See How She Dies by Lisa Jackson Page 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.
    â€œBastard!” 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.
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    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.
    â€œCome 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.
    Witt, having consumed champagne for hours, yawned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He was heavy, this big bear of a man, and she staggered under the combination of his sagging weight and too many glasses of champagne.
    Hours before, while she was getting ready for the party, she’d dressed with care and planned to seduce her husband, no matter how much work it was, but now she was tired, her feet ached, her head pounded, and she wasn’t interested in anything but falling into the huge bed in their suite and sleeping for at least a million hours.
    She helped Witt into the elevator. For a few hours the guests, dressed in their finest clothes and jewelry, had forgotten about anything other than celebrating Witt Danvers’s sixty years.
    With a groan, the elevator car moved upward, only to shudder to a stop on the seventh floor. “Come on, birthday boy,” she said, still supporting him as they reached their suite with its panoramic view of the river. She didn’t much care about the view as she unlocked the door, snapped on the lights, and helped him to the king-size bed that had already been turned down by the maid. Witt fell across the silk sheets like a heavy sack of potatoes.
    â€œCome here,” he said thickly, reaching for his wife as she pulled the draperies shut.
    Katherine giggled. “Want me?”
    â€œAlways,” he assured her. “I love you, Katherine. Thanks.”
    Tears stung the back of her eyes as the drapes snapped shut. She did care about him. “I love you, too, honey.”
    â€œI wish I could…I mean…”
    â€œShh. It doesn’t matter,” she said, and meant it at that moment. Sex was important, but it wasn’t as valuable as love. Kat could find sex anywhere, but she’d learned long ago how stingy people were with love. Leaning over, she rumpled his hair playfully and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute. I just want to check on London.”
    â€œMe, too,” he said, his foggy eyes clearing a bit as he thought of his little girl.
    Kat sighed. As much as she adored London, a tiny part of her was jealous