Picture Me Dead by Heather Graham Page A

you?” Mario asked. “I guess I could eat a burger.”
    â€œHell, no, you don’t really want a burger, and I don’t need help to take a ride to Denny’s,” Len said cheerfully.
    â€œYou sure?” Mario asked. He yawned. “Hell, I’m beat.”
    â€œGet to sleep. I won’t be long, and I’ll try not to make a racket when I get back.”
    â€œLast man in gets the cot,” Kyle reminded him.
    â€œYeah, well, one of us had to get it, right?”
    He grinned, turned and headed back for the car.
    He didn’t drive to Denny’s. He turned his car toward the girls’ hotel and parked.
    Karen had given him their room number, and mentioned that they’d wound up on the first floor, so the sliding glass doors at the back opened up to a little courtyard and garden area.
    He headed for the courtyard and figured out which room it would be.
    The lights were on. One person was moving inside. He knew it was Ashley.
    The drapes were thin, the light behind them bright. He could see her every movement. She walked around, paused by the window, drew the curtain back and looked out.
    He flattened himself against a gardenia tree.
    She was holding a cup of something, just gazing out. She was wearing a long T-shirt that clung to her. In the artificial light, her hair blazed. The wavy ends seemed to curl protectively around her breasts. The knit shirt hugged the length of her. She never could have imagined just how provocative she looked.
    His fingers wound into his palms, and tension streaked through the length of him. You don’t know just how well I know you, Ashley, he thought. I knew you’d be the one who was awake, I knew I could come here and see you. And one day, Ashley, you’ll find out just what you’ve made me feel all this time.
    One day.
    The sliders were open, only the screen in place, letting in the breeze.
    That one day…
    Could be tonight.
    No. Not tonight. Tonight, he would just watch.
    But soon. Soon she would know. He’d make her know.
    Â 
    The night was beautiful. Just beautiful. But not even the stars in the sky or the soft glow of moonlight on the exquisite little garden could draw her attention.
    She stepped back into the room and went over to the desk. She’d already taken her sketch pad out.
    She started to draw. First, the body…the body on the highway.
    A man, young, muscle structure taut beneath…the spatters of blood. His hair covering his face, a soft ash blond.
    Around him…the officer who had arrived on the scene. The police car. The two drivers. Their cars. The traffic slowing, veering…nearly hitting the median.
    The median. The opposing traffic…
    The figure across the expanse of lanes.
    She sketched, shading in until, even in black and white and shades of gray, the scene was eerily real. And everything detailed except…the figure. The vague figure across the many lanes. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember any details…
    It was all as she had remembered it, how the camera in her mind’s eye had frozen the image.
    Everything so specific—except for the dark figure who seemed to be watching…looking…
    For what?
    Assurance that the man—the poor, pathetic man, near-naked and bloodied—was, indeed, dead?
    A chill suddenly swept over her.
    A breeze…
    More than a breeze. Something that made her slightly…uneasy.
    She turned quickly, then felt foolish. Even so, she walked over to the doors, then closed and locked them. She looked at the thin drapes, frowning, thinking that the sun would come rushing in the next morning.
    The next morning. It was morning, and that sun would be coming soon.
    Pulling the light draperies back, she saw the set of lightproof draperies, pulled them, then checked the lock once again and went to lie down on the couch.
    She closed her eyes, but the image of the body on the highway still haunted her.
    Swearing, she pounded her