Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

Natasha’s hands jerked and twitched, her rings tapping out a desperate and involuntary SOS on the floorboards. The woman’s china blue eyes bulged out, black mascara streamed down her ghostly pale cheeks, and her mouth gaped open. Drool seeped from one corner as the convulsions took over her limbs, turning her into an unseen puppet master’s toy.

“Hang on.” Ignoring the panic chipping away at her calm exterior, Drea refused to look away from the other woman’s desperate confusion and fear. “Help is on the way.” She took Natasha’s hand in hers and held it close, despite the violent tremors. “I promise.”

Before the last word was out of Drea’s mouth, the quaking stopped, and Natasha’s breathing stabilized. Risking a quick glance up, she saw Julia the assistant on the phone, presumably with the emergency operator. Fergus hovered by the door, a first aid kit in his hand.

Her hands shook, but this time from her own relief as opposed to Natasha’s seizure. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.” She looked down, and the oxygen evaporated from her lungs.

The other woman’s once pale pink lips had turned blue. Her chest had stilled, and her eyes had turned glassy. Drea sat back in shock, and Natasha’s hand fell to the floor, as lifeless as she was.

“My God,” Fergus exclaimed from the doorway. “What have you done?”

Chapter Three

“Fashion is all about happiness.” - Donatella Versace

Hours later, the grill sat abandoned in the Waterburg yard, Tony’s WILL COOK FOR BEER apron hung over the deck railing, and only the briefest hint of hamburger scent lingered among the heavier smells of bug spray and sunscreen.

And Drea was nowhere in sight. Cam had been hoping she’d come back after seeing to her client, but that didn’t look like it was going to happen.

The backyard was far from empty, but Cam realized he was the last of the Maltese Security personnel left at the BBQ. His mom hadn’t bothered teaching him about party etiquette, but even he knew it was time to head out.

But not quite yet. He had a little recon to do. It was one thing for a girl not to want to see him again—rare as that was—but he needed to know why. Another unusual event. When it came to Drea, it seemed like he was always acting out of character.

He squeezed his way through a thick throng of people packed on the deck and slipped through the back door into the kitchen, where he found his target loading the dishwasher. He closed the door behind him and lowered the volume on the local evening news playing on the television.

Sylvie looked up from the sink, a dirty serving tray in one hand and a scrubber in the other. She was Drea’s best friend. If anyone knew why Drea had acted like he was the kryptonite to her Superman whenever they had clothes on, it was Sylvie. Now he just had to get it out of her.

“Here, let me help.” He took a tray from her hands and stuck it under the faucet.

She leaned one hip against the counter and gave him an assessing look. “Are you feeling okay?”

“What?” He got the last bit of ketchup off the tray and slid it into the dishwasher. “Can’t a guy help out?”

“We are talking about you, right?”

He slapped his palm over his chest. “Right through the heart.”

Did everyone think he was a lazy son of a bitch? He worked hard. He played hard. He did what was asked but didn’t volunteer for more. Some people weren’t cut out to be team players. Depending on others wasn’t his M.O.—never had been, never would be. What was so wrong with that?

She chuckled and grabbed a handful of silverware to load. “You’ll live, big boy.”

They worked in companionable silence while the weatherman discussed the five day forecast. Gathering information was all about timing, and he was patient. Sylvie, he knew from working her stalker case last year, was not. The signs were there. The quick sideways glances. The way she chewed her bottom lip. And her biggest tell—the silence. Sylvie was a lot of things. Quiet and un-opinionated weren’t two of them.

“Okay, spill it.” Sylvie shut the dishwasher door and grabbed a dishtowel to dry her hands. “What happened out there with Drea?”

He glanced down at his watch. Ten minutes. She’d lasted longer than he’d expected. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Cam. You’re pretty, but that doesn’t mean you’re dumb.”

Was it kick-Cam-while-he’s-down day and he’d missed it? “You sure know how to chat a guy up.”

“Talk.” She tossed the towel at him.

He caught it and shrugged. “We’ve had a little something on the down low, at her request, and I saw an opportunity…”

They’d been sitting there, doing the usual banter when his gaze locked with Drea’s and the earth’s rotation stopped. He hadn’t planned it. Didn’t stop to think about the consequences. Just saw those soft, full lips, cherry red against Drea’s brown skin. Every other person at the BBQ dropped off the face of the earth. He’d lowered his mouth to hers, she’d melted against him, and it had taken every last bit of control not to toss her over his shoulder and carry her away from everyone else…

Sylvie gestured for him to continue. “You saw an opportunity?”