“Yup.” The man touched the radio, then his gun. “I’ll keep him safe.”

“You do that.”

As Stryker turned to leave, Jonathan ushered Cynthia into the small room.

“Why are you still here?” he asked when he’d shut the door and settled her into a chair. “I’ve been with the detective for a couple of hours. You must be tired.”

Cynthia set the cup of coffee on the table. “I was worried,” she said, repeating what she’d told Stryker. “I saw the ambulance, but when I asked I was told you were fine. Even so, I wanted to see for myself. I’d heard a lot of people were injured in the panic after the lights went out. Thanks for telling me to stay in the alcove. You saved me.”

He waited for her to go on-to state her angle or what she wanted, but she was silent after that. While he believed her concern, mostly because it seemed genuine and he wanted to, he didn’t doubt she had a purpose for being here. “Do you need cab fare back to your place?”

She frowned in confusion. “Of course not. I have my own car and if I didn’t, I wouldn’t make you responsible for getting me back home.” She stared directly at him. “I don’t want anything from you. I meant what I said. I stayed to make sure you were all right.”

She meant it, he thought in amazement. Cynthia didn’t want money or attention or any of the other dozen things women expected when they were with him. She had actually been worried. With no thought of personal gain. Was it possible?

“Who are you?” he asked.

She smiled. “Obviously not Cinderella. It’s after midnight and I’m still here.” She waved a foot. “Shoes and all.” She pushed the cup of coffee toward him. “Here. This is for you. One of the waiters brought it for you and I said I’d bring it in.” She gave a tiny shrug. “It was my excuse to get closer to the room with the hope of seeing for myself that you were fine.”