Her grip shot back out and tightened on the man’s neck, pinched at his skin.
The flesh beneath her fingers turned black, a darkness spreading from her touch at his neck to his face and chest. I saw it again at the exposed skin of his arms.
“Get back, Jack,” she said softly. “Please stay back.”
I couldn’t move, though. My limbs were frozen.
Through black, shriveled lips, the man gasped, a ragged mess of a breath, then went still.
Stella held him for at least another minute. Her fingers pulsing as the last bit of life left him for her, then she finally let go. Her arm dangling limply over the side of the sofa. “Not working,” she said softly, before drifting back off to a restless sleep. “Not enough.”
My heart sank.
6
Fogel glanced impatiently at her watch.
Two minutes to nine. She’d been sitting here for nearly an hour. She groaned as “Der Hölle Rache” from Mozart’sThe Magic Flutelooped for the umpteenth time.
She yawned, stood, and stretched her legs before returning to the reception desk.
The woman with the long blond hair and green eyes looked up at her and smiled. “May I help you?”
“I’ve been waiting an hour.”
The woman cocked her head. “Waiting for who? Do you have an appointment?”
Fogel frowned. “You said someone would be out to talk to me. That was an hour ago.”
“I did?”
Fogel pulled out her badge again. “I’m with Homicide. You said you’d find someone for me.”
The woman’s mouth fell open. “Homicide? Has there been a murder?”
The blood rushed to Fogel’s face as she tried to keep her temper in check. “Get your supervisor on the phone right now.”
The woman smiled and picked up her phone. “Do you have an appointment?”
Fogel leaned in closer. “Get your boss on the phone right now.”
The receptionist huffed in a breath and dialed a number.
Fogel heard the click as someone picked up.
“There is a rather rude woman at reception claiming to be a police officer of some sort, and she’s demanding to speak to my supervisor. Should I instruct security to escort her off the premises?”
Fogel wanted to snatch up the receiver and beat little blondie over the head with it.
The receptionist glanced at a door toward the back of the room. A security keypad of some sort was embedded in the wall to the right. “Are you sure? She really is quite rude. A horrid dresser, too.”
Fogel’s brow furrowed as she involuntarily looked down at her brown leather jacket, gray sweater, and jeans.
The receptionist hung up the phone. “Someone will be with you shortly. Please take a seat. Help yourself to coffee or pastries. The baklava is simply delightful.” She smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth.
“You’ve got one minute to get someone out here, or I’m blowing a hole through that door back there and letting myself in.”
The receptionist glanced down at her nails, then smiled up at Fogel. “May I help you?”
