Page 17 of Take Me Under

I made my way around to the other side of the bed and began to collect Serena’s personal belongings. Instinct warned me to use caution, and I was careful not to touch anything other than the items we’d be taking with us.

As I gathered her clothing, I noticed a leather-bound journal with a worn cover and frayed edges lying on a discarded T-shirt. Picking it up, I flipped through some of its pages. They were filled with cursive writing, hand drawn maps, and symbols I didn’t recognize.

“What is it?” Zeke asked from behind me. I turned to see him looking at me expectantly.

“I’m not sure. Looks like a journal of some sort.”

“We should call the police,” he advised.

“I don’t know if…” My words died on my tongue when I noticed thin lines of white powder dusting the dresser. I was no stranger to drugs, and would recognize the remnants of those precise lines anywhere.

Cocaine.

My stomach tightened. Seeing it felt surreal, like an unimportant detail in an old crime movie. I hesitated as painful memories threatened to resurface. The room suddenly felt colder.

I took a step closer, the outside edges of what was left of the mirror catching my reflection. In it, I saw a younger version of myself. My jaw hardened and I looked away, refusing to let the ghosts from my past in. I needed to focus on the current situation.

Did the coke belong to Serena?

The question circled in my mind, but she just didn’t seem the type. Or perhaps a random junkie had gotten in. It might explain the trashed room, but I couldn’t be sure. A hundred possibilities raced through my head, but none of the answers made sense. My eyes shifted back to the slashed mattress, and then to the spray-painted door. A chill raced down my spine. I wasn’t easily rattled, but instinct warned me that something bigger was in play.

“Let’s hold off on calling the police,” I told Zeke.

“Why?”

I considered how little I knew about the woman fast asleep at my penthouse. If she was in danger, she’d be safe at my place—but only if nobody knew she was there. My building had security, but it was minimal at best. Zeke recently contracted a firm to bring the systems up to date, but they hadn’t begun the work yet.

“Something isn’t sitting right with me. I need to find out more about Serena, and you and I both know that cops will only complicate matters. I don’t want them sniffing around anything related to me, even if I don’t have a direct connection to what happened here. Call it gut instinct, but let’s try to figure this outon our own first. For now, we’ll just collect her personal things and get out of here. Be careful not to touch anything else.”

“Are you sure that’s the right move, boss?” Zeke asked. His voice was heavy with doubt, but he was already pulling a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket.

I watched as he began wiping down the door area to remove any fingerprints we might have left, fighting off momentary indecision about the risks. The last thing I needed was to be connected to a scene like this. While I doubted the motel had much in terms of security, Zeke would need to check for CCTV cameras to eliminate any evidence of our being here. Street cams were another matter entirely, but Zeke had connections. I needed to trust my instincts.

“No, I’m not sure this is the right move. But something is telling me to play it this way for now. When we get back, I want you to get in touch with your contacts and find out everything there is to know about Serena Martinelli.”

An hour later,I stepped off the elevator and entered the main foyer of my quiet penthouse. Zeke was two floors down in his apartment, already collecting as much information as he could find on the woman sleeping in my bed. He had a wide network of contacts and resources at his disposal, and I knew he would bring back any relevant information he found.

I rolled her suitcases into the living room, and then reached into my jacket pocket to pull out the leather-bound journal. I had planned on retreating to my office to study it but decided to check on her first.

My bedroom was still and hushed when I entered, with only Serena’s gentle breaths breaking the silence. The storm clouds had cleared, making room for the moon to shine through the large windows. Moving to her, I reached down and placed mypalm over her forehead. She still felt warm, but not as fiery hot as she’d been earlier.

I watched the rise and fall of her chest while she slept. Taking the cloth from the basin on the nightstand, I gently wiped her brow. She didn’t even stir. I continued to stare down at her, unable to tear my gaze away from the way the moonlight accentuated the soft lines of her face. Dark lashes lined her closed lids, concealing the blue eyes that reminded me of a raging ocean.

She shifted to her side, tucking her hands between her face and the pillow. A lazy curl fell across her cheek, obstructing my view. I pushed it back behind her ear so I could continue admiring her flawless skin.

Even in sickness, she was beautiful. In fact, she may have been the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. I didn’t know how this bewitching Italian princess could possibly connect to the violent destruction that Zeke and I had found at the Midtown.

“Who are you, Serena Martinelli?” I whispered.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Serena

Sheets of rain slice through the night sky, the heavy droplets furiously battering against the windows. The raw power of Mother Nature is on full display tonight, her fierce winds strong enough to wrench a shutter from its latch. It thumps loudly against the stucco walls of my parents’ home as the storm rages on.

Bang! Bang!

The shutter’s relentless pounding echoes through the room as it slams into the side of the house again and again. I consider rising to secure it, but I don’t want to release my father’s hand. I rake my gaze over his still form, unable to fathom how he deteriorated so quickly. His once vital, sturdy, and strong body had become so weak in just a few short months.

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