He spoke with the hint of a German accent. The kind that years of American education had failed to hide. But despite the general horror emanating from his every move, there was something vaguely familiar about him. And the name—Schilling? Hadn’t she heard that name somewhere before?
A little frown clouded across her eyes, and his smile widened. Every line on his face tightened with sudden intensity. Desperate for her to remember. Aching for her to figure it out.
But the answer was dancing just out of reach. Blurred by the surreal horror of finding herself suddenly so alone. Besides, there was another word that had caught her attention.
“Formally?” She tried to take another step back, then remembered that she was already up against the door. “What do you mean...formally meet me?”
Instead of answering, the man, Peter, only smiled. A second later, he stepped back—gesturing to the silver cart behind him. She hadn’t noticed it was there before.
“Would you care for something to drink? I have champagne, wine...?” He stepped back even further to reveal a little feast he’d assembled for the occasion. A sight that filled Lacy with an inexplicable feeling of dread. “Or if you’re hungry, there are oysters, chocolates, caviar, strawberries...whatever you like.”
Caviar and five hundred dollar champagne? What the hell is this?!
Peter’s eyes cooled for a moment, as he followed her gaze. “I know it may seem a bit over the top, but I had to keep up with your new boyfriend. Dylan-the-construction-worker wasn’t much of a threat, but now that I know who he really is?” He laughed shortly. “Well let’s just say that Logan Alexander Chase provides a bit more of a challenge.”
Lacy’s voice fell to a whisper—one she could hardly get out. “How do you even know about him? I only just found out myself—”
“I did my homework, Lacy. As you should have done.” Without another word, he circled around to the back of the cart—pouring two tall glasses of champagne. “After all, you were the one who taught me to always be prepared.”
Another chill shot through her body, as Lacy reached a secret hand behind her. The guy was huge and moved like he knew how to handle himself. If things got physical—she would be no match. But maybe, just maybe, if she could get back to the elevator—
“Champagne?”
She looked up with a gasp to see that he was standing right in front of her. His eyes locked onto hers with a wicked smile, as he held the flute in between them.
“It’s your favorite.”
For whatever reason, those words were the last straw. Instead of cowering against the door—a door she knew he was never going to let her open—she took a step forward, forcing him to take a step back. “My favorite? And how the hell would you know something like that?”
His smile faltered, but never quit. “I told you, Lacy. I do my—”
“—you do your homework. Yeah, you said.” She backed a few more steps away, circling around to the side of the bed. “But you never said how. How do you know my name? How did you get my boyfriend’s email address? And how the hell do you know my favorite champagne?”
It was easier to talk now that there was a little distance between them. Easier to breathe, and think, and get mad when he wasn’t standing right in front of her.
But he was quick to close that gap. And she was out of places to retreat.
“Think, Lacy.” His head tilted to the side as he gazed intently into her eyes. Again, she was struck by that strange feeling of déjà vu. “You already have the answers to those questions.”
Another flicker of fear trembled through her body, but she forced herself to look him in the eyes. Forced herself to remember what she wasn’t remembering. To connect the dots.
And just like that...it clicked.
The man she had run into at the coffee shop...the man who’d taken a picture of her and Logan at the lake...the same man to whom Logan gave his email address—requesting that a copy of the photograph be sent to him as well.
...but why?
Who was he? Why was he so interested? What did he mean about knowing her before?
A host of chills erupted in goosebumps on her arms, as Lacy finally put together the last piece of the puzzle. The man’s last name. Schilling.
“Alexandra Schilling,” she said under her breath. “The woman who hired me last year to expose her husband’s infidelity. That was you.”
Peter lifted his hands with a smile, applauding all by himself. “Well done! And here you’ve ruined so many lives, I was half-convinced you wouldn’t remember little old me!”
Lacy backed up until her legs hit one of the nightstands. The one without the phone.