Three years ago the news said he burned to death in a car explosion, but tonight he was staring at me in room 4227.

The vehicle was an unmarked, dark grey sedan parked two blocks away in a subterranean parking garage beneath a defunct meatpacking facility.

Nicholas drove with silent, effortless grace, his right hand resting on the steering wheel while his left hand held his encrypted mobile device against his knee.

Clare sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket Nicholas had pulled from the trunk. The car smelled of clean leather, gun oil, and rain.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice raspy and thin.

"Somewhere Marcus can't track key cards," Nicholas replied, without taking his eyes off the rain-slicked windshield. "A place off the grid."

"Are you going to kill me?"

Nicholas glanced sideways at her for a fraction of a second. "If I wanted to kill you, Clare, I would have left you in that alley with Frankie."

"You killed them," she whispered, her hands tightening around the wool blanket. "Just like that."

"They were Marcus's enforcers," Nicholas said, his voice flat. "They have put seven people in the river this year alone. You were about to be number eight."

"Why did you follow me?"

Nicholas took a long breath, turning the sedan onto a quiet, dimly lit residential street in Bucktown, lined with old brick two-flats and towering oak trees.

"Because I watched you leave the hotel," he said quietly. "You didn't run to the police. You didn't tell your manager. You kept your mouth shut and tried to go home. That made you my responsibility."

"I don't want to be your responsibility," Clare said fiercely, turning her head to look at his sharp profile. "I'm a maid! I came to Chicago to work, save money, and live a normal life!"

Nicholas pulled the car into a narrow driveway behind an old, dark brown brick carriage house. He turned off the engine, dropping the alley into complete silence.

He turned his body toward her, leaning his elbow on the steering wheel.

"The moment your key card opened suite 4227, Clare," Nicholas said softly, his dark eyes locking onto hers, "your normal life ended. Marcus Duca controls the police department, the hotel union, and every camera along Michigan Avenue. The only reason you are breathing right now is because I am sitting in this car with you."