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the arguing couple to the hotel had been a pain in the ass. It was strange...as she circled the block in her nondescript rental car, looking like a lost tourist, she felt as though she was the one being followed. She should have figured out tall, dark, and Lothario would hoof it to the nearest hotel. Luckily, she'd arrived at the check-in counter in time to hear the clerk say their room numbers, so she'd been able to request a room on the same floor.
    Separate rooms.
    So the handsome guy didn't want the beautiful girl.
    Why?
    Exhaustion poured through her and she flopped onto the bed. Kicking off her shoes, she thought of the sweet young thing a few doors down. Poor Marissa. She'd gone out into the world to finally claim it—and would soon find the ultimate disappointment.
    She didn't bother to undress. She curled under the covers and bunched up the too-soft pillow under her head. Tomorrow. She'd do her job, her duty...and move on. It's what she always did. Would always do.
     Her eyes drifted shut and the dark world in which she lived fell away. Memories of light, laughter, family, invaded her dreams. Her lips curved into a contented smile.
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    H E SLIPPED OUT from the stairwell, turned, and made sure the heavy metal closed with a quiet click. Fifth floor. She's here. Somewhere.
    He scanned the empty hallway. Which room was she in? He strained to hear anything that might tell him where she'd gone. Not a single sound penetrated. It'd be stupid to press his ear against every door just on the off chance he'd recognize her voice...her laughter...her soft moans.
    Long legs wrapped around another man's waist.
    His fists clenched.
    Taut, coral nipples caught by another man's mouth.
    His breath quickened.
    The spasms of her pleasure felt by another man's cock.
    No!
    He reached into his jacket pocket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes and his gold engraved lighter. With a trembling hand, he put the cigarette between his lips then flicked open the lighter and brought the tiny flame to light the cancer stick. That's what she called 'em. Cancer sticks. He traced the initials on the lighter and smiled. She'd given it to him. Didn't want him to smoke, but gave him a goddamned lighter as a present. He blew out a stream of smoke and felt a little better, a little more in control. He held up the lighter and thumbed the wheel. The flame grew higher and higher.
    She was fucking that guy from the bar.
    And she had to be punished.
    He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window near the exit door. Such lovely, sheer curtains. The flame licked the fabric like a hungry child with an ice cream cone. He watched parts of the burning curtains fall to the floor; the fire loved the carpet, too. It danced a fickle path down the hall.
    "Burn in hell," he whispered. Then he flicked his cigarette into the swelling fire and left the way he'd come in.
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    T HE BEDSIDE CLOCK blinked 1 a.m. when Dane awoke to a blare of noise. He'd been in bed a mere fifteen minutes. He groaned as the alarm's high-pitched whine threatened to deafen him. Dane reached over to the nightstand and smacked the buttons on the "complimentary" alarm clock.
    The damned thing continued to screech.
    "What the—"
    "Fire! Fire!" Someone pounded on the door. "Fire! Everybody out!" The pounding stopped and the shouts faded.
    Marissa! Dane jumped out of bed and sprinted to the door. It wasn't hot to the touch, but when Dane opened it, he heard the crackle of flames and smelled the choking fumes of smoke. Hot air wafted across his chest. He looked down.
    "Shit!" He ran to his clothes, tugged on his boxers, and grabbed the wallet on the nightstand. He rushed into the bathroom, wet two hand towels, and slung them over his shoulder. Then he opened the door, got on the floor, and belly-crawled across the hall to Marissa's room.
    "Marissa!" He banged the door with his fist. "Marissa! Are you in there?"
    "Dane!" Marissa's voice wasn't coming from inside the room.
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    D ane searched the grayish haze