Killer Takes All

CHAPTER 52

Saturday, March 19, 2005

7:15 a.m.

Stacy awakened early. She moaned, stretched and realized in a galvanizing jolt where she was. And what she had done.

Shit. Shit. Damn. Damn.

What was wrong with her?

She cracked open her eyes. Spencer lay next to her-sleeping. He’d half kicked off the blanket and she saw that he was naked. Gloriously, fabulously naked.

She squeezed her eyes shut. He hadn’t been exaggerating about his bedroom abilities. The man was so hot, he could melt butter on his backside.

What had he thought about her?

No. She didn’t care what he thought. Last night had been a big, stupid mistake. Another to add to her fast-growing list of screwups.

Once upon a time, she had been so smart. So capable.

She could barely remember what that had been like.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she slid toward the edge of the bed. She figured she could slide off it, gather up her stuff and get out before he woke up.

That’d give her time to prepare her “let’s forget this ever happened” speech.

She eased toward the edge. The angle at which she lay facilitated a head-and-hands-first escape. Her hands found the floor; her torso eased over the side.

As she prepared to make her final descent, his hand clamped around her ankle, trapping her.

Shit. Shit. Damn. Damn.

He was awake. And here she was, hanging half off the bed. Naked. Backside up.

“Could you let me go, please?” she managed to say.

“Do I have to?” She heard the amusement in his voice and grimaced. “The view’s spectacular.”

“Thanks. But yes, you do.”

“Pretty please?”

She groaned and he let her go. She slid off the bed, landing in an inelegant heap.

He leaned over the side of the bed and smirked at her. “Moving mighty quietly this morning, Killian. Tired? Too sore to stand?”

Her face heated. “I was just heading…going to-”

“The bathroom.”

“Home.”

“Sneaking out without so much as a goodbye? Or a thanks for the good time? Tacky, Killian. Extremely.”

She yanked the sheet free, wrapped it around her and stood. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

He propped himself up on an elbow. “This is difficult?”

“You know what I mean. Awkward. Embarrassing.”

“Oh, sure.” He threw back the bit of blanket still covering him and climbed out of bed. And stood buck naked in front of her. “I know just what you mean. Totally embarrassing.”

The man deserved to die, she decided. Unfortunately, she’d left her Glock back at the Noble place.

She went for the next best thing, a bed pillow. She flung it at him as he made his way to the bathroom. She missed and it hit the bathroom door casing, then dropped to the floor.

His laughter ringing in her ears, she snatched up her panties and tugged them on, careful to hold on to the sheet. She found her bra, made certain the bathroom door was still shut, then dropped the sheet. From there, she went for her trousers.

She retrieved them from where they hung half on and half off the dresser, her cheeks heating as she remembered shimmying out of them, then flinging them over her shoulder.

Her cell phone, clipped to the waistband of her pants, buzzed. She’d set it to mute, she remembered. Unclipping it, Stacy saw that she had a new text message waiting.

The game’s exciting, isn’t it? It will be more so for you.

Soon, Stacy. Very soon.

She reread the message, blood humming in her ears. From the White Rabbit, she acknowledged. A warning.

She was next.

Stacy glanced at her watch. It read 7:20 a.m. The game’s clock was still ticking. In slightly more than seven hours Alice had to make her move. Against the Cheshire Cat.

Who had sent the message? Leo? Danson?

Or neither?

The bathroom door opened; Spencer stepped out. He’d wrapped a bath towel around his waist. It did little to cover him, but she appreciated the effort.

“Nice getup,” he said, referring to her panties and bra.

“We have contact.”

“Excuse me?”

“A text message on my phone. Take a look.”

He crossed to stand behind her, then read the message over her shoulder. When he’d finished, he shifted his gaze to hers. “Want to give him a call back?”

“I’d love to.”

She punched in the number. It rang once, then clicked over to voice mail. She angled the phone so Spencer could hear it as well.

“Hi. You’ve reached Kay Noble of Wonderland Creations. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

Stacy ended the call. “Not a good turn of events.”

“No shit.” He strode across to the bed, snatched up his own cell phone and punched in a number. “Rise and shine, Pasta Man. We’ve got mail.”

While he spoke to his partner, Stacy scooped up the rest of her clothing and headed to the bathroom to finish dressing. When she returned to the bedroom, Spencer was fully dressed and strapping on his shoulder holster.

She remembered when she’d had a shoulder holster. Remembered the weight of it, the way it had hugged her side. The way wearing it had made her feel.

“Tony’s working on getting the location that call came from. At the least, the cell company will be able to triangulate a position. At best, with GPS technology, they’ll pinpoint the exact location. I’m predicting the latter. I seriously doubt Kay Noble was carrying anything but the most up-to-the-moment cell technology.”

“You think she’s dead, don’t you?”

He stilled, looked at her. “I hope to hell she’s not.”

But it didn’t look good. Not for Kay Noble.

And not for her.

Six hours, forty-five minutes. And counting.

“I need a favor,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow in question.

“I want to talk to Bobby.”

“That’s going to be tough, he’s in the Old Parish Prison. I doubt he’d put you on his visitor list.”

“You could get me in.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you owe me?”

“After last night, I would have thought it the other way around.”

He had a point, she thought, a smile tugging at her mouth. She held her ground, anyway. “If I hadn’t injured young Mr. Gautreaux, you wouldn’t have had the blood to link him to me, then to the three coeds.”

Spencer folded his arms across his chest. “True.”

“Look, I just want to talk to him. I want to hear it from his own lips. That he didn’t kill Cassie and Beth.”

He paused, then sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. But you have until two o’clock this afternoon to do your thing.”

“Then what? I turn into a pumpkin?”

“I put about a dozen men trailing you. If this guy makes a move on you, we’ll be there.”