the hotel elevator on their way to their rooms, Maria held the note up between two fingers for Andrei to read. “What do you think of that?” she asked.
Andrei frowned. “From Reed Whitman?”
Ever since he saw Reed at the library a few days ago, a wallhad grown up between Andrei and Maria. She’d tried to chip away at Andrei’s sullen emotional distance by teasing him and sweet-talking him into a better mood, but he wasn’t having any of it. All her efforts failed. He was acting like a jealous lover. It was the first time she could remember him being so difficult.
Tonight, though, she found his reaction amusing. “Don’t think so. Reed wouldn’t use such flowery words.”
“Right,” Andrei said dismissively.
Maria slipped the key card into the slot and opened the door to her hotel room. As she screamed Andrei grabbed her from behind and pulled her back into the hallway.
A blond woman lay upon the bed, her face battered beyond recognition. Her pelvic area and genitals were saturated in blood.
CHAPTER 11
“Don’t go in. Stand against the wall, both of you,” Andrei ordered. “Don’t move from this spot.” He took out his gun, went inside and shut the door quietly. Maria scrambled through her bag for her phone. She could barely hit the keys for 911, her body shook so much. Just as the dispatcher answered, the door cracked open again. Andrei stepped into the hall, shoving his pistol back into the shoulder holster underneath his jacket. “It’s not real, Maria. Hang up.”
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
Maria covered her phone and whispered, “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a doll. It’s not real.” He motioned for the two women to follow him.
“Hello? Nine-one-one. State your emergency please.”
She shut off the phone. Her legs trembled so much she had trouble approaching the bed. And yes, now she could see therubbery pink skin, the coarse doll’s hair, the dimples at the knees and elbows, remarkably lifelike limbs and fingers. It was an inflatable sex doll, the kind with realistic breasts and open orifices—mouth, vagina and anus—suiting all tastes. But whether the blood that covered it was real or even human was impossible to tell. It looked to be. The doll’s vacant openmouthed smile and slack limbs spelled their own horror.
Lillian hovered outside the room, unwilling to go near it. Andrei used his phone to click pictures of the doll.
Maria went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Stuck to the mirror was a photo of her posing as Lili St. Cyr at the club in midperformance. She’d just stripped off the black chiffon skirt and the bustier. The photographer snapped her as she’d lowered the ostrich feather fan, tilting her chest out to display her bare breasts, the rhinestone pasties catching the light like glittering gems. Underneath the photo were a few neatly typed lines:
There once was a girl from Siret
Six-year-old Maria
Innocent angel or suca ?
She’s a girl I won’t forget.
Maria ripped down the photo. Suca was Russian for whore; Siret, the town near the orphanage.
She flicked a towel off the towel rack, wiped her face and stomped over to the doll, gingerly lifted it so she could see the underside of its right wrist. Printed onto the rubber skin was a feather exactly like hers.
“Look at this!” She thrust the photo at Andrei.
He raised troubled eyes to the picture, then glanced over at the blood-splattered doll. “He’s upping the ante, showing he can have access to you anytime he pleases. That he can slip in and out of your room at will with nothing to stop him. He wants to keep you in a constant state of fear.”
“Well, it’s not going to work. And why a doll this time?”
“Don’t know. Probably too risky with guests and cameras everywhere to kill a real woman.”
Maria rubbed her right wrist subconsciously, as she did whenever she felt anxious. The shrink she’d seen as a teenager said it was a kind of flashback to
Andrei frowned. “From Reed Whitman?”
Ever since he saw Reed at the library a few days ago, a wallhad grown up between Andrei and Maria. She’d tried to chip away at Andrei’s sullen emotional distance by teasing him and sweet-talking him into a better mood, but he wasn’t having any of it. All her efforts failed. He was acting like a jealous lover. It was the first time she could remember him being so difficult.
Tonight, though, she found his reaction amusing. “Don’t think so. Reed wouldn’t use such flowery words.”
“Right,” Andrei said dismissively.
Maria slipped the key card into the slot and opened the door to her hotel room. As she screamed Andrei grabbed her from behind and pulled her back into the hallway.
A blond woman lay upon the bed, her face battered beyond recognition. Her pelvic area and genitals were saturated in blood.
CHAPTER 11
“Don’t go in. Stand against the wall, both of you,” Andrei ordered. “Don’t move from this spot.” He took out his gun, went inside and shut the door quietly. Maria scrambled through her bag for her phone. She could barely hit the keys for 911, her body shook so much. Just as the dispatcher answered, the door cracked open again. Andrei stepped into the hall, shoving his pistol back into the shoulder holster underneath his jacket. “It’s not real, Maria. Hang up.”
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
Maria covered her phone and whispered, “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a doll. It’s not real.” He motioned for the two women to follow him.
“Hello? Nine-one-one. State your emergency please.”
She shut off the phone. Her legs trembled so much she had trouble approaching the bed. And yes, now she could see therubbery pink skin, the coarse doll’s hair, the dimples at the knees and elbows, remarkably lifelike limbs and fingers. It was an inflatable sex doll, the kind with realistic breasts and open orifices—mouth, vagina and anus—suiting all tastes. But whether the blood that covered it was real or even human was impossible to tell. It looked to be. The doll’s vacant openmouthed smile and slack limbs spelled their own horror.
Lillian hovered outside the room, unwilling to go near it. Andrei used his phone to click pictures of the doll.
Maria went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Stuck to the mirror was a photo of her posing as Lili St. Cyr at the club in midperformance. She’d just stripped off the black chiffon skirt and the bustier. The photographer snapped her as she’d lowered the ostrich feather fan, tilting her chest out to display her bare breasts, the rhinestone pasties catching the light like glittering gems. Underneath the photo were a few neatly typed lines:
There once was a girl from Siret
Six-year-old Maria
Innocent angel or suca ?
She’s a girl I won’t forget.
Maria ripped down the photo. Suca was Russian for whore; Siret, the town near the orphanage.
She flicked a towel off the towel rack, wiped her face and stomped over to the doll, gingerly lifted it so she could see the underside of its right wrist. Printed onto the rubber skin was a feather exactly like hers.
“Look at this!” She thrust the photo at Andrei.
He raised troubled eyes to the picture, then glanced over at the blood-splattered doll. “He’s upping the ante, showing he can have access to you anytime he pleases. That he can slip in and out of your room at will with nothing to stop him. He wants to keep you in a constant state of fear.”
“Well, it’s not going to work. And why a doll this time?”
“Don’t know. Probably too risky with guests and cameras everywhere to kill a real woman.”
Maria rubbed her right wrist subconsciously, as she did whenever she felt anxious. The shrink she’d seen as a teenager said it was a kind of flashback to
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