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The carpenter’s house was the next step, but patience was key to not getting caught or killed. Hard though that was to justify to a demanding boss.
They were always home, and the carpenter never left her alone. No doubt the dirty pig was fucking her for most of the day. John didn’t blame the guy. God knows, he was looking forward to his turn. He thought about that a lot as he sat in the woods, staring through binoculars at the carpenter’s house.
His search of the D’Onofrio daughters’ living spaces had turned up nothing useful. The time had come to make another attempt upon the D’Onofrio daughters themselves. At first, he’d leaned toward the younger ones, who were more careless and distracted, but his instincts prodded him in the direction of the oldest daughter. If one of them knew something, she would probably know the most. Besides, having her snatched from his jaws had sharpened his appetite for her to a knife’s edge. He was constantly imagining it. Her, beneath him, begging and struggling and writhing.
Knightly couldn’t afford to hover over her forever. Eventually, he would falter. And John would be ready.
His phone chirped, and he cursed. He’d hacked Nancy’s phone so that he could monitor her voicemail, and the app alerted him any time a new message was left for her. He now knew far too much about the personal and professional problems of the musicians she represented. They had bored him to the point of wondering if he should obliterate the whole entitled, whining pack of them, just to make them shut up. But that was just his frustration talking. He had to stay under the radar. He selected the most recent message and played it back.
“Hey, Nancy,” a woman said. “This is Andrea. I’ve been calling your cell, but it’s not on, which seems odd. Anyhow, I hope you’re checking messages. I’m just calling to tell you that I’m really sorry, but you’re going to have to find some other cat-sitter for Moxie. I decided to take a personal-leave day and drive up to Boston Thursday night so I can see Freedy’s showcase. I know I promised you kitty coverage, but Freedy and I get so little time together as it is, you know? Hope you don’t have problems finding another solution. See you at the conference. Bye!”
Boston? Conference? John went back to Nancy’s cluttered desk and shuffled with his plastic-gloved hands through the paperwork scattered over it, looking for something that had flickered at the edge of his attention. Ah, yes. There it was.
A conference program for The FolkWorld Conference. Thursday through Sunday. The Amory Lodge Hotel in Boston. It would be crowded, but she would be distracted, and open to meeting new people, schmoozing, networking. Interesting.
Nancy D’Onofrio was about to have the networking experience of a lifetime.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nancy
I leaned over the counter in the Amory Lodge lobby. “Are there any messages for me?”
The desk clerk rolled her eyes. “Not in the past fifteen minutes.”
Damn. Liam had told me he would arrive around eight. It was a quarter to nine, and Peter and Enid’s showcase was scheduled for nine-thirty.
I looked up to find Enid bearing down on me in full performance regalia: a velvet miniskirt, cleavage bulging out of her black leather vest, her hair a mass of luxurious blow-dried curls. “Peter forgot to pack my new mic!” she wailed. “I just spent a thousand bucks on that thing!”
“You bought a thousand-dollar mic before paying me back for the registration fees?” I said wryly. “Seriously?”
“I couldn’t sing ‘The Far Shore’ with that piece of crap! It sounds like I’m singing in a public bathroom!”
I sighed. “This hotel is crawling with musicians who have good mics. Think of someone who owes you a favor.” My eyes flicked to Enid’s cleavage. “Shouldn’t be that hard,” I muttered, and then felt immediately ashamed of myself.
“Hey,” came Liam’s deep voice from behind me.
I whirled around. There he was, large as life, in a crisp white shirt, jeans, and a long, elegant black coat. Incredibly handsome.
Enid simpered. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Nance?”
I suppressed an impulse to smack that sugary smile right off her face. “Enid, this is Liam Knightly, a friend of mine. Liam, Enid Morrow, one of my clients.”
“Delighted,” Enid cooed, holding out her hand.
He shook it politely. “You must be Peter’s wife.”
Enid smiled brilliantly. “Nancy must have told you all about us!”
“Of course.” He turned back to me. “Sorry I’m late. I hit traffic.” He gave me a hard, possessive kiss right in Enid’s face.
An uncontrollable grin spread over my face. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
My whole body was smiling. Every cell, every atom, every photon of me was happy to see him. He was the handsomest man in the room. By a factor of ten.
“You’re just in time to hear our showcase,” Enid announced.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”