A light tap on the door kept her from joining James in dreamland. She sighed and snuggled into his chest, hoping the person moved on, but the knock came again.
“Don’t open it,” James muttered when she slipped out of his hold. “Reporters and …” His last thought melted into sleep.
“I’ll send them away,” She answered as if to reassure him. Finley threw on one of the thick hotel robes and patted down her bedhead.
“Who is it?” she asked softly, creeping to the door.
“Senora Gonzalez,” a woman answered. “I must speak with my son.”
“You have the wrong room,” Finley replied, feeling slightly relieved. “There’s no Gonzalez here.”
“James Holden,” the stranger corrected, her voice strong and clear. “I must see my son!”
Finley did not answer.
“You will pay for what you have done, Finley Tilden” the woman continued, sounding as if she stood on the same side of the door as Finley.
Finley groped for the light-switch, eyes wide with fear.
“What is it?’ James asked, sitting up in bed as light flooded the room. “What’s going on, Fin?”
Finley remained silent. She pressed her eye to the peephole and could just make out the top of a gray-haired person. For some reason, the old woman at the nail shop popped into her head.
“What!” James barked, feet hitting the floor.
She turned to answer him and let out a scream. A familiar silver-haired woman stood at the foot of the bed