“You’ll like this. She’s registered as Elise Rattlebottom. I searched the name. She’s the lead character in Mystery’s series of novels.”

Axel remembered reading when she’d signed her first publishing deal four years ago. At least he understood the name she’d given him at the bar now. “Rattlebottom?”

“Yeah. She’s a vegan cat burglar from London who hates her name. She steals precious items from their current keepers and returns them to the rightful owner. You know, rare dogs, paintings stolen from Jews by the Nazis—that kind of stuff. The character is known by the alias Robin Plunder.”

Despite his annoyance, he grinned at that. “Room number?”

Stone rattled it off, then didn’t wait a second before barking a question back at him. “What time tomorrow?”

“Plan on six at Club Dominion. I’ll let you know if there’s a change.”

Axel hung up before the man could comment or protest, then stepped into the elevator.

Time to unravel his Mystery.

Chapter Eight

SHAKING from head to toe, Mystery snatched up her phone to call Heath. She shouldn’t be alone now, not after someone had just sneaked into her room. He would handle hotel security and the police. She would try to calm her father and keep her fears in check.

Because it looked as if her past was coming back to haunt her. Once upon a time, whoever had paid for her abduction had wanted her for something terrible, maybe even deadly. God forbid if they wanted her again, this time to finish what they’d started.

Mystery punched in her security code to unlock the phone, then flipped through her recent calls. She’d just spotted Heath’s number when someone began pounding on her door.

With a shriek, she dropped the phone and lurched back against the wall. “Who is it?”

She cursed her trembling voice, her racing thoughts. Maybe room service had merely arrived. Maybe the hotel management intended to check on her after the incident in the lobby. Or maybe someone lethal had come to finish her off.

“Open the damn door,” a man growled on the other side.

Yeah, after some psycho had forced his way into her room and left her a threatening photo, she wasn’t inclined to comply. “Go away.”

“Like hell. Open up.”

“I’m calling the police,” she shouted.

“Damn it, I need to talk to you, Mystery.”

Something about his voice cut through her panic and sparked her memory. It was familiar, evoked safety. It wasn’t Heath, but . . .

Axel?

With relief flooding through her veins, she darted to the door and peeked through the peephole. Sure enough, there stood the mountain of a man who’d once rescued her. The man she’d seduced earlier. He would understand the threat she’d just received.

With shaking hands, she pressed down on the lever and opened the door. The sight of him in her portal, a huge sentry keeping out all the bad, rushed over her.

It was probably stupid, but she didn’t care. Mystery threw herself into his arms. “Thank God you’re here.”

Axel propelled her back into the room. The door slammed behind them. He reared back, wearing a thunderously furious expression.

“What the fuck kind of games are you playing with me, princess? You disguise yourself to seduce me, tell me a bunch of lies, then the bed is barely cold before you’re gone—”

She wrenched free and ran to the desk, retrieving the picture. “This just happened.”

When she thrust it at him, he grabbed it but didn’t look, just scowled. She trembled. As he studied her, his anger melted into concern. “You’re afraid. Of me?”

“No,” she assured. “Look at the picture, front and back.”

He gritted his teeth at her, then jerked his gaze down to the photo in his hand. After a long stare, he flipped it over. His glower of epic proportions turned to absolute ice.

“Tell me how you got this,” he demanded.

She drew in a shaking breath, the voice in her head screaming that she needed to keep herself together. “I left your house and came back here. Once in my room, I hopped in the shower. When I got out, I found this.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t here before then? That someone didn’t bring it in while you were out of the room?”

“P-positive,” she assured. “My phone was on that desk, so I texted my father before the shower to tell him I was all right and to sleep well. When I came out, I’d planned to send Heath a text—”

“Who is that? The man I saw on TMZ holding your hand in the lobby?”

Mystery recoiled. Anger seethed from him when he asked the question.

She swallowed. “Yeah. He’s my driver and bodyguard. My father hired him shortly after we moved to London. He’s been with me since.”

“Does he have a key to your room?”

“No. We don’t have . . . I mean, he’s not, like, my lover or boyfriend or anything. He has no reason—”

“If I were your bodyguard, I would have a key to your room, regardless of our relationship—which we’re going to discuss eventually. Right now, we need to be clear that whoever left you this picture knows about your abduction. Maybe he was even in on it.”

“Or responsible for it. I’d already thought of that.”

“Have you swept the room?”

“What?” Mystery didn’t understand, not with her heart racing, her fear spiking. “Searched it, you mean?”

Axel nodded. “Did you?”

“No.” Stupidly, she’d assumed that whoever had left her the picture had simply dropped it off and stolen out again, not wanting to be seen. In retrospect, if someone plotted to leave her a death threat, they were likely serious about killing her and might have hung around to do the job.

His head snapped up. He looked around the room. “Sit in that chair.” He pointed to the elegant piece with curved legs, upholstered in white damask, until she followed directions. “Phone in hand. Dial 9-1-1 and keep your finger hovered over the call button. If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, hit it. I’ll be nearby.”

Mystery did as he demanded. Her finger shook as she stabbed at the buttons on her screen and waited. She followed him with her stare, feeling so much safer with him near. Axel alone understood where she’d been held, the harrowing ordeal of her kidnapping and rescue. She hadn’t had to explain why that photograph had terrified her or what it meant. He knew.

Around her, he opened the closet, checked behind the drapes before he pulled each one closed. Then he searched under every stick of furniture, including the bed—anywhere a person might lie in wait.

Finally, he emerged from the bathroom, its mirror still steamy from her shower. “The coast is clear.” He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged her chair closer to him. “Did you ever find out who paid for your abduction and why?”

“No.” She swallowed hard. “When we moved to London, I focused on putting it all behind me. My father swore that was the best course of action. I refused the tell-all book and movie deals. A lot of conspiracy theorists and crackpots wrote my dad and I about why they thought it had happened. I read the first few, but . . . I know I wasn’t abducted by aliens or the mafia or a super-secret sect of the government.”

“Of course not,” he agreed, looking around. “You didn’t know this Heath guy before your move to the UK?”

“No. He’s former MI5. He’s a good guy. His wife died. Um, I think he considers himself an unofficial uncle, if I had to guess. If you’re thinking he would ever hurt me, then no.”

Axel sat back. “I’m going to have you involve Heath in what happens next only because if I don’t, I suspect your father will freak out and hop on the next plane here.”