Hurricanes in Paradise by Denise Hildreth (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📗

Her mind tried desperately to calculate how quickly she could turn around and get out of the door and into the hall screaming before he reached her.

He stepped closer. She knew it was now or never. She turned as quickly as she could, grasped for the door handle. It slipped from the sweat that already encased her palms. She reached for it again in a frantic attempt and pulled down hard; the click of it unlocking reverberated as loud in her ears as shots from a twenty-one-gun salute. She pulled it open, sensing a moment of freedom as the air from the hallway rushed in, but before she could get her head out and make her feet follow, Jason was on her and had the door slammed shut. She panted as both of his hands flew above her head and held the door in place. Her head fell against the wood of the door. Tears wanted to follow the fear, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

His hands reached for her arms and jerked her around. Before she could stabilize herself on her feet, the back of his hand connected with the side of her head and sent her spinning into the table by the door. It thudded loud against the wall as her head connected with the corner and gashed a two-inch slit right through her forehead above her left eye. Blood gushed quickly down her face as she grabbed for the corner of the table and tried to pull herself up.

He didn’t wait. He jerked her up and pulled her toward him. The rapid movement and loss of blood left her certain she was about to pass out. She wished she had. “So you thought I wouldn’t find you?”

“I prayed you wouldn’t find me,” she whispered.

He pushed her into the bedroom and threw her across the bed. She pushed herself back frantically and grabbed at a pillow, pulling it in front of her. She moved quickly to the side of the bed, put her feet firmly on the floor, and stood up quickly.

“Well, looks like your God is laughing at you, wouldn’t you say?”

She felt an intense anger rise up from somewhere inside her soul. An anger she had never known. It was extremely passionate. Righteous, even. The boldness of it made her find her voice even though her body was trembling. She wiped at her chin, where the blood had fallen. Her words came out solid and steady. “You lie to me. You give me a disease that leads to death. And then you come in here thinking you can beat me?” She stepped toward him.

He stepped around the side of the bed. “No, Tamyra, I came in here to kill you.”

The second blow sent her reeling. Her body tumbled across the bed and landed on the other side. Another gash opened up below her left eye. But the pain shooting through her body had her gasping for air. She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t even will them open. He came around the other side of the bed and jerked her to her feet once again.

He threw her back on the bed. She screamed out in pain. The full weight of his body straddled her. The vileness of his words spewed across her while the pummeling blows he pounded her with broke most of the bones in her face. She was sure she could hear them as they cracked. She prayed she would die. And when his large hands came around the base of her slender throat and sucked all the air from her lungs, she was certain she would. When she blacked out, she hoped for death. “God, help me” leaked from her lips. It was the last thing she remembered.

* * *

Winnie sat on a bench in the reception lobby, a magazine stuck in front of her face.

“Winnie, Mia has had dinner with you. Trust me, she’s going to recognize you. There is no need to hide. That’s why we have to wait until she’s gone.”

Winnie talked from behind her Southern Living. “But I’ve always wanted to be a private investigator. Didn’t you write about a private investigator once?”

“A long time ago, and she didn’t hide behind magazines. And it sure wouldn’t have been Southern Living. Where did you get that anyway?”

“From my room. I brought it with me. And thank you for giving me five minutes to change. Wet denim can chafe your thighs.”

“Yeah, I was tired of that black dress. I just didn’t want to give Tamyra the satisfaction of knowing I needed to change.”

Winnie dipped her head down and stared at Laine from behind dark sunglasses.

“Seriously, we haven’t seen the sun for two days; do you not think those are a little dramatic? Plus, my characters would never hide behind such a ridiculous getup.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your last character hid behind her sexual prowess.”

“Are you calling her a slut?”

“No, I would call her a hussy, tramp, floozy, but you’re the author.”

“And you’re the devoted reader, Miss Baptist.” Laine fidgeted on the bench. “What in the world is taking her so long? This is ridiculous. She had one little task. Make a phone call. Tell a lie. And get on with it. You’d think we asked her to feign death.”

“She doesn’t like lying. You ought to have seen her trying to get me to dinner with Albert. Plus, she’s pretty pitiful at it. Why did we pick her for that part anyway?”

“Because she’s a beauty queen. They all lie about something. So have you talked to him today?”

She raised the magazine back up. “No, I haven’t talked to him since last night. Doubt he’ll ever want to talk to me again. I’ve left him standing there completely alone twice in one week. Would you want to talk to me again?”

“I’m sure he figured out it wasn’t about you last night.”

“Yes, I think Riley’s inability to keep her hands to herself and the announcement of