Page 83 of Dead Girl Running

Max watched Kellen stride out of the office.

This was not going at all like he expected.

30

Kellen arrived in the guest lounge in time to see the Shivering Sherlocks off to their last evening with Carson Lennex in his suite. Tonight, they assured her, they would discover who was guilty of…whatever silly mystery murder had occurred.

Kellen scolded herself. Guests had the right to come to Yearning Sands Resort and enact whatever frivolous drama they wished. These women deserved their vacation. They never expected to arrive when real murders and real terrors abounded. But Kellen did know she didn’t have the patience, not tonight, to serve appetizers and drinks, and so she commissioned Sheri Jean. Then Kellen toured the rest of the resort: the kitchens, the spa, the housekeeping services. She did not visit the maintenance building. She knew she should show herself, but she feared her friends. She feared what she would have to do if one of them was guilty.

Instead, she went to her cottage, walked in, shut the door behind her and took a moment to breathe. In. And out. In. And out.

Xander would be proud.

She needed a moment alone in a place of her own, no guests, no staff, no noise. Just a meal eaten in peace without the constant yammer and the faces and the fear and the drama. She owed that to herself. She wandered through the kitchen, looking in cupboards. She had everything to put together Niçoise salad. That sounded good and easy, and—

Who did this Max think he was? Suggesting she flake out in the middle of multiple murders and a smuggling investigation?

She put water on to boil, assembled olive oil, vinegar, garlic and Dijon mustard for the dressing.

She was not that person. That was not her. Not since… Not since she woke up…

Cecilia woke in a panic of terror.

She didn’t know where she was.

She didn’t remember how she got here.

But someone wanted to kill her.

She didn’t dare open her eyes for fear that whatever had trapped her was watching, waiting for a hint of life to pounce and slash and destroy.

Blindly, she tried to take survey of her surroundings.

The air around her was cool, fresh. So…she was inside a building. Her fingers twitched, feeling…a sheet below and a sheet above. She rested on a bed, her head slightly elevated on a firm mattress. Everything smelled clean. Music played, soothing music, meditation music.

Other than that…silence. No voices.

Her toes twitched.

She wanted to sit up, to get up, to run away. But she forced herself to remain still, quiescent, until that moment when she knew either she was alone…or she wasn’t.

No way to tell except… She opened her eyes the thinnest slit. Without moving her head, she looked left. She looked right. Pale green walls. A window that looked out to a leafy tree and, beyond that, a gloomy gray sky. That ridiculous plinky-plunky music continued to play, music to soothe a restless mind. She opened her eyes all the way. She was alone in a hospital room. The door was open into a corridor. On one side of the bed, she saw a metal end table; against the wall, a tall metal cabinet, a chair with an open book facedown on the seat, and on a tray hooked to the chair’s arm was an open cup of applesauce.

On the other side of the bed, she saw a shiny chrome IV stand that fed her fluids…and God knew what else.

Drugs. Someone was keeping her drugged. Gregory…

She froze. No. She remembered Kellen, Gregory, the murder, the explosion. She remembered Kellen’s apartment. She remembered fleeing New York… But she remembered nothing else. She didn’t know how she got into this room. Now she was trapped here, tied to an IV tube.

In an adrenaline-fueled fury, she tore away the tape that held the needle and pulled it out of her arm. Blood ran. Pain made her gasp. She used the corner of the sheet like a cotton pad, wrapping it over her wound. She closed her elbow to put pressure on the wound.

Her elbow moved rustily. Her neck was stiff. She felt weak. Every muscle ached, as if she hadn’t moved in days.

God. What had they been doing to her?

And who were they?

Two monitors were attached to her chest with adhesive. She peeled them off with fingernails that were long and—too weird—manicured and painted with a clear lacquer.