BABY

ROOM 3 (PT.2)

Words arranged carefully enough to slip past defenses I had spent years building. I told myself it was temporary irritation, nothing more. A passing reaction to fatigue and disappointment. Then why had I walked out instead of answering?

And why, standing there, was I considering something more dangerous than anger? Could I love her? The thought arrived offensive and immediate. Love was unstable. Love made men negotiable. Love asked for compromise, forgiveness, softness, all the weak tools people used when control failed them. Yet Connie had already done what force rarely could. She occupied my mind.

I thought of her mouth when she argued. The sharpness in her eyes. The way she fought everything, even kindness. The way she could turn cruel, clever, funny, desirable, all within the same breath.

I thought of her carrying my child. Of her choosing to stay. Of her saying my name without hatred. Something tightened low in my chest. Not tenderness. Something worse. Want. I straightened my cuffs, smoothed the front of my shirt, and forced the hallway back into order with my eyes. Connie would be arriving soon. That thought steadied everything.

I walked back toward Room Seven slower than usual. The hallway lights cast their soft yellow pools across the carpet, each step measured, each breath returning to discipline. By the time I reached her door, my face had arranged itself again. Whatever had stirred outside Room Three would remain there. Inside, the white silk waited across the bed exactly where I had placed it. The note sat centered atop it. Baby in neat black ink.

I looked at the room and tried to imagine her first reaction. Suspicion first. Then anger. Then curiosity. Connie did not know how vulnerable curiosity made her. I adjusted the straps of the nightgown one final time and smoothed a wrinkle from the comforter with the flat of my hand. Ridiculous that I cared. More ridiculous that I knew she would notice if I hadn’t. Then I heard it. Gravel shifting outside. A car door closing. I smiled before I could stop myself. Right on time.

I took one last look at the room, then slipped the lip gloss into my pocket and turned off the lamp. Moonlight replaced warmth at once. Better. People saw truth more clearly in dim rooms. I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me just as the front entrance opened downstairs. Cold air moved through the house, followed by the sound of heels in one hand and hurried footsteps on old wood. Connie. I could picture her already, damp hair from the rain, mouth set in irritation, pretending she had come for something as small as cosmetics. I descended the stairs without haste.

When I reached the foyer, she was standing just inside the doorway, purse on her shoulder, eyes scanning the room as if she might catch the place doing something wrong. Beautiful. Suspicious. Mine to persuade. I stopped at the foot of the stairs and let the silence notice us first. Then I smiled. “Come back for something, Connie?”

She turned toward my voice, rain still shining on the ends of her hair, one heel dangling from two fingers like a weapon she hadn’t decided to use. “For lip gloss,” she said. “Try not to make this dramatic.” Her eyes moved over me once, quick and assessing, then past me toward the staircase. Looking. Always looking. I appreciated that about her.

“I would never dream of it,” I said.

“That’s a lie.”

“Yes.”

The answer pleased her more than honesty should have. I saw it in the corner of her mouth before she hid it. She stepped farther inside, bringing cold night air and expensive perfume with her. The door eased shut behind her on its own. “You have it?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Then hand it over.” I slipped the tube from my pocket but did not move closer. Instead, I held it loosely between two fingers. “You drove all this way,” I said. “It would be rude not to offer coffee first.”

I watched her eyes drop to the lip gloss in my hand, then rise back to mine. “No coffee.” She held out her palm. “Give it to me.” I stepped closer instead. Not enough to touch. Enough to make the air choose sides. “You stole from someone tonight,” I said quietly. Her expression did not change, but her pulse jumped once in her throat. Interesting.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Italian shoes,” I continued, glancing toward the laundry bag near her feet. “Size eleven, expensive taste, poor balance after whiskey.” That landed. She snatched the bag behind her leg too late to matter. “How the hell would you know that?”

“I know many things.”

“No,” she snapped, taking one sharp step toward me. “You pry. You snoop. You creep through women’s rooms and act like it’s charm.” There she was. Fire always suited her better than caution. I smiled and lowered my voice. “And yet you came back here in the middle of the night.” Before she could answer, a muffled thud sounded faintly from upstairs. Connie’s head turned instantly toward the ceiling. Mine did not.

“What was that?”

Her voice cut sharp through the foyer.

I slipped the lip gloss back into my pocket.

“Old house.”

“That was not an old house.”

Another sound followed, softer this time. A dull, contained thud from somewhere above, then nothing.

Connie’s eyes narrowed as she looked toward the staircase.

“You have someone up there.”

“I have rooms up there,” I said evenly.

“Don’t play with me.”

She moved for the stairs.

Fast.

I caught her wrist before she reached the first step.

The contact landed heavier than it should have. Warm skin. Quick pulse. Immediate resistance.

She yanked once.

“Let go.”

“No.”

Her gaze snapped to mine, anger bright and sharp.

“You don’t get to tell me no.”

“I just did.”

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then the house settled again into silence.

Too quiet to argue with.

She stared at me like she was deciding whether to swing or smile.

Then she went still.

Not calm.

Calculating.

“Give me my lip gloss,” she said again, quieter this time.

I held her gaze for a beat longer, then released her wrist.

She didn’t step back.

Didn’t look away.

Good.

I took the tube from my pocket and set it on the small table by the stairs instead of placing it in her hand.

A choice.

She noticed.

Of course she did.

Connie stepped past me, slow now, controlled, every movement deliberate. She picked it up, turned it once between her fingers like she was checking for fingerprints, then slipped it into her purse.

“Thank you,” she said, the words polished and empty.

“You’re welcome.”

Silence stretched between us again, tighter this time.

She didn’t leave.

I hadn’t expected her to.

“You really expect me to believe that sound was nothing?” she asked, glancing once more toward the ceiling.

“I expect you to believe what you can prove.”

Her mouth curved slightly at that.

“That’s dangerous advice.”

“For most people,” I said.

“For most people,” I said.

She let the silence stretch instead of filling it, studying me in that quiet, deliberate way of hers like she was rearranging pieces in her head and deciding where I fit. Her fingers tightened slightly on the strap of her purse, then relaxed again, like she’d caught herself reacting and corrected it.

“Good thing I’m not most people,” she said, calm but edged, like she was reminding me and herself at the same time.

She turned as if she meant to leave, angling toward the door, but she didn’t move with any real urgency. It felt rehearsed. A step taken just to see if I would stop her. When I didn’t, she slowed even more, her hand brushing the banister as she shifted direction, eyes lifting toward the staircase again. Not quick this time. Not curious.

Intentional.

When she looked back at me, there was something sharper in her expression, something that said she’d already made a decision and was just waiting to see how I’d respond to it.

“You mind if I look around?” she asked, voice light but not careless.

“Yes.”

No hesitation. No softening.

Just truth.

That stopped her for a fraction of a second. Not enough to break her stride completely, but enough to register. Her lips parted like she might argue, then closed again, her eyes narrowing slightly as she recalculated.

“You’re not even trying to make that sound normal,” she said, a quiet laugh slipping through, but there was no humor in it. “That’s usually where people at least pretend.”

“Pretending wastes time.”

“So does lying,” she shot back, taking a step closer again, closing the distance she’d just created. “And you seem pretty comfortable doing that.”

“And you don’t?” I asked, watching the way her expression shifted, just slightly.

That hit where I wanted it to.

Her gaze sharpened, something defensive flickering there before she smoothed it out again, but she didn’t step back this time. If anything, she leaned into it.

“And you do what exactly?” she asked. “Fix people? Rearrange them until they make sense to you?”

“Only the ones worth the effort.”

That landed differently.

She felt it. I saw it in the brief pause, the way her eyes searched mine like she was trying to decide whether that was a compliment or a warning.

Probably both.

She looked past me again, slower now, more deliberate, her attention lingering on the staircase like it was pulling at her.

Then back to me.

And then she smiled.

Not warm. Not polite.

Sharp.

Decided.

“Good to know,” she said quietly, already moving.

And this time—

she went for the stairs anyway.

I moved before she reached the second step.

Not fast enough to startle her. Just enough to remind her I was paying attention.

“Upstairs is closed,” I said, coming alongside her, close enough that she could feel the shift in the air between us again.

She didn’t stop immediately.

Her hand tightened on the banister, eyes flicking toward the hallway above like she was memorizing it in pieces. Then she slowed, just slightly, just enough to acknowledge me without giving in completely.

“Closed?” she repeated, glancing at me over her shoulder. “What is this, a museum?”

“It’s not available to guests.”

“I’m not asking to rent it,” she said, turning more fully now, one brow lifting. “I just want to look.”

“And I said no.”

That word again.

She didn’t like it. I could see that clearly now. It didn’t make her retreat. It made her lean in harder.

She turned to face me fully on the step above, giving herself just enough height to shift the balance, eyes locked on mine.

“You’re really making this weird,” she said, quieter now, more controlled. “If there’s nothing up there, then what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” I said evenly, “is that you assume curiosity gives you permission.”

“And you assume saying no makes you right.”

We held there for a second, tension stretched tight between us, neither of us stepping back.

Then she smiled again.

Smaller this time.

Smarter.

“Okay,” she said, like she was conceding.

But she didn’t move down the stairs.

She stepped up instead.

Her foot lifted for the next step—

and the front door opened.

The sound cut through the house and pulled both of us toward it. Two officers stepped inside, rain still clinging to their jackets, bringing cold air with them. Their presence shifted the space immediately, not loud, not aggressive, just firm in a way that didn’t need explanation.

“Evening,” the older one said, looking between us. “Sorry to interrupt. We’re checking in with nearby properties.”

I stepped down from the stairs, placing myself naturally between them and the rest of the house.

“Of course,” I said. “What seems to be the issue?”

“There was a report over at the Lakeside Grand,” the younger officer added. “Guest claims items were taken. High-value. We’re asking around to see if anyone’s noticed anything unusual. Late check-ins, guests coming or going, anything out of place.”

I didn’t answer immediately. Not because I needed time, but because answering too quickly often sounded rehearsed.

“It’s been quiet here,” I said. “No issues.”

The older officer nodded, then shifted his attention toward Connie.

“And you are?”

She didn’t rush her answer. She turned slightly, enough to face them without fully leaving her position on the stairs.

“I was staying here earlier,” she said. “I came back because I forgot something.”

Her hand rested lightly on her purse, not gripping it, not hiding it, just there like it belonged.

“Anything you’d like to report?” the younger officer asked.

She gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t invite more questions.

“No,” she said. “Everything’s been fine.”

The older officer studied her for a moment longer than necessary, then gave a short nod.

“Alright. If anything comes up, you can contact the station. We’re just doing a sweep of the area.”

“Of course,” I said.

They stepped back toward the door, bringing the cold air with them again as they left.

The house settled once more, quiet returning like it had been waiting just outside.

I didn’t look at her right away.

When I finally did, she was already watching me.

Neither of us spoke for a second after the door closed.

The quiet felt different now, heavier, like something had been added to it instead of taken away.

She was the first to move.

Slowly, deliberately, she stepped down from the stair she’d been standing on, her eyes still on me, not bothering to hide the shift in her thinking.