He’d already dispatched the worthless turd he’d hired for local backup, but that did nothing to satisfy the bloodlust. That came squarely under the category of taking out the garbage before it began to stink. That was pure practicality. No element of pleasure or recreation.
Back to the task. He looked around Nancy D’Onofrio’s wretched apartment. It was clear that she had not located the sketches. But she would be highly motivated to do so. He would be, if he lived like this.
He’d searched her sister Antonella’s apartment in SoHo the day before. It was lined with books rather than CDs, but had more or less the same pathetic square footage. He’d searched every nook and cranny. Studied every piece of correspondence. Rigged up watching and listening devices. State-of-the-art stuff. It was nice to have a large operating budget.
The carpenter’s house was the obvious next step, but John was waiting for the perfect opportunity. Patience was key to not getting caught or killed. Hard though that was to justify to a demanding boss.
The carpenter never left her alone. No doubt fucking her for most of the day. John didn’t blame the guy. He was looking forward to taking his turn. He thought about that a lot as he sat in the woods, staring through binoculars at the carpenter’s house, massaging his crotch.
His exhaustive, systematic search of the D’Onofrio daughters’ living spaces had turned up exactly nothing so far, which meant that the time had come to start in upon the luscious physical persons of the D’Onofrio daughters themselves. A task he would relish.
He’d given a great deal of thought to where to begin. At first, he’d leaned toward the younger ones, who seemed more careless and distracted. Antonella and Vivien had not yet internalized the threat.
But his instincts prodded him in the direction of the oldest daughter. If one of them knew something, chances are she would know the most. Besides, he was salivating to interrogate her. Having her snatched from his jaws had sharpened his appetite for her to a knife’s edge. He lay in bed, sleepless, imagining it. Her, beneath him, begging and struggling. Knightly couldn’t afford to hover over her forever.
Eventually, he would falter. And John would be ready.
The phone rang, and he whipped around, irritated to have his happy reverie interrupted. The answering machine clicked on.
“Hey, Nancy?” a woman said. “This is Andrea. I’ve been calling your cell, but it’s not on, so I hope you’re checking messages. I’m just calling to tell you that I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find some other solution for Moxie. I decided to take a personal-leave day and drive up to Boston Thursday night so I can see Freedy’s showcase. I know I promised kitty coverage, but Freedy and I get so little time together as it is, you know? Anyhow, see you at the conference. Bye!”
Boston? Conference? John went back to Nancy’s cluttered desk, and shuffled with his plastic-gloved hands in the paperwork, looking for something that had flickered at the edge of his attention. Ah, yes. There.
A conference program. The FolkWorld Conference. Thursday through Sunday, at the Amory Lodge Hotel. It would be crowded, but she would be distracted. Open to meeting new people, schmoozing.
He tucked the program into his bag. Nancy D’Onofrio was about to have the networking experience of a lifetime.
Chapter
10
Nancy leaned over the counter in the Amory Lodge lobby. “Are there any messages for me?” she asked.
The desk clerk looked put upon. “Not in the past fifteen minutes.”
Liam had told her he would arrive around eight. It was a quarter to nine. Peter and Enid’s showcase was scheduled for nine-thirty.
She looked up to find Enid bearing down on her in performance regalia: a velvet miniskirt, cleavage bulging out of her black leather vest, her hair a mass of luxurious blow-dried curls. “Peter forgot to pack my new mike!” she wailed. “just spent a thousand bucks on that thing!”
“You bought a thousand-dollar mike before paying me back for the registration fees?” Nancy asked wryly.
Enid threw up her hands. “I couldn’t sing ‘The Far Shore’ with that piece of crap! It sounds like I’m singing in a public bathroom!”
Nancy sighed. “This hotel is crawling with musicians who have good mikes. Think of someone who owes you a favor.” Her eyes flicked to Enid’s cleavage. “Shouldn’t be that hard,” she muttered.
“Hey,” came Liam’s deep voice from behind her.
Nancy whirled around. There he was, large as life, in a crisp white shirt, jeans, and a long, elegant black coat. Incredibly handsome.
Enid simpered. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Nance?”
Nancy bit down on an impulse to smack her. “Enid, this is Liam Knightly, a friend of mine. Liam, this is Enid Morrow, one of my clients.”
“Delighted,” Enid cooed, holding out her hand.
He shook it politely. “You must be Peter’s wife.”
Enid smiled brilliantly. “Nancy must have told you all about us!”
“Of course.” He turned back to Nancy. “Sorry I’m late. I hit traffic.” He gave her a hard, possessive kiss, right in Enid’s face.
An uncontrollable grin spread over Nancy’s face. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here.” Her whole body was smiling. Every cell, every atom, every photon of her was happy to see him. He was the handsomest man in the room, probably in the entire hotel. By a factor of ten.
“You’re just in time to hear our showcase,” Enid announced.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he said, with a courteous nod.
“Find Eugene and ask if you can use a Mandrake mike,” Nancy suggested. “I think I saw him in the restaurant about ten minutes ago.”
A pout marred Enid’s heart-shaped face. “Can you take care of it? I have to touch up my makeup and make sure Peter’s dressed properly.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
Enid scampered toward the elevators, casting a dimpled smile back at Liam. Nancy grabbed his hand and towed him toward the restaurant. “Sorry to rush you, but I’ve got to catch Eugene,” she said.
Liam’s fingers curled possessively around hers. “He left you for her?” he asked, in a low, wondering tone.
She tried to wipe the silly, satisfied look off her face. So Enid’s sex-kitten appeal didn’t affect him. Her mood soared. “Pick up the pace,” she urged. “I’ve only got ten minutes to save the world.”
He swung her around a corner into an alcove full of vending machines. “If you’ve got ten, you can spare one of them to kiss me. That leaves nine to save the world. That’s a generous margin.”
He kissed her very thoroughly, until she was soft, hazy, and glowing. “What was I supposed to be doing?” she asked, dazed.
He leaned his forehead against hers and kissed the tip of her nose. “The mike. From Eugene. For Enid,” he said dutifully.
“Oh, God.”
He tagged after her companionably as she ran her errands, and finally they were seated in the back of the hall, her hand tucked securely in Liam’s. Peter and Enid were great, and the band that backed them played with energy and precision. When the plaintive strains of “The Road to You” died away, the applause was long and loud. Nancy nudged Liam as she clapped. “What do you think?”
His face was noncommittal. “Better than I expected.”
Nancy tugged on his hand. “Let’s congratulate them. Come on.”
Enid spotted Liam’s tall form first, and she bounced toward them, beaming, her eyes expectantly on Liam.