Yet she knew where she was going, and followed that instinct.
Her feet were cold. When she looked down, she realized she was only wearing Logan's T-shirt. A hysterical giggle escaped her lips.
What if someone came out of their room and found her like this?
What time was it, anyway?
The pull was stronger now, drawing her toward the end of the hall.
Not much time left, Sophie. Not much time. Hurry.
Faster, that was it. Why wouldn't her legs move faster? She had to get there before it was too late. She had to.
Logan was counting on her. His family was in danger, and this was the moment she'd dreamed of for so long.
Logan, why aren't you here with me? Rubbing her temples, she pushed past the throbbing pain.
Where was Logan?
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And how the hell did she get in this hallway?
She swiped at the mist with her hands, as if the very act could clear her vision.
But it didn't.
The floor was cold. Ice cold. Not carpeted. Not comfortable.
And she smelled something. Something that burned her nostrils.
Bleach, maybe?
Her foot connected with something solid, bruising her toe.
"Shit!" Limping along, she followed the trail, refusing to acknowledge the pain in her toe.
Soon, it grew numb, although for some reason she couldn't walk very well.
Straight forward. That's it, you're almost there.
Look down, Sophie. Look down.
She did, but all she could see were the clouds in front of her. Everywhere around her.
Dammit, she needed a fan. Something to blow the white mist away so she could find it.
It.
What was it?
Stop! Now look to your right!
There it was! With a giddy excitement she crouched down and reached for the white box.
No, don't touch it!
Quickly snatching her hands back, she railed in frustration, looking around as if she actually expected someone to be there.
"What the hell am I supposed to do? I have to touch it. I have to stop it."
But nothing was said in response.
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Screw it. She was going to find out what it was.
"Stop what?"
Her heart slammed against her chest as the mist cleared and she found herself looking into Logan's confused face.
"Sophie. What the fuck are you doing down here?"
"Huh?" Down where? Where was she? Think, Sophie, think. "I...I don't under...Logan! The box!"
He tilted his head. "Sophie, you were dreaming. Sleepwalking or something. Come on, let's go back upstairs.
His voice was a soothing lifeline, offering her reality and something solid, instead of the dream...
The dream!
"Logan, we have to stop it!"
He gripped her by the arms and hauled her into a standing position. "What the fuck are you talking about? Stop what?"
She tried to pull away, to get to the box. Finally, she heard it. "Dammit, let me go!
It's ticking!"
"It's what? What do you mean it's ticking?"
She tried to reach it, but he got to it before she did.
It wasn't even enclosed, just sitting in a plain white box.
And ticking.
"Holy shit. It's a bomb of some kind."
From the hushed tone of his voice, she knew he was right. "Let me see it."
"Fuck no, get back."
She pulled away from him and dropped to the ground. "Don't pull me away! I can stop this!"
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"Sophie. Goddammit, we have to get out of here. Christ, my parents, my family is staying here. We have to evacuate the hotel! Now!"
He tried to drag her away. He didn't understand that she knew. She could stop it.
Summoning forth her magic, she pushed him away, putting up an invisible wall so he couldn't try to stop her.
"Sophie! Shit, Sophie we have to get out of here now!"
"No! Don't move!" Without even looking at him, she froze him to the spot.
Thirty seconds. She read the numbers on the clock attached to the bomb.
What was she doing? Logan was right. She didn't know a damn thing about bombs.
Her hands began to tremble and nausea rolled within her stomach, threatening to erupt.
Not now. Stay calm. Use your psychic strength.
She heard the voice and nodded, reaching for the wire she knew would be there.
The red one. She had to pull the red wire.
"Sophie! Stop that! Don't touch it, for Christ sake!"
She couldn't listen to him. Closing her eyes and muttering a quick prayer to all that was holy, she yanked the red wire with fifteen seconds to spare.
The clock stopped ticking and she collapsed to the ground, sweat pouring from her body as she realized how close they had come to dying.
All of them.
"It's okay," she managed through shaky breaths as the wall dissolved and Logan dropped to his feet beside her.
She had no strength left. "It's okay, Logan. I stopped it in time."
But she'd almost been too late. "I'm so sorry, Logan. I'm so, so sorry." She'd almost been too damn late to save them.
Blissful darkness enveloped her.
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*
Logan paced the confines of the bedroom, his mother's assurances that Sophie was all right unable to still the anger, the outright fear at what might have happened.
He still didn't understand it, least of all what Sophie had been doing downstairs in the laundry room in the middle of the night. Crouched over a bomb.
The doctor had examined her, pronounced her just fine, but suffering from shock.
He'd assured Logan that Sophie would wake soon.
His mother had sat with them for an hour, until he finally convinced her to go back to bed. The rest of the family followed suit.
Fortunately, he'd managed to keep the situation contained. The bomb squad closed the laundry room and removed the box.
He'd answered every question he could for the police, but he had no answers.
Tomorrow, the staff would have to be interviewed. He'd given the list of every hotel employee and guest to the police. No one was allowed to enter or leave the hotel until everyone had been interrogated.
Shit. Great PR for the hotel. A bomb nearly exploded. He needed to get Shannon and Max on public relations as quickly as possible. Another mental note to add to the hundreds already fighting for space in his weary brain.
But he still didn't know how a bomb had gotten into his laundry room.
Or who had put it there.
Or how Sophie had managed to find it.
He stared down at her, sleeping like a beautiful angel, her raven hair strewn across her pillow, her lips together in a sleeping pout that he found sexy as hell.
She looked so innocent.
Was she? Or was she as guilty as she'd looked when he'd discovered her downstairs?
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Confusion filled him. That, and fear that maybe he didn't want to know the answers she held inside.
She'd tried to stop it, he reminded himself. No matter what, she'd tried to stop it.
Hell, she'd done more than try. She'd done it. She'd known which wire to pull, and she sure as hell was no bomb expert.
Or was she? For all he knew, she was a bomb expert. Or maybe the whole thing had been faked. Maybe the only reason she'd tried to stop it was because he'd caught her in the act of setting the bomb.
Christ, what the fuck did he really know about her?
Not nearly enough. Shit. Not nearly enough.
"Talk to me, Sophie," he whispered, collapsing into a chair next to the bed. "I need some answers. I need the truth."
He needed sleep. And a clear head.
"Logan?"
Sophie's sleepy voice registered and he opened his eyes, wincing at the crick in his neck.
How long had he been asleep?