"Who are you?" Sofia demanded, hands scrabbling for the blanket as the man beside her shifted. He was warm and heavy and asleep, his back toward her. She dug fingers into the sheet and found nothing but skin and the faint scent of cologne. She whispered, louder now, "Who are you?" The man rolled onto his side. His jaw tightened. He still didn't answer. Sofia lunged, snagged a robe from a chair, wrapped it around herself, and scrambled off the bed. A knock hammered the door so hard the frame vibrated. "Room service—" a voice began, then the knock rapped again, faster. Sofia moved before thinking. She grabbed the hotel phone, thumbed the front desk number with shaking fingers. Clothes rustled behind her; the man muttered something and sat up. Startled, he covered himself with one arm and glared. "Who are you?" he asked back, voice low, not angry but dangerous. "Answer me first," Sofia said. "What day is it?" He blinked, straightened, and for a second his face was blank like someone trying to place a dream. "What—" He stopped. The knocking turned into a barrage. "Get that door—now!" The man hissed out. A shout from the hallway broke the thin barrier of the door. "Open up! We have the right—" Flashes burst through the little crack above the floor. Camera shutters clicked like machine guns. The man lunged to the door, wrapped a towel around his hips, and slammed his shoulder into the lock. "Get out