Page 73 of Naughty Dreams
Heading off that far-too-appealing option, Roy moved DJ forward, wishing he could feed the lot of them into a woodchipper. How would they feel if they’d just lost their family? Apparently, the going rate of a press badge was the wearer’s soul.
Close to the door, he saw Rae, one of the reporters who’d been scheduled to be at the Atlanta Mission event. She had tears on her face. Real ones. “I’m so sorry, DJ,” she said.
DJ’s eyes landed on her. Though he likely hadn’t heard her through all the other noise, her sincerity penetrated. The shudder that went through DJ was a pulling back, reining in the explosion wanting to happen. He even managed to give her a nod before they reached the door and left it all behind.
She’d remembered what a human being was supposed to be in a situation like this. It was probably why she was only one of three reporters Moss and DJ had approved for the charity exclusive.
Guy flanked DJ with the doormen, and they escorted Roy and DJ to the freight elevator. While there were curious, sympathetic looks toward DJ and whispers from the few guests in the lobby, they kept their distance. Two more sober-faced hotel security monitored the passenger elevators, confirming any boarders would be approved staff or guests.
The doors closed and the elevator began to rise, trundling along in that way most freight elevators did. Quilted gray blankets hung on the walls protected the metal sides from dents and scrapes of cleaning carts and furniture transfers.
DJ turned, pressing his forehead against a quilted blanket. “It’s not real,” he whispered. “I don’t want it to be real.”
“I know.”
The doors opened. As Roy guided him out, DJ was still muttering. “I’m going to bed. It’s not real. I’ll wake up, and they’ll call.”
“Okay.”
Jim was at the door, his expression sorrowful and tight. “Room’s clear, sir,” he said.
Once inside, DJ moved to the center of the room. A sudden rock hardness to his shoulders had Roy doing another visual sweep, but everything was fine. Or not, if he was looking at it through DJ’s eyes.
Only a day ago, Steve had propped his shoes on the coffee table and Lonnie had fussed at him. Pete had flung grapes at him, the two of them shooting the shit over whatever they’d been watching on the TV. When she moved, the lemon shampoo scent in Lonnie’s hair had given off a pleasant fragrance.
“Roy?” DJ’s voice was rough.
“Yeah.” Roy drew closer.
“I want to go home.” He looked at Roy with expressionless eyes. “I don’t want be here.”
“You got it. I’ll get Moss on the phone and?—”
DJ pivoted and headed for the hotel room door.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t want to be here.” DJ said it impatiently, as if he thought Roy hadn’t heard him the first time. “I’m going home.”
“We need to arrange transportation to get you there.”
“How long does it take to rent a car? I’m carrying two thousand cash. We can pay someone to borrow their Civic.”
DJ had his hand on the latch, but Roy got there before he could turn it. He held the door closed with one flat palm while he put the other on DJ’s chest. He earned a searing look and a smack at his hand, pushing it away. Roy allowed it, but used the shift to put himself in front of the door.
“I’m not the guy you want to start a fight with.”
DJ’s phone started ringing. He yanked it out. Roy expected him to throw it across the room, but instead, DJ glanced at the screen.Blocked caller.Just like after the food truck shooter.
An alarmingly monstrous look crossed DJ’s face, and he connected the call, putting it on speaker.
“You don’t need them, DJ.” The altered voice was intent and horrifyingly earnest. “I told you before, they can’t be there for you the way I can. Taking them away is the only way I can prove that to you.”
Holy shit.
The stalker could be bluffing, taking credit for a random tragedy. But Roy’s instincts had told him differently, hadn’t they?
“You goddamn son of a bitch,” DJ rasped.
