Mob Mistress. Sheri WhiteFeather

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СКАЧАТЬ are you talking about murdered souls?”

      “Because I think that baby was killed. Otherwise its death would have been registered. There would have been a legal burial.”

      “The Halloways didn’t talk as if it had been murdered. It seemed important to them, too. Like you,” she added softly.

      “Me and a dead baby. How creepy is that?” He shook his head. “This is the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

      “It’s strange for me, too. I keep hoping I’m doing the right thing. Involving you in my life.”

      Was that what she was doing? He couldn’t tell. So far she’d revealed nothing about herself, nothing tangible, nothing he could grasp.

      Moonlight drifted into the room, but it wasn’t bright enough to illuminate her, to give him a clearer image.

      Was she wearing a nightgown? Or a filmy dress? He noticed how flowing her garment looked, how sleek and watery.

      Of course the Mickey medication was still messing with his mind, still distorting his vision.

      But even so, he pictured her in silk. And he suspected that she was a brunette. Her hair seemed as dark as the night that shrouded them.

      He fingered the sheet and felt it slide against his hand. “Are you as beautiful as I imagine you are?”

      Her breath caught. He could hear the quick, sharp sound. “I didn’t come here to feed your imagination, Justin.”

      “You know my name?”

      “I heard them say it.”

      He knew it was crazy, but somewhere in his drugged-out mind, he was attracted to her, to a woman he couldn’t even see. The whispered lilt of her voice sent God-help-me heat up his spine.

      “Why didn’t you call the police after you realized they’d kidnapped me?” he asked. “That’s what most people would have done.”

      “I couldn’t take that chance. If the Halloways found out it was me who made the call…”

      “Dialing nine-one-one would’ve been easier than slipping into my room. You could have got police protection if you’d made the call.”

      “Yes, but I would have been forced to leave the mansion. And I want to stay here. I need to stay.”

      He couldn’t begin to understand her. She talked in riddles. “Why?” he asked. “Tell me why you insist on living here. Give me a reason to help you.”

      She hesitated, and he waited.

      Finally she gave in. Her voice turned sad, shaky, isolated. “Someone in my family went missing. I don’t have any proof, but I believe the Halloways are involved.” Silence fractured the air, then she added, “So will you promise to help me later? Will you promise to be there?”

      He wasn’t about to refuse. If the Halloways had kidnapped him, maybe they’d kidnapped her loved one, too? Then again, she kept saying the mob wasn’t going to hurt him. “I promise. I’ll do what I can.” When he wasn’t sedated, he thought. When he could think clearly.

      “Thank you.” She moved toward him. Within the blink of a blurry eye, she was almost touching him again.

      Almost.

      “I better go,” she whispered. “But I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”

      He kept silent. Next time he would make sure that he had access to a light so he could see her.

      Next time?

      He should be plotting an escape, but she compelled him instead, haunting him like the angel she was.

      Her footsteps sounded softly. As she made her way to the door that would take her out of his suite and back to the mansion, he struggled to focus his gaze.

      To watch her shadowy form disappear.

      Sunshine blasted through the blinds, invading the room. Justin squinted at the clock. It was the middle of the afternoon.

      He sat up and tested his equilibrium. He was hung over, feeling the aftereffects, but the drug itself had worn off. Or so he hoped. He climbed out of bed and thanked the Creator when his feet hit solid ground.

      And then his world went woozy again. Not literally. But figuratively. A big clumsy puppy that had been sleeping on the floor jumped up and bounded toward him.

      The black dog yipped and wiggled, but he could only stare. With its Dumbo ears and droopy eyes, the mutt looked like Chester, his childhood pet.

      Only Chester had been dead for nineteen years.

      “Where’d you come from?” he finally said.

      The dog grinned in response. He wasn’t Chester. He wasn’t a canine ghost. But his uncanny resemblance to Justin’s boyhood companion threw him for a loop.

      Wary, he checked out the suite, the puppy on his heels. Nothing. No one. Nada. Whoever had dropped off the dog was gone.

      So this time he took a closer look around. He went into the walk-in closet and saw that his suitcase had been unpacked. His clothes were hanging on wooden hangers. Even the shirt that had been stripped from him was there, laundered and pressed.

      Apparently he was a welcome guest, a valued captive, just as his nighttime angel had said.

      He walked into the bathroom. His toiletries, the travel-size toothbrush, toothpaste and shaving kit he’d brought along, were lined up on the counter. Complimentary bottles of shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap had been provided, much like a hotel. They were the brands he used at home.

      He doubted the suite had been readied while he’d been occupying it. They’d probably done it before they’d even carried him in here.

      The puppy pestered him for attention. He didn’t want to get attached, so he ignored the goofy mutt and headed for the sitting room, where leather couches and an entertainment center dominated the masculine décor.

      A sculpture by Frederic Remington, his favorite western artist, was displayed in a glass case. Justin had a recasting of it at home. But he suspected that this was the real deal.

      Original Remingtons rarely came on the market, and when they did, major museums and private collectors scooped them up at astronomical prices.

      But the Halloways could afford it, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the statue had commanded a four or five-million-dollar price tag.

      Had they purchased it to impress him? To entice him?

      Taking a chance, he went to the main door and tried to open it. It didn’t budge. It didn’t even rattle. He was still holed up. But aside from the hangover, he was clearheaded, which meant the mob wanted him to be coherent. If they didn’t, they would have sedated him again instead of dropping off a dog.

      Justin checked the French door in the bedroom and discovered it was unlocked, the СКАЧАТЬ