While Kiyo had fallen asleep quickly, Niamh had gone downstairs to chat with the desk clerk about the bus routes out of Kalmar. She’d checked for Niamh and there was a night bus to Zadar, Croatia. One of its first major stops was near Copenhagen Airport. Niamh could get a flight from Copenhagen to Paris.
Using mind trickery to make the clerk forget they’d had the conversation, Niamh had returned to her room to shower and change into the fresh clothes Bran had provided. She conjured a bag from the nearest store and put her new clothes into it.
The bus terminal was quiet at midnight. There were only a few passengers, like her, waiting for the bus to Zadar. Every second she had to stand, ticket clutched in hand, waiting for the bus, was torturous. Any minute now, she expected Kiyo to appear and foil her plans.
Are you really going to hunt this woman and kill her?
Why was Kiyo now the voice of her conscience?
It was no business of his.
And Meghan O’Connor deserved it.
Ronan’s face, frozen in death, flashed before her eyes and her heart raced harder with determination.* * *By the time Niamh made it to Copenhagen Airport, it was just past four in the morning. She’d been a nervy, jangled mess on the bus, expecting someone—Kiyo or an enemy—to pop out of nowhere and stop her. But she’d made it. The next part of the waiting game was her flight to Paris. It didn’t leave until six-thirty in the morning.
Kiyo would wake soon, and although she knew it would be impossible for him to reach her in time, she still couldn’t wait to be more than four hours away from him.
No one could stop her.
Her mind was made up.
If she’d been provided with a vision of Meghan, it meant something. She was supposed to give Ronan justice. Maybe then, she’d find some peace at last.* * *The sound of a sharp beeping seeped through Kiyo’s consciousness and his lids fluttered reluctantly open.
It was the alarm on the hotel’s bedside table.
Groaning, he reached out and hit the top of it to shut the damn thing up. The time glared at him in neon red.
It was five in the morning.
They were supposed to meet this Stephen guy at Kalmar Airport in an hour.
Pushing up from the bed, Kiyo buried his head in his hands. He’d fallen asleep at seven thirty, which meant he’d slept for almost nine hours. No wonder he felt like crap. Kiyo was used to six hours a night. Anything longer made him feel drugged.
Damn it.
Rolling out of the bed, he decided to give Niamh a few minutes longer by taking a shower first. He hurried through his ablutions and tied his wet hair into a top knot.
Feeling more awake and refreshed, he set out to cross the hall and wake up his pain-in-the-ass charge. Anticipation thrummed beneath his skin.
To his dismay, he realized he was almost looking forward to the day ahead.
Nothing ever went to plan around Niamh. She definitely wasn’t boring.
Perhaps if he’d been more himself, he would’ve realized he hadn’t picked up on her scent when he stepped out into the hall. But he was so lost in his thoughts, it wasn’t until she didn’t answer his repeated knocks that he realized something was wrong.
Uneasiness settled over him. He grasped the doorknob and twisted until it broke, the electronic lock rendered useless. The door swung open and Kiyo marched inside Niamh’s room.
He took in the unmade bed and the fact that her scent barely lingered.
There was a stronger hint of it coming from the bathroom. He strode toward it, thrusting the door back against the wall. His nose lifted into the air and he followed her scent to a comb lying by the sink. It was one of the hotel’s free amenities. The cardboard packaging laid beside it.
Kiyo clutched the comb with Niamh’s tangled hair caught in its teeth. He almost broke it he gripped it so hard. She’d used the shower. The complimentary shampoo bottle was half-empty. There were soap suds on the bottom of it. A wet towel on the floor.
Hurrying back into the bathroom, his anger built as he swept the space for any trace of her. Nothing.
The new clothes Bran had provided were gone.
She’d left on her own.
Damn her!
Racing back into his room, he quickly gathered his shit into the duffle bag, throwing the comb in, too, and got out of there. To his annoyance, the woman on reception last night had been replaced by a guy. He questioned him anyway.
No, he hadn’t spoken to a young woman with long brown hair this morning.
Eyes searching the lobby, his gaze wandered high near the ceiling, and satisfaction slammed through him when he spotted the security camera. The guy at the front desk watched him suspiciously, so Kiyo pretended to make his way back to his room. Instead, as soon as he was out of sight, he searched for the hotel office. The security tapes were likely in there.