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I vaguely remembered this guy was significant, for some reason. Oh, wait. I was supposed to be kissing his ass. I was so completely not in the right head space for that.
“No,” I whispered. “Thanks, I’m fine.” I dug around in my pocket for a tissue. It was coming back to me now. Studio exec. Time crunch. Plane, leaving for L.A.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We were supposed to have a meeting, right?”
“Yes, but it’s all right. I can see you’re not well,” the guy said.
My spine stiffened with embarrassment. “No, I’m fine. You’ve got a plane to catch, right? Let’s just go to the bar and have a cup of coffee.”
But Sills led her past the bar and into the restaurant. He walked briskly past the few free booths and sat down in the strangest spot—a table, not a booth, and way in the back. It was out of sight to all but a few of the booths, but annoyingly close to the kitchen door, which continually swung open as tray-laden waitresses bumped and bashed their way through with their hips and elbows to carry out breakfast orders.
The waitress brought us a carafe of coffee. Maitland Sills poured and pushed the cup across the table. “You look tired,” he said.
I took a deep, grateful gulp of coffee. “It’s been quite a night,” I said.
I knew in just a couple of seconds that something was wrong. A numb, crawling feeling spread from the tips of my toes and fingers, creeping swiftly inward toward my core. I heard my heart beating loud and fast in my ears. I couldn’t move. I fought to breathe as my vision dimmed. What the hell? Was this a panic attack?
Then I looked into the eyes of the MGM studio exec, and my insides contracted. A flash of understanding that came too late. Those dark eyes, fixed and cold and avid. Snake-like. That mouth, so fleshy and wet. He licked his lips.
My eyes fluttered, and in those brief eyelid flickers, I saw like tiny film clips the monstrous thing he was beneath his human mask. Something twisted and foul.
His breath smelled like death.
He leaned forward, his low voice like a snake’s hiss. “Do you wonder what your mother’s last words were when she was gasping on the floor, Nancy?” he crooned. “Do you want me to tell you?”
I tried to open my mouth, scream for help. Nothing worked.
A waitress burst through the kitchen door and bustled right past us without looking at us. I couldn’t speak or raise my hand to get her attention. The open door to the kitchen let in a swell of noise. The volume diminished again as it swung shut.
He reached across the table, seized the pendant Lucia had given me. The burn of the chain around my throat kept me conscious. Snap. It broke. He pocketed it.
He got up, came around the table, and reached for me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Let us by!” John bawled. “Move over! She’s going to be sick!”
He shoved his way through the snarl of employees in the restaurant kitchen. Nancy stumbled alongside him, nearly unconscious. He’d plastered her own hand over her mouth to muffle any sounds she might make, clamping his own hand on top of it. Her hair dangled down to hide her face. He dragged her past a waitress carrying a loaded tray, jostling her hard enough to make her stumble.
Plates of eggs Benedict flew, splattered. Shouts of protest and yammering scolding screams. He hustled on, bellowing, “She’s going to be sick!” whenever anyone tried to interact with him, and burst out the kitchen entrance. He loped past the dumpsters toward the corner and the hotel parking lot.
He dragged her into the shrubbery, doubled over, and let her drop to the ground, right next to a big fiberglass instrument case that he’d planted there at four a.m. the previous morning. It was a case for an upright bass. Big enough to carry a slender, curled-up woman.
He made barfing, choking noises, for the benefit of any employees who might have poked their heads out of the kitchen. Probably unnecessary after the mess he’d made. They’d be too busy cleaning up and replacing orders to pay attention to him.
He snapped open the case in feverish haste and followed his choreography. Rip off goatee and wig. Shove them into the case. Shake out his shaggy dark hair. Strip off the jacket. Replace it with a fringed yellow leather coat and aviator sunglasses.
He scooped up the D’Onofrio woman, dumped her slight, limp weight into the wide part of the case, folded and tucked her limbs until she fit. Curled up like a chick in an egg. Soft and helpless. Prey.
He did up the clasps, peeked out of the bushes, and yanked the rolling case onto the asphalt. Walking oh so nonchalantly toward his car. He glanced at his watch. From restaurant table to parking lot, barely over three minutes. Pretty good. He forced himself to stop grinning. It wouldn’t do to get sloppy, self-satisfied, or overexcited.
Time enough for excitement later. When it was time to indulge.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Liam
A big-name showcase was about to begin, and I’d gotten stuck in the crowd on my way out. I shoved my way through the crush, having finally extricated myself from Mandrake’s clutches. Something inside me was pulled tight, and it kept getting steadily worse. When that part of me finally snapped, I did not know what was going to happen. I just knew that I didn’t want it to happen in public.