred back completely bare to the cool air conditioning of the room. He was holding a heavy, black tactical pistol in his right hand, field-stripping it with mechanical, blinding speed. The slide came off with a crisp click; the barrel dropped into his palm like a living thing.
"Your guards are downstairs," Naomi said, her voice cutting cleanly through the silence. "Leaving your post is a great way to get fired, Mr. Grayson."
Silas didn't turn around. His voice, low and raspy, carried across the darkened room. "My guards are currently dealing with an uninvited guest in the basement parking garage. Someone who wanted to know if I was still breathing."
Naomi stepped inside, letting the heavy door click shut behind her. "An assassin?"
"A competitor with terrible manners," Silas replied casually, snapping the slide back onto the frame with a sharp crack. He laid the weapon down on the glass tabletop next to a Glock disassembly mat. Only then did he turn his head to look at her over his broad shoulder. "You shouldn't have come back tonight, Ms. Brooks. Especially not alone, and especially not after hours."
"I have a dressing change scheduled for midnight," Naomi said, stepping toward the rolling tray. "Cellulitis doesn't care about your corporate wars or your hitmen."
Silas turned completely around to face her. In the dim moonlight, the intricate web of scars across his chest and back looked almost luminous, like silver rivers carved into dark stone. There was no vulnerability in his stance, only a lethal, coiled readiness.
"You're not afraid of the gun," Silas observed, taking a slow step toward her. "And you're not afraid of the blood. What are you afraid of, Naomi?"
"Incompetence," Naomi answered instantly, her gaze locking onto his without a flicker of doubt. "And people who waste my time."
A strange, humorless smile touched the corners of Silas's mouth. He closed the distance between them until he was standing close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his skin. He smelled of gun oil, cedar, and raw, predatory adrenaline.
"You broke into my encrypted medical file three hours ago," Silas said softly.
Naomi froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Julian hadn't warned her fast enough, or the system logs were more transparent than she thought.
"I wanted to know what I was treating," she said evenly, refusing to back down. "A nurse has a right to know the etiology of a wound."
"You wanted to know who I was," Silas corrected, his rainwater-gray eyes narrowing as he looked down at her. "You wanted to know if the monster the newspapers write about matches the man standing in front of you."
"And does he?" Naomi whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the HVAC unit.
May you like
Silas reached out. For a split second, Naomi thought he was going to grab her throat. Instead, his long, calloused fingers brushed gently against the strap of her nurse's badge, his knuckles grazing the fabric of her scrub top. The contact sent a jolt of pure electricity straight up her spine—not of desire, but of sheer, unadulterated danger.
"The newspapers don't know the half of it," Silas whispered, his face inches from hers. "And neither do you."
