Ethan held the intruder facedown, one knee pressed between his shoulder blades and one hand gripping his wrist.
—Don't move.
The man tried to turn his head.
—I only wanted to talk to her.
—Then you chose a pretty stupid way to do it.
Ethan pulled both of the detainee's arms behind his back and handcuffed him. Then he checked that the cuffs were secure before easing the pressure slightly.
The intruder struggled again.
Ethan pulled on the chain between the cuffs and forced him to remain against the floor.
—I warned you once. There won't be a third time.
That was enough to make him stop resisting.
Without getting off his back, Ethan searched him with one hand. He checked his waist, pockets, and ankles until he was certain the man was not carrying a weapon.
Inside his jacket, he found a folded letter.
He only needed to read a few lines to recognize the tone. The sentences were obsessive, disjointed, and very similar to the threats they had received.
He placed the letter on the floor, beyond the detainee's reach.
—Megan, get Taylor out of here.
Megan was still standing motionless beside the bed, her face pale.
—Is he armed?
—No. But I don't want either of you staying in this room.
Taylor continued staring at the handcuffed man. Only minutes earlier, he had been hiding a few yards away from her.
Ethan raised his voice slightly.
—Taylor.
She snapped out of it and looked at him.
—Go with Megan. Now.
This time, she did not argue.
Megan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the door. Before leaving, she looked back.
—You're staying alone with him?
—Close the door and don't let anyone in until I authorize it.
Megan nodded and led Taylor out of the room.
When the door closed, Ethan focused on the detainee again.
The man handcuffed on the floor was Caucasian, with messy blond hair and a thin build. His eyes darted erratically from side to side, and he was breathing heavily.
Even at a glance, he appeared mentally unstable. Given his condition and the letter he had been carrying, it was not difficult to imagine him sending the threats.
—She knows me —the intruder muttered—. She knows who I am.
Ethan kept one hand on the cuffs.
—Save it for the interrogation.
—I didn't want to hurt her.
—That's why you snuck into her room.
The man did not respond.
For the next several minutes, Ethan remained beside him, watching both his movements and the door. He made no attempt to interrogate him or obtain a confession. He only needed to keep him restrained until the others arrived.
The detainee tried to push himself up once.
Ethan immediately forced him back onto the floor.
—Stay down.
—My ribs hurt.
—Then stop moving.
Time passed slowly.
Megan's and Taylor's muffled voices drifted in from the other room. Megan was trying to calm her while speaking to Chloe on the phone and giving them directions to the suite.
Ethan checked his watch.
Almost ten minutes had passed when he heard several urgent knocks on the front door.
—Chicago Police!
Megan stepped away from Taylor, who was still trying to recover from the shock, and checked the peephole first. Then she opened the door.
Chloe rushed inside.
—Where's Taylor?
—In the living room. She's all right.
Chloe went directly to her.
Hank and Olinsky appeared behind her. Both had their badges displayed and one hand near their weapons.
—Where do you have him? —Hank asked.
Megan pointed down the hall.
—In the bedroom. Ethan's still with him.
Hank and Olinsky moved toward the door. When they entered, they found Ethan sitting beside the detainee, one hand gripping the chain between the cuffs.
—Finally —Ethan said.
He briefly greeted his colleagues with his free hand and then stood.
Olinsky looked at the intruder lying on the floor.
—Did he give you any trouble?
—He just has a hard time understanding simple instructions.
Hank crouched down, checked the cuffs, and then examined the letter Ethan had set aside.
—Was this on him?
—In the inside pocket of his jacket.
Hank read the first few lines, and his expression hardened.
—All right. We'll take it from here.
Olinsky took hold of the detainee's arm and helped him to his feet.
The man turned his head toward the living room.
—I need to talk to Taylor.
Ethan immediately stepped into his line of sight.
—That's not going to happen.
Hank and Olinsky led him down the hallway while Ethan remained in front of the doorway, preventing him from seeing Taylor again.
He handed the letter to Hank.
—I found this in his jacket. Take him away.
Hank examined the clippings, and his expression hardened. Then he glanced at Olinsky.
He did not need to say anything.
Olinsky stepped forward, grabbed the suspect by one arm, and forced him to his feet.
—Easy —the man complained, drenched in sweat—. That bastard broke my ribs. I need to go to the hospital.
Olinsky continued calmly chewing his Twizzler.
—Is that right?
He looked at Ethan and then turned back to the detainee.
—Then you'd better not try to escape. You might hurt yourself.
—Where?
—Here.
The man pointed to his side.
Olinsky gave the area a few pats.
The suspect gasped.
—There!
—Here?
Olinsky pressed it a couple of times with his fingers.
The man nearly doubled over.
Olinsky examined him with feigned uncertainty.
—You look perfectly fine to me.
—Fuck you.
The response came immediately.
The smile vanished from Olinsky's face. He grabbed the man's arm, twisted it behind his back, and began leading him toward the exit.
—Mind your manners.
Before crossing the doorway, the suspect turned his head and fixed his eyes on Taylor. There was something sick and feral in his gaze, an obsession that made her shudder and wrap her arms tightly around herself.
Olinsky yanked him forward.
—Keep moving.
Hank watched them leave and exhaled.
—Well...
He shrugged. He had not expected the case to end so abruptly, but the man had been caught inside the dressing room with a letter identical to the previous threats.
—Looks like our work here is done. I'm leaving too.
He turned toward the door.
—Wait.
Ethan brushed off the dust and several colored fibers that had clung to his suit during the struggle. Then he called out to Hank before he could leave and walked over to Taylor.
—Miss Swift.
She looked up, still shaken by what had happened.
—As you can see, we caught the suspect.
Taylor immediately understood where he was going with this.
—No.
Ethan blinked.
—Now that we've caught the person responsible, I assume my job is finished —Ethan said—. We can cancel the rest of the contract.
—No.
Ethan looked at her in surprise.
—No?
—You promised three days —Taylor replied, quickly shaking her head—. Barely one has passed.
—The contract was for me to protect you from that man, and now he's in handcuffs. There's no point in my continuing to follow you everywhere.
Taylor pressed her lips together. She understood that appealing to the contract would not be enough to convince him, so she remained silent for several seconds before remembering something.
—I have an acoustic guitar.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
—I'm happy for you.
—No, you don't understand. Sir Paul gave it to me.
Ethan's expression changed slightly.
Taylor paused deliberately before adding:
—And he autographed it.
Ethan's eyes lit up at once.
—He signed it?
—Personally.
—Are you trying to bribe a detective?
—I prefer to call it an incentive for you to fulfill the three days you promised.
Ethan narrowed his eyes as though he were considering a negotiation of enormous importance.
—And you'll just give it to me?
—Only if you stay and honor our agreement.
Ethan immediately straightened and adjusted his jacket.
—All right —he said, this time in a more serious tone—. I'll stay until the three days are over.
Taylor looked up at him.
—Thank you.
—But I want that guitar.
—Yes, we understand what truly matters to you —she replied, recovering some of her usual sarcasm.
—Bastard —Chloe muttered under her breath.
Even so, she felt enormously relieved that he had finally stopped insisting on leaving. The contract they had signed did not contain any clause capable of forcing him to stay, and Chloe had already realized that money would not be enough to pressure him either.
Hank patted him on the shoulder.
—I've never seen you back down from anyone before.
—It's a guitar signed by Paul McCartney —Ethan replied seriously—. There was no decision to make.
Taylor rolled her eyes, but some of the tension disappeared from her face.
Only then did Ethan look at her more closely. Her hands rested on her thighs, her fists clenched to hide the trembling of her fingers.
What had just happened had terrified her.
This time, it had not been a letter, a photograph, or a threat she could put out of sight. That man had been hiding inside her room, only a few yards away, waiting for her to be alone.
When he emerged from behind the clothing racks, Taylor felt as though her heart had stopped. She did not want to imagine what might have happened if Ethan had not entered, if he had ignored the pounding or arrived a few minutes later.
Chloe was still tense as well. When she received the call, she had nearly suffered a heart attack and driven to Soldier Field with the accelerator pressed to the floor. Fortunately, Taylor was unharmed.
Ethan had once again proved that he really could protect her. The suspect might be in custody, but Chloe knew that the hours following an incident were the most critical. They still had to confirm that he had acted alone and rule out any other threats.
Besides, if Ethan's presence helped Taylor regain her composure, she was willing to use any incentive necessary to keep him close.
Ethan looked again at Taylor's clenched fists. He had understood from the beginning that the guitar was not the real reason she wanted him to stay.
It was merely a way for him to agree without forcing her to admit in front of everyone that she was still afraid.
If he decided to leave, there was probably not much she could do about it.
As for Hank, his orders had changed as well.
Headquarters had already made it clear that, from that moment on, everything had to focus on ensuring that the concert went ahead without incident.
The repeated security incidents involving Taylor had begun to concern people much higher up the chain.
If something serious happened, the consequences would not only involve the media.
They would be political as well. And events had already demonstrated that Ethan's presence could make a significant difference.
Even if Taylor and Chloe had said nothing, Hank would have tried to convince him to stay at least as long as she remained in Chicago.
With the matter apparently settled, Hank stopped wasting time.
He still had to return as soon as possible to interrogate the suspect and clarify everything related to the explosives.
Chloe could not stay much longer either.
Hank remained for a few minutes to make sure Taylor was all right before leaving for the hospital. To avoid alarming the rest of the staff, Megan and Taylor gathered the clothes scattered across the floor while Ethan examined the room.
Taylor did not mention again that he could leave. Every so often, she looked over her shoulder to make sure he was still there.
No matter how famous she was, she was still a woman in her twenties who had just discovered an intruder in her room.
Ethan pretended not to notice and studied a faint trail of footprints leading from the window to the clothing racks. Melted snow, dust, and dirt covered the carpet. The stalker must have been startled by the pounding on the door and quickly hidden in the corner from which he had tried to escape.
Something did not add up.
Ethan crouched and ran a finger through one of the marks. The dirt smeared immediately. The footprints were fresh, deep, and far too obvious.
The man they had detained had left a direct trail from the window, chosen a makeshift entry point, and still had an incriminating letter in his pocket. In contrast, whoever had entered the house the previous night had been much more careful: he had managed to cross a guarded property without leaving a visible trail and had concealed his movements more effectively.
Their methods were completely different.
Ethan approached the window. A deep footprint marked the sill, and although the ground was several yards below, the exterior wall had enough ledges to climb. The snow accumulated on them had been thoroughly trampled.
—What are you looking at? —Taylor asked, approaching with her arms crossed.
—Give me a moment.
Ethan gave her a brief smile, pulled out his phone, and called Hank.
—Where are you?
—At the hospital, outside the operating room —Hank replied—. You were too rough. That guy has at least two broken ribs.
Ethan did not smile.
—Well, I think you're going to like what I have to say even less.
There was a brief pause.
—Go ahead.
—I don't think we caught the man who broke in last night. Or we're looking for more than one person.
—What makes you think that?
—This guy was too careless. He left footprints from the window, came in through an obvious route, and kept one of the letters. The methods don't match.
Hank remained silent for several seconds.
—Do you think they're working together?
—I don't know, but I wouldn't consider the case closed.
Hank exhaled.
—I'll question him as soon as he comes out of surgery.
—Good. Find out where he was during the first break-in too.
The call ended, and Ethan lowered the phone. When he looked up, he discovered that Taylor had heard enough.
She stepped back a couple of paces, her lips trembling slightly.
—What did you mean?
—It's only an assumption. Maybe I'm overthinking it; you don't need to worry yet.
—When you make an assumption like that... what are the chances you're right?
Ethan thought about it for a few seconds and raised one finger.
—Ten percent.
Taylor relaxed and let out a small sigh.
—That's still acceptable.
Ethan looked away. He did not have the heart to admit that he was practically certain. Taylor had already endured enough, and there was no point in frightening her before Hank confirmed anything.
He closed the window firmly and prepared to leave the room.
—No.
Taylor stopped him.
Ethan turned around.
—Stay here.
She said it firmly enough for him to understand that arguing would only drag things out.
Ethan finally resigned himself to it.
He sat on the sofa while Taylor and Megan tried to rest near the bed.