A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(62)

Gwen tasted the sour bile of panic. She opened her mouth to reason with him, plead if she had to, but all that came was a guttural moan. She retreated up. He followed.

"You're a wheeler dealer. I've been watching you," he said.

Gwen stepped farther away. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, willing herself to control the fear crawling over her skin. If she could humor him, distract him, maybe she could reach the wall switch by the closet behind her. It controlled the bedside table lamp he'd turned on. She had no further plan, just hide in the dark, away from those feral eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Gwen said.

"Oh, you know. You were willing to..." He spread his hands, jerked his head toward the bed and raised his eyebrows. "Just to get ahead."

"It wasn't..." Her words trailed off. She wouldn't defend herself. She had to focus on the light switch. That small piece of plastic became her talisman. It was the only thing standing between her and complete panic, and the only thing in the world that mattered at this moment was diverting his attention away from it. "What do you want from me?"

"Not as much as Lance did, I can assure you. I have a simple favor to ask."

"Favor? You killed Lance because you want a favor?" A hysterical laugh burbled from Gwen's lips. She bit it off. "What kind of favor could you possibly want from me?"

"A small one."

She swallowed the terror rising in her throat and forced herself to calm. Improv. Use your improv skills, Gwen. But the only role she could think of that fit the circumstances was "victim."

"Why should I help you? What's in it for me?" She narrowed her eyes and feigned suspicious interest. At least she could pretend she was tougher than she was.

Mo's fingers twitched. He grabbed the leg of his pants and they stilled. "For starters, I won't blow the whistle on you and your boyfriend. The police will think you killed poor Lance, you know. Not to mention how hubby would feel about it if he knew what you were up to. I will swear you were in The Leaky Barrel with me all evening. Wine tasting."

The switch was only feet away now, but he stood too close for her to reach it unnoticed.

"And, of course, there's your life. Help me, or I'll kill you."

Gwen jumped at the word "kill." Her back slammed into the wall. Something hard and small jutted into her hip. "What do I need to do?" Her words came in panted breaths.

"Just your job. Show me a property."

Her fingers walked up the wall toward her low back. "That's it?"

"Maybe one or two other little things." He waved a dismissive hand.

Gwen felt along the plastic ridge of the switch with imperceptible movements. She relaxed her facial muscles into an expression of resignation. "I guess I don't have much choice, do I?"

"I believe I have you over the proverbial barrel." He chuckled at his own joke.

She flipped the switch. Blackness fell. She slipped toward the bed. His arms knocked against the wall where she'd stood a half-second before.

“Oh, very clever," he said into the darkness. "How will I find you with the lights out?"

She found the lamp in the dark, yanked it from the wall and climbed onto the bed. She heard the light switch click uselessly.

Everything was still for a moment, then the noise of his breath, the sour smell of him, the shuffle of his feet moved closer. Brandishing the lamp in her right hand, she used her left to guide her. She crept across the width of the California King mattress.

"Have you ever played searchlight?" he said.

Gwen didn't answer.

She heard the smack of flesh on wood. Mo cursed. A minute passed. He said, "I used to watch children playing on the beach at night. They used flashlights to tag and capture each other. I should have brought one." He sniffed the air like a hunting dog.

Gwen felt the mattress sag under the pressure of his hand. She slid off the far end of the bed and dropped to her knees.

Lightning lit the room, then thunder rumbled. She huddled into a small ball and hugged the edge of the bed.

"Where are you, little Gwen?" Frustration laced his voice.

Gwen, eyes now adjusted to the moonlight, could see the bedroom doorway only yards away. It might as well be a mile. If she could see shapes in the shadows, so could he. She felt the bed heave and heard his steps—more confident this time—coming toward her.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," he said in a sing-song.

Gwen gripped the lamp and drew her feet underneath herself.

"I'm tired of this game." He sounded peevish.

She readied herself to spring and swing at him. He rounded the bed. A wet sheen on his forehead glistened in the gloom.

They made eye contact.

At the same moment, the trill of the doorbell sounded.

Both their heads snapped toward the hallway.

"Gwen Bishop. Gwen. Are you still in there?" Mrs. VanVlear's muffled voice called out followed by hollow, sharp, rapping. The doorbell rang again.

Before Gwen could yell for help, she saw a quick movement in her peripheral vision. Pain reverberated through her skull, then nothing.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX


The evening started unbelievably well. I saw Gwen's car coming up Sailor's Haven when I was talking to that noisy old biddy. I was able to pull around the corner without her noticing me. I parked, jumped the wall into the backyard, made my way around the side of the house and hid behind a hydrangea bush. It was raining, but even that worked in my favor. The downpour created a camouflage.