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“Of course. Go play hostess, and don’t worry. I’ll get her here.”
“Thanks.” She rolled off on glittery, red-wheeled shoes.
Roarke turned with the idea of hunting up somewhere quiet to make his call, then blinked at the apparition. “Peabody?”
Her elaborately painted face fell. “You recognized me.”
“Barely.” With a faint smile, he stepped back to take a full measure.
Long blonde hair swirled over her shoulders, down her back, over the tiny scallop-shaped bra that covered her breasts. From the waist down, she was encased in shimmering green.
“You make a lovely mermaid.”
“Thanks.” She perked up again. “It took me forever to rig myself out.”
“How the hell do you walk?”
“I’ve got a cutout for my feet, the skirt of the tail covers it.” She wiggled back. “Pretty restrictive to movement though. Where’s Dallas?” She twisted her head to search. “I want her to get a load of it.”
“She isn’t here yet.”
“No?” Because she hadn’t worn her watch, she peered down at his. “It’s almost ten. She was only going to stake out Isis’s place for a couple hours then come straight here.”
“I was about to call her.”
“Good idea.” Peabody tried to ignore the prickle of nerves. “She’s probably stalling. She hates stuff like this.”
“Yes, you’re right.” But she’d have been there for Mavis, he thought as he slipped into the corner. And for him.
When her ’link went unanswered, he bypassed security and called through her communicator. There was a humming buzz that indicated it was on standby, but it went unanswered.
“Something’s wrong,” he said when he stepped back up to Peabody. “She isn’t picking up.”
“Let me get my bag, try her communicator.”
“I already tried it,” he said shortly. “She isn’t picking up. She was staking out Spirit Quest?”
“Yeah, she wanted to talk to Isis…let me get out of this costume. We’ll go check it out.”
“I can’t wait for you.” He pushed his way through the crowd as Peabody shuffled and looked for Feeney.
She thought it was a dream at first when she woke, groggy and hot. Her head spun, and when she tried to lift a hand to it, she found she couldn’t move.
Panic rushed in first. Her hands were bound. He’d often tied her hands when she was a child. Tied her to the bed, clamped a hand over her mouth to hold in her screams when he raped her.
She pulled at them, felt the vague, faraway pain of the straps cutting into her wrists. Her breath sobbed out as she struggled. Her legs were secured as well, tied down at the ankles so that her thighs were spread.
She whipsawed her head, trying to see. Shadows shifted through the room, chased by the flickering lights of dozens of candles. She could see herself in a mirror, a wall of black glass that reflected images and light.
She wasn’t a child, and it wasn’t her father who had tied her.
She forced down the panic. It wouldn’t help. It never did. She’d been drugged, she told herself. She’d been brought here, stripped naked, and tied to a marble slab like a piece of meat.
Selina Cross meant to kill her, and maybe worse, unless she could keep her mind clear and fight back. She continued to work at her wrist straps, twisting, tugging, while she forced her mind to focus.
Where was she? In the apartment, most likely, though she couldn’t quite remember. The club would have been too dangerous, full of people. It was more private here, in this room. This room where Alice had seen a child sacrificed.
What time was it? God, how long had she been out? Roarke was going to be pissed. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood to hold back the bubble of hysteria.
