New York to Dallas (In Death 33)

“Please.”

“Now, I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t. I want you to give me that giggle, like you did before. Give me a giggle, Eloise, or I’ll cut you.”

She managed it—a little high, a little shrill. He got his hand on the prepared syringe in his pocket. Leaned in as if whispering in her ear.

“Ow.”

“Oh, that didn’t hurt. And it’s just a little taste, to help you relax. That and the drink will do it.”

“I feel . . .”

“Drunk, oh yes, you do. What room are you in, Eloise?”

“I’m . . . sixteen-oh-three. I’m dizzy. Don’t hurt me.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to take you up to your room. I bet you want to lie down.”

“I need to lie down.”

“Put your arm around me, Eloise. Give me that giggle.”

She swayed a bit when he got her to her feet. Smiled when he told her to smile, leaned on him as they crossed the lobby.

“I don’t feel right.”

“I’m going to make it all better. You just have to do what I tell you. Exactly what I tell you.”

He got her in the elevator, told her to put her arms around his neck with him keeping his back to the camera. “Push sixteen, Eloise, and smile for me.”

“I have to meet my friends.” She missed the button twice, then hit it.

“That’s for later.”

No one got on. His luck still ran true. In the corridor of sixteen, he danced her down the hall, her stumbling, him laughing.

“Need your key, baby doll.”

“Key?”

“I’ll get it.” He braced her against the door, caging her in again as he took her purse, dug out the card. “Here we go!”

The minute they were inside the room, he let her drop to a heap on the floor.

“Well done, Eloise! Now, we have more work to do.”

Carlotta Phelps got off on sixteen. She’d been with hotel security for three years, and this wouldn’t be the first time she’d assisted a drunk guest. And since her shift ended in ten, unlocking a bathroom door and recoding a key wasn’t a tough way to end the day.

She knocked briskly on 1603. “Ms. Pruitt, hotel security.”

There was some fumbling at the door. Carlotta kept her face blank, but inside she smirked, and hoped Eloise from Oklahoma had some Sober-Up with her.

The woman who finally got the door opened looked a little mussed, a lot drunk, but matched the ID on file. She said, “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no problem. You reported a lost key and a locked bathroom door?”

“I . . . that’s what I said.”

“May I come in?”