She’s behind a bolted door. In a hotel.

But he couldn’t sit still.

How early is too early to call?

He decided to wait another twenty minutes until nine a.m. He felt like a teenager wondering when to call the pretty girl he’d met the night before. But this was different. He needed to hear her voice to know she was still safe. He didn’t want to wake her if she’d had the same trouble sleeping that he’d had. So instead he looked at the clock every ten minutes and made himself wait.

His phone vibrated on his desk and he jumped in his seat. He grabbed it and answered, not recognizing the local number. Did something happen to Gianna?

“Is this Chris Jacobs?” a female voice asked.

“Yes. Violet?” The voice was young.

“No, are you asking about Violet Trask?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Cynthia James, with Channel Six News. I wanted to ask you some questions about the fire near your cabin in the Cascades a few days ago.”

“No comment.” The air pressure in the room abruptly increased.

“You were seen leaving the medical examiner’s office, where they have an unidentified body from that fire. Is this related to your captivity several years ago? Or is it related to Gianna Trask?”

Chris hung up, instant sweat beading his forehead.

He hated reporters. Hated.

Call Michael. Have him handle it.

He didn’t want to run to his big brother, even though this was Michael’s area of expertise. He blew out a lungful of air and focused on breathing evenly as his brain picked apart the quick phone call.

The reporter had his phone number.

She was aware of Violet and Gianna.

She knew about the fire, John Doe, and Chris’s background.

He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, fighting back the headache that had started tapping on the inside of his skull.

What are the positives?

His son would be out of town for a few more days.

No one was knocking on his door. Yet.

He breathed hard, mentally getting his feet back under him. The reporter had neatly cut him off at the knees with a few questions; he’d been caught unprepared.

She’s fishing for information.

He’d revealed that he knew Violet, so no doubt the reporter would assume he knew Gianna, too. In the news world, it was enough to keep someone digging.

He dialed Gianna, no longer concerned with the time.

Her groggy voice answered. “Have you heard from any news reporters today?” he asked, without identifying himself.

“No. Why?” she asked in a sharper voice.

“I just heard from one. She knows about the fire, you, your daughter, and that I’m involved somehow. I think she was fishing for more information, and my hanging up on her might have made her more curious.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

Violet’s voice sounded in the background. “What? Did you open the door?” Gianna asked, speaking away from the phone.

“What’s going on?” Chris asked. He shoved his wallet in his pocket and grabbed his keys, the phone pressed against his ear.

“Violet says there’re some reporters at our door. She didn’t open it, but they held up their ID to the peephole when she asked.”

“Call the front desk. Have security remove them. Now.”

Gianna relayed his order to Violet. “I can’t believe they had the balls to knock on my door,” she said to Chris. “How did they find us?”

Owen’s face flashed in Chris’s mind. “The only people who know you’re in that hotel are Owen and your uncle.”

“My uncle wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“And Owen?”

Gianna didn’t answer. Chris let the silence linger. “Is there bad blood between you two? Would he try to strike out at you for something? You’d be amazed how fragile the male ego is.”

“We ended on a good note.”

Chris wondered if Owen would agree with that statement.

“We both agreed we were on different paths that really weren’t going to coincide anytime soon. He’s been friends with my uncle Saul for a long time, and he encouraged us to date, but Owen’s mind-set is still like a college guy’s. He wanted to have fun and be seen together, not look down the road five years.”

“You were looking down the road?” Chris asked carefully. He was in foreign territory. He rarely posed personal questions. He seldom got to know anyone well enough to do so and was uncomfortable when people asked them of him.

“I have a teen daughter,” Gianna stated. “It’s not just about me. Owen understood.”

Chris wondered how true that was, but he couldn’t see how Owen could benefit by giving Gianna’s personal information to reporters. Except through spite.

“I can hear voices in the hall,” Gianna said. “Security is asking them to leave.”

“Good. But we need to find you another hotel or place to stay. And this time I don’t think your uncle should know where you’re staying.”

“I disabled the tracking on our phones,” Gianna said dryly. “I wasn’t happy about that stunt. I know he meant well, but it was too overbearing for my comfort. I’ll figure out another hotel.”

Gianna hung up and turned around to find Violet listening carefully. “The reporters are gone?”

“Yes,” said Violet. “Was that Chris?” The teen was dressed in pink plaid fleece pajama pants and a matching long-sleeved top. Her hair was pulled to the back of her neck in a messy bun. She would have had a just-woke-up look if not for the sharp curiosity in her eyes.