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Chapter Thirty-Two

“ L et 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.