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Zach flinched as he felt his scalp slitting open above his ear. White-hot, the pain nearly blinded him. “Stop!” Blood poured from the wound, over his eyes and face.
“This isn’t the right guy,” Rudy said, wiping the blood from his weapon on his pants. “I’ve seen Danvers—”
“Don’t matter! ’Sides, he’s claimin’ to be him.”
“Shit!”
Blindly, Zach kicked.
“Who cares who the fuck he is,” Rudy finally agreed. The knife plunged into Zach’s shoulder. Pain shrieked through his arm. He retched. His body sagged heavily. They’re going to kill me. I’m gonna die just like a lamb being slaughtered. Zach tried to fight, but he could barely move.
“He said he’s Jason Danvers, now let’s just get it over with,” Joey said.
Jason? They thought he was Jason? “Zachary.” Zach spat words and blood from behind loose teeth. He tried to break free and his knees buckled. “I’m…I’m…Zachary Danvers.”
“He’s telling you the truth!” Tears rolled down Sophia’s white face. “He’s not Jason! For the love of God, just leave him alone!’
“Not Jason?” Rudy repeated. “I knew it!”
“Shit!” Joey let go of Zach and jerked the knife out of his shoulder. The wound burned like acid. Zach dropped to the floor, banged his head and couldn’t move out of the sticky blood pooling beneath him.
“I told you he was the wrong guy. Shit, man, why don’t you ever listen?” Rudy hissed. He pointed at the bed where Sophia was still huddled in fear. “You—get some clothes on and get out of here.”
“But the boy—” Sophia whispered.
“He’ll live,” Rudy snarled, casting a dark look toward Zach before eyeing the hooker again. “Unless you want to explain what you’re doing up here with the half-dead son of Witt Danvers, you’ll move your sweet little ass out of here.”
Don’t leave, Zach tried to say, but the words wouldn’t form over his thick tongue. He watched three sets of feet, her small, bare ones, the others in black work boots—moving in slow motion away from him. Footsteps scuffled on the shag carpet. Blood seeped from his body to the floor. He tried to lift his head.
“Bastard!” He saw the shoe, felt a hard kick in the groin and curled into a ball. Bile sprayed up the back of his throat. “Stay put, Danvers! You’ll live longer.”
A tide of black swirled around his eyes, though he willed himself to stay conscious. He saw the door to room 307 open, then close, and he gave in to the warm, dark void that swallowed him.
Katherine’s feet ached, her head throbbed, and her eyes burned from cigarette smoke. The celebration had been a success and Witt, if he hadn’t been surprised, had put on a good show of acting astounded at his wife’s carefully planned party.
Seated on one of the chairs near the empty stage, she ignored the litter on the floor and took off one of her spiked heels to rub the bottom of her foot.
Soon dawn would be streaking the eastern sky, and still a few guests lingered, talking, laughing, refusing to call it a night.
“Come on upstairs,” Kat suggested to her husband as she slipped her toes into her shoe again. “L
ondon will be up before we know it.” She stood and stretched, aware that after hours on her feet, her hair tangled, her makeup all but gone, she was still beautiful and sexy. She caught more than one male gaze lingering on the swell of her bosom.
Witt, having consumed champagne for hours, yawned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He was heavy, this big bear of a man, and she staggered under the combination of his sagging weight and too many glasses of champagne.
Hours before, while she was getting ready for the party, she’d dressed with care and planned to seduce her husband, no matter how much work it was, but now she was tired, her feet ached, her head pounded, and she wasn’t interested in anything but falling into the huge bed in their suite and sleeping for at least a million hours.
She helped Witt into the elevator. For a few hours the guests, dressed in their finest clothes and jewelry, had forgotten about anything other than celebrating Witt Danvers’s sixty years.
With a groan, the elevator car moved upward, only to shudder to a stop on the seventh floor. “Come on, birthday boy,” she said, still supporting him as they reached their suite with its panoramic view of the river. She didn’t much care about the view as she unlocked the door, snapped on the lights, and helped him to the king-size bed that had already been turned down by the maid. Witt fell across the silk sheets like a heavy sack of potatoes.
“Come here,” he said thickly, reaching for his wife as she pulled the draperies shut.
Katherine giggled. “Want me?”
“Always,” he assured her. “I love you, Katherine. Thanks.”
Tears stung the back of her eyes as the drapes snapped shut. She did care about him. “I love you, too, honey.”
