Marc Kimball said. “Please, help yourselves—with the kind agents’ permission, of course—to the rooms. They are all fully stocked with toiletries and robes, and each has its own bath.”
“We did rent the place,” Tommy said. “So...”
“Trust me,” Kimball said, irritation slipping into his voice despite his smile. “My contracts have clauses that give me full control of this property at any time—I believe this situation calls for my breaking any agreement with Wickedly Weird. But, that’s no matter, is it? The police and the federal government are here and I believe we all agree this is best for the remainder of the night. Please. Get some rest. This is terrible, terrible.”
Everyone waited after he spoke. Thor realized they were all looking at him.
And waiting for him to agree.
“At this point, it’s as each individual wishes. If you are all in agreement, then we’ll thank Mr. Kimball for his hospitality. Everyone here does need some rest,” he said. “We’ll make arrangements to get you back to the mainland in the morning.”
“I can take first watch among us,” Jackson murmured.
Thor was too tense to think about sleeping, but Jackson was right. When you were worn-out, you rested. That was the only way you were good to function at full capacity when you were needed.
But he wasn’t ready yet.
“Mike,” Thor said, “there are seven guests here—that leaves a room. Get some sleep on something comfortable. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
Mike nodded.
Thor watched as, beneath Marc Kimball’s gleeful eyes, everyone moved to claim a room for the night.
He realized that Marc Kimball wasn’t just pleased that his suggestion had been taken. He was nearly elated.
And he wasn’t just watching anyone as they chose rooms.
He was watching Clara Avery.
Thor barely knew the woman. Their acquaintance came from the fact that he’d tackled her in the snow. But there was something about her...pride, humor, intelligence—the sense to be afraid? Thor hadn’t realized it at first, but he was intrigued by her.
She was a friend of Jackson’s—that was it.
Either that, or...
It wasn’t that he was so worried about the young woman, it was that he was so annoyed by Kimball.
The man might be richer than a god, but there was definitely something discomfiting about him. As the others walked off, he heard Kimball’s skinny little assistant or secretary ask, “Marc, what about me?”
Marc Kimball didn’t seem to hear her.
“You have a room, little lady,” Ralph told her pleasantly. “We only need three of those on our side. And, heck, we’re theater people. We can sleep anywhere,” he said proudly. Then he asked, “What’s your name, dear?”
“Emmy. Emmy Vincenzo,” she said.
“Nice to meet you,” Ralph told her.
Kimball paid them no heed.
He was still watching Clara Avery as she walked down the hallway. She’d shed her parka and outerwear and wore a soft blue cashmere sweater. Long blond hair tumbled down her back and she moved with grace despite her exhaustion. She was a stunning woman, which Thor had noted before. She turned to look back at him—or maybe she was looking for Jackson. But she caught his eyes and she smiled grimly and nodded, as if grateful to rest now, and do so securely.
She looked like a princess, a fairy-tale princess, a Sleeping Beauty.
The thought sent a jolt of white ice shooting through him.
She wasn’t part of the Wickedly Weird Production Company. She wasn’t the one in real danger here—not from what they had seen so far. It was a stretch for him and Jackson to believe the Fairy Tale Killer might have come here, a complete stretch. This man was out for the reality TV people.
Sleeping Beauty... She would have made a perfect Sleeping Beauty...
He turned away but he saw Jackson watching him. And he knew—just as his old partner knew—that he’d die before anything happened to Clara Avery.
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