“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. “London 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.