Tears stung the backs of my eyes. “None of that matters,” I cried. “It only makes things worse!”
“How?” he pleaded. “Please, explain to me what’s going on inside that beautiful, complicated head of yours. Help me understand!”
Brandon’s phone chimed, and at the same time, an alarm blared from his laptop. He froze, spine rigid, and what I saw in his stare rattled me.
The annoying bleeping was an urgent tone I hadn’t heard before.
“Shit,” he said and rushed to his computer.
I followed him. “What does that alarm mean?”
“Nothing good.” He clicked on a live video feed from the hotel lobby and then moved to one in the elevator. A lone figure stood within. The tall, broad-shouldered man had his chin angled low, the hood of his black jacket concealing his face.
“Fuck.” Brandon slammed the screen shut and dragged both hands through his hair. “We have a problem.”
My stomach hollowed out. “Who is that? Do we need to get out of here?”
“Running won’t save us.” He pulled a pistol from the back of his jeans, chambered a round, and flicked the safety off. “Shep’s here.”