Chapter 14
The door to room 207 at the Wolf Song hotel wasn’t especially remarkable. A little wider than most hotel doors, a good thirty-eight inches to Connor’s practiced eye. Solid, light-colored pine, nice knots and variations.
The hardware and sideways curve of the handle were a darkened oil-rubbed bronze, the gleaming metal a perfect contrast for all the wood in the door and the floor under his feet. The number was the same metal set into the door at his eye level. Two zero seven.
Trish’s room. Impossible to miss or mistake.
And still Connor stood, frozen, nothing moving but his racing mind. No sound but his speeding heartbeat.
Patty Michaelson’s wonderful coffee that he could still taste didn’t account for all of his fast pulse and shaky hands. He shifted his brown overnight bag
