Three Fates

We can’t escape fate, but we can do a great deal to carve our own mark in it, to turn it to our advantage, or disadvantage.”
    “It seems mine’s turned to advantage by scheduling this particular trip at this particular time.”
    She knew the heat was rising to her cheeks again, and lifted her cup in hopes of hiding it. “You haven’t said what business you’re in.”
    “Shipping.” It was close to the truth. “It’s a family business, several generations now. A fateful choice.” He said it casually, but watched her like a hawk watches a rabbit. “When you consider my great-great-grandfather was one of the survivors of the Lusitania. ”
    Her eyes widened as she lowered her cup. “Really? That’s so strange. Mine died on the Lusitania. ”
    “Is that the truth?” His astonishment was exactly the right tone. “That’s a strong coincidence. I wonder if they knew each other, Tia.” He touched a hand to hers, and when she didn’t jolt, let it linger. “I’m becoming a champion believer in fate.”
     
     
    AS HE WALKED with her back to the hotel, Malachi debated how much more to say, and how to say it. In the end he decided to temper his impatience with discretion. If he brought up the statues too soon, she might see through the layers of coincidence to cold calculation.
    “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”
    “Tomorrow?” She could barely get over that she’d ended up having plans tonight. “No, not really.”
    “Why don’t I pick you up about one. We’ll have lunch.” He smiled as he led her into the lobby. “See where it takes us.”
    She’d intended to pack, call home, work a bit on her new book and spend at least an hour doing her relaxation exercises.
    She couldn’t think why.
    “That would be nice.”
    Perfect, he thought. He’d give her a little romance, a little adventure. A drive to the sea. And drop in the first mention of the little silver statues. At the desk he asked for her key and his own.
    Before she could reach for her key, he had it in his hand and with the other pressed lightly to the small of her back, walked with her to the elevator.
    It wasn’t until the doors whisked shut and she was alone with him in the elevator that she tasted the first bubble of panic. What was she doing? What was he doing? He’d only pressed the button for her floor.
    She’d broken every rule in The Businesswoman’s Travel Handbook. Had obviously wasted $14.95 and all the hours she’d spent studying every page. He knew her room number and that she was traveling alone.
    He would force himself into her room, rape and murder her. Or, or with the imprint of the key he could be making even now, he’d sneak in later and rape and murder her.
    And all because she’d paid no attention to Chapter Two.
    She cleared her throat. “Are you on four as well?”
    “Hmm? No. I’m on six. I’ll walk you to your door, Tia, as my mother would expect. I need to find a present for her, some glass, I’m thinking. Maybe you’ll help me choose the right thing.”
    The mention of his mother, as he’d expected, relaxed her again. “You’ll have to tell me what she likes.”
    “She likes anything her children buy her,” he said as the elevator doors opened again.
    “Children?”
    “I’ve a brother and a sister. Gideon and Rebecca. She went biblical on the names, who knows why.” He stopped at her door, slid her key into the lock. After he’d turned the knob, eased it open a crack, he stepped back.
    He heard and nearly chuckled at her quiet sigh of relief. And because he’d heard it, been amused by it, he took her hand. “I have to thank you, and the gods, for a memorable evening.”
    “I had a lovely time.”
    “Until tomorrow, then.” He kept his eyes on hers as he lifted her hand, brushed his lips over the knuckles. The little quiver of response did a great deal for his ego.
    Shy, delicate and sweet. And as far from his type as the moon from the sun. Still, there was no reason a man shouldn’t experiment with a new taste now and again.
    He might just have a sip of her tomorrow.
    “Good night, Tia.”
    “Good night.” A little flustered, she backed into the door, her gaze locked with his until she stepped over the threshold.
    Then she turned. And she screamed.
    He was in the room ahead of her like a bullet. Under other circumstances she’d have noted and admired the speed and grace with which he moved. But at the moment, all she saw was the wreck of her hotel room.
    Her clothes