Chapter Eight

Russell

If it took her about twelve hours to find me, it only meant one thing, she came by the road.

Cheryl Moore. What the hell does she want? Is she a spy?

Grabbing my laptop, I headed out of my hotel room. It was a good thing I booked an entire suite. I looked her up on the internet, and several people popped on my screen with no one exactly standing out. They were just random. No important position, no influential person, just some bunch of Cheryls, although one of them caught my attention. There was something quite familiar about her, which I couldn't place my finger on.

The sound of the intercom stole my attention and I closed my laptop, heading for the door. Sliding the door open, I crossed my arms above the broad expanse of my chest, narrowing my gaze at Tom, who muttered a few words of apology before stepping out of the way.

Tearing my gaze away from him, my eyes locked with the object of my frustration, and my heart stirred a little as a pair of determined caramel-colored