Something just didn’t add up.
Something made no sense at all.
All the evidence pointed to Jake Harlowe telling the truth about today’s visit to the gallery—that he’d come up empty-handed.
If he had, that meant he wasn’t hiding any of Isla’s diamonds from Steph.
She also knew he hadn’t pilfered Isla’s stone last night. He had an alibi—Steph herself.
That also meant someone else took her stone.
That was bad.
She dragged a hand through her hair, then shrugged. Fuck it. Time to come clean with the hot, sexy man in her bed. But as she dropped one knee to the bed and crawled over to him, she sat up straight.
A loud rapping echoed in the room.
Someone was knocking on the door.
Several times. Over and over.
“This is the hotel manager.”
Shit.
In seconds, Jake had untied his blindfold.
“I’d better answer that,” she said, and Jake scrambled to pull on his shorts while she headed to the door.
She opened it to find a tall, red-haired man with a mustache. He was dressed in gray slacks, a white shirt, a tie, and a suit jacket. A brass name tag on the jacket revealed his name: ALFREDO.
He bowed his head slightly. “Hello, Ms. Anderson,” he said in a friendly but apologetic voice. “So sorry to disturb you this afternoon, but I wanted to check and make sure you had received the paperwork for your meeting.”
She knit her eyebrows together. A small kernel of worry took hold inside her. “I’m sorry, but what meeting are you referring to?”
“The meeting you had this morning, I believe?”
Jake walked over to the door, joined her in the entryway, and draped an arm across her waist. The gesture felt strangely comforting, and she both wanted it and was sure she didn’t deserve it. Not after doubting him the way she had.
“I didn’t have a meeting today,” she said to the hotel manager, tilting her head to the side. “And I didn’t receive any paperwork.”
“Oh dear,” the manager said, scratching his chin.
“Which means I have no clue what you’re talking about. Care to enlighten me?”
The manager pressed his hands together, steepling his fingers as if in prayer. “Yesterday evening, around six o’clock p.m., a man came to the front desk and said you had a meeting with him today. He informed us he needed to drop off some paperwork in advance. He asked if he could bring it to your room, but of course we said no.”
The hair on her neck stood on end.
Jake flinched. “Good. No one needs to be in her room,” he said, his tone thoroughly protective.
“Absolutely. We do not give out our guests’ information. That’s why my clerk took the envelope and brought it to your room himself. He marked in the delivery log that he left it here yesterday evening, around six fifteen. He left it on the desk in the room, and I came by to make sure you had received it.” He paused and gestured to the desk, bereft of envelopes. “But it seems you don’t have it.”
Steph gulped and shook her head, nerves swimming wildly through her now. “No. I don’t have it. But maybe I missed it,” she said. She scanned the desk and the bureau, but there were no envelopes or papers. She returned her gaze to the manager. “There’s nothing here.”
The carrot-topped man nodded and sighed. “Let me check with the clerk to double confirm it was delivered.”
“Wait,” Steph said. “Who was the man dropping off the papers? What was his name?”
“Mr. Smith, I believe,” the manager said, then swiveled around and marched down the hallway. Steph watched him go, her heart beating out a staccato rhythm of fear and worry. Could the clerk have stolen her diamond when he delivered the papers to her room? But if he had, why would the paperwork have disappeared, too? Someone, it seemed, had tried to trick the hotel into giving up her room number by faking a meeting with her and using a fake name.
Because Mr. Smith was as phony a name as there ever was.
Who the hell was Mr. Smith?
She shut the door and turned to Jake, her world spinning like a mad teacup ride in an amusement park.
She swayed, and the floor felt wobbly. “I think someone pretended he had a meeting with me, followed the clerk as he delivered the paperwork for the fake meeting, then broke into my room later in the night,” she said in a tiny whisper.
His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened. “Why? When?” He pointed in the direction of the hotel manager. “Because of what the manager just said?”
“Yes,” she said, and her voice croaked.
He tilted his head, looked at her like he was studying her. “So this ‘Mr. Smith’ claimed a meeting as a ruse to get in your room?” he asked, sketching air quotes around the name.
Her stomach plummeted with nerves. “Look around. There are no papers in here, and I have no clue what’s going on. But someone must have broken in—”
“Wait. Is that why you were patting me down earlier?” He crossed his arms. “You dragged me from the gallery, and you treated me like you didn’t trust me. Did you think I took something from your room?”
“I was worried it was you,” she spat out, the words tumbling free before she could even think twice about what she was saying. Before she could even analyze the risk in admitting that she didn’t trust a damn soul right now. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, a tear slipped down her face. She wiped her hand across her cheek. “I freaked out, because I trusted you. I let you into my room and my body, and this morning after I showered, the diamond was gone. Completely gone.”