Part of her wanted to take the bat with her when she left the room. It was a crutch, something that helped her feel safer. She reached for it before shaking her head. No. Turner was gone. The night was over.
Time to face the day.
As Maria climbed out of the bed, she glanced down at her wrinkled nightclothes. She patted her hair, wincing when she felt the snarls and tangles. Her head felt heavy, her eyes itchy. She avoided the gilded mirror hanging in the Rose Room because she refused to see what that bastard had reduced her to.
She almost headed straight for her room, intending to jump into the shower and rinse his touch off of her. Too much of last night was coming back to her in a rush, her skin crawling as she remembered the feel of his body as he tried to climb on top of her.
Anger was stronger than revulsion. Her hand itched for her bat, not because she wanted to protect herself, but because she still wanted to bash his head in.
There was one emotion stronger than anger, though. Concern. Not about herself. She was fine. She proved it when she chased Turner out of her Ophelia.
But Lucas?
He took care of her last night. Now it was her turn to make sure he was okay.
Pulling on the hem of her rumpled nightshirt, she shrugged. The shower could wait. Besides, everyone she cared about had already seen her like this, including two strangers. What was the point in getting changed? She’d rather hunt down her brother.
The Rose Room was on the second floor so she decided to check to see if Lucas was in his bedroom. She skirted around the door that led to the Blue Room—she knew Turner was gone, but still—and headed towards Lucas’s room. The door was closed. She knocked on it twice, opening it when she didn’t get a response.
No surprise. He wasn’t in there.
The bed was unrumpled, the sheets tucked in perfectly, the blanket spread across the king-size bed. Lucas never made his bed. Ever since he was a kid, he left it a mess. The only time it looked like this was once a week when Maria stripped the bed, washed the linens and made it herself.
Lucas hadn’t slept in there.
Maria blinked, suddenly unsure. Had he left her?
No. He wouldn’t do that. Not her brother.
Dragging her feet, Maria headed down to the first floor. Lucas wasn’t in his room. There was one more place she could check before she started to worry that he was missing.
And there he was.
Lucas was sitting at the kitchen table, his usual seat. There was a sheet of lined paper in front of him. A stack was set to his side. She could see from the doorway that scribbled writing covered the surface of most pages. The pen in his hand was flying as he wrote something down.
“Lucas?”
“Maria.” He set his pen down before standing up. “How did you sleep?”
She yawned, the lingering grogginess making it seem like she was wading through hip-deep water as she trudged her way into the kitchen. She hated taking pills. They always left her feeling off.
“Okay, I guess. How about you?”
“I got some rest,” he said.
Remembering his bed upstairs, she wasn’t so sure about that. She looked at him, really looked at him, and realized that he hadn’t sleep. There was no way. The shadows returned under his eyes. So did the stubble on his cheeks.
“You look busy.” He looked like hell.
“I have been.” A determined jut of his chin managed to hide the echoing yawn that he swallowed back. He gestured with one broad palm at the papers that covered her tabletop. “I needed to make arrangements in case that outsider returned.”
“He won’t.”
“Mmm.”
Maria frowned. He couldn’t.
Even as she sat huddled against her front door, it never occurred to her that Turner might come back. Both Deputy Collins and Caitlin cleared all of Ophelia. A quick peek in the Blue Room revealed that Turner might have been running scared, but he wasn’t running stupid. He hadn’t left anything behind, no matter when he might’ve cleaned the room out of his belongings.