threshold, he swept left with his gun, then right. No sign of anyone.
He straightened, stuck his gun into the back of his jeans, and debated his choices. Vern’s office and the dancers’ dressing room were down the hallway to the left. The hallway on his right led to the stage, and beyond that, another narrow hall led to the back door of the club.
Instinct told him to go right, since that direction ultimately led to an exit. He shot off a text to Trevor. Door’s busted. Get back here. Don’t bring Kylie . He didn’t wait for a reply, just tucked the phone in his pocket and started down the hall, scanning in every direction as he went. A few steps along, he glanced down and froze. What the hell…? He crouched and picked up a small white feather.
His heart thundered in his chest. Stacy’s wings were covered with white feathers. He continued down the hallway. A couple feet farther, he saw another feather…and another. He drew in a breath to call out to her, but then his gaze snagged on another clump of feathers, and his voice died in his throat. Something dark coated these. Something like oil…or… He picked one up and held it close to his face.
An invisible fist grabbed his gut and squeezed. Oh, God. Blood. He ran his finger over the wispy plumes. Claret red smeared his skin. Fresh blood.
He dropped the feather. Every instinct clamored to tear off down the hall, but the calm, logical detective inside him took charge and forced him to slow down. His tactical training dictated he take some precautions, like putting backup in place first. He spent a precious minute texting Trevor again. Where r u?
Come quietly, from outside door. Stay sharp. Then he shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled out his gun.
Chapter Nine
“Why are you doing this?” Stacy asked, still not quite trusting her eyes.
Mandy sneered. “Because you’re nothing but a greedy, trashy whore. You slithered into this town, flashed your tits and ass, and stole everything I worked for. Everything I deserved.”
“I didn’t.” The accusation didn’t make any sense. She’d had her low moments, and, yes, even broken the law on a few occasions, but she’d never resorted to thievery. Ever.
Careful. Do NOT start an argument with the crazy bitch , her voice of reason counseled. Then her mouth took over. “That’s bullshit. I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” Crap .
Her quiet, mousy assistant slapped her across the face. “Liar! You think I don’t know what you are?”
She resisted the reflex to press her palm to her burning cheek. The slap felt and sounded odd, not quite skin-on-skin. She stared at Mandy’s hand and frowned. Her assistant wore thin latex gloves. Nausea swirled as she digested the significance of that information. No fingerprints. “W-what am I?”
“You’re a sociopath. You have no concern for the effects of your behavior on others. People are nothing but tools to you, and if they can’t help you further your own agenda, then you don’t even see them. Knowing that made everything easy for me.”
I’m the sociopath? “I don’t understand—”
“You assumed I was a pathetic, self-conscious wallflower, hoping to get a shred of excitement out of being your assistant, because that’s what I wanted you to think. But you’re wrong. I’m an actress, and a damn good one. Not that I needed to be, in your case. You were so ridiculously easy to fool. A little hair dye, some colored contacts, a crappy wardrobe, and I might as well have been invisible to you. You still don’t recognize me, do you?”
Stacy shook her head. “You’re…Mandy Waltrip, my assistant.”
The manic laugh Mandy let loose chilled her blood. “You really are stupid. I’m Amanda Walters. You and I attended the same acting classes, workshops, we even worked together once on a student film. And you know what? Everybody says I’m the better actress. Everybody.”
Amanda Walters? Stacy searched her memory, trying to put a face to
He straightened, stuck his gun into the back of his jeans, and debated his choices. Vern’s office and the dancers’ dressing room were down the hallway to the left. The hallway on his right led to the stage, and beyond that, another narrow hall led to the back door of the club.
Instinct told him to go right, since that direction ultimately led to an exit. He shot off a text to Trevor. Door’s busted. Get back here. Don’t bring Kylie . He didn’t wait for a reply, just tucked the phone in his pocket and started down the hall, scanning in every direction as he went. A few steps along, he glanced down and froze. What the hell…? He crouched and picked up a small white feather.
His heart thundered in his chest. Stacy’s wings were covered with white feathers. He continued down the hallway. A couple feet farther, he saw another feather…and another. He drew in a breath to call out to her, but then his gaze snagged on another clump of feathers, and his voice died in his throat. Something dark coated these. Something like oil…or… He picked one up and held it close to his face.
An invisible fist grabbed his gut and squeezed. Oh, God. Blood. He ran his finger over the wispy plumes. Claret red smeared his skin. Fresh blood.
He dropped the feather. Every instinct clamored to tear off down the hall, but the calm, logical detective inside him took charge and forced him to slow down. His tactical training dictated he take some precautions, like putting backup in place first. He spent a precious minute texting Trevor again. Where r u?
Come quietly, from outside door. Stay sharp. Then he shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled out his gun.
Chapter Nine
“Why are you doing this?” Stacy asked, still not quite trusting her eyes.
Mandy sneered. “Because you’re nothing but a greedy, trashy whore. You slithered into this town, flashed your tits and ass, and stole everything I worked for. Everything I deserved.”
“I didn’t.” The accusation didn’t make any sense. She’d had her low moments, and, yes, even broken the law on a few occasions, but she’d never resorted to thievery. Ever.
Careful. Do NOT start an argument with the crazy bitch , her voice of reason counseled. Then her mouth took over. “That’s bullshit. I’ve never stolen anything in my life.” Crap .
Her quiet, mousy assistant slapped her across the face. “Liar! You think I don’t know what you are?”
She resisted the reflex to press her palm to her burning cheek. The slap felt and sounded odd, not quite skin-on-skin. She stared at Mandy’s hand and frowned. Her assistant wore thin latex gloves. Nausea swirled as she digested the significance of that information. No fingerprints. “W-what am I?”
“You’re a sociopath. You have no concern for the effects of your behavior on others. People are nothing but tools to you, and if they can’t help you further your own agenda, then you don’t even see them. Knowing that made everything easy for me.”
I’m the sociopath? “I don’t understand—”
“You assumed I was a pathetic, self-conscious wallflower, hoping to get a shred of excitement out of being your assistant, because that’s what I wanted you to think. But you’re wrong. I’m an actress, and a damn good one. Not that I needed to be, in your case. You were so ridiculously easy to fool. A little hair dye, some colored contacts, a crappy wardrobe, and I might as well have been invisible to you. You still don’t recognize me, do you?”
Stacy shook her head. “You’re…Mandy Waltrip, my assistant.”
The manic laugh Mandy let loose chilled her blood. “You really are stupid. I’m Amanda Walters. You and I attended the same acting classes, workshops, we even worked together once on a student film. And you know what? Everybody says I’m the better actress. Everybody.”
Amanda Walters? Stacy searched her memory, trying to put a face to
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