"I warned you - and you warned me." Meaning that she couldn't get the jump on him now, and if she valued her life she wouldn't try. So what if he was naked; so was she. She might have a knife stuck under the mattress - shades of Basic Instinct-but he was prepared to break her neck if he saw either of her hands start to inch under the pillow or toward the side of the bed.
Slowly, deliberately, she spread her hands wide... and smiled, her head cocked and her eyes flirting with him. "Had you going there for a minute, didn't I?"
"Just keep your hands where they are," he said coolly, sliding out of bed and reaching for his clothes. He didn't turn his back on her for even a second.
"Oh, please. I'm no more a killer than you are."
Wasn't that reassuring? If she only knew. But the prickling on the back of his neck told him not to let down his guard, no matter what she said or how convincing she was. "Maybe you've hit on the perfect way to kick a man out of your bed after you've finished fucking him," he said as he pulled on his shorts and pants. "In which case, congratulations - unless the next guy you pull it on thinks you're about to pop his eyeballs out of his skull and freaks on you. That's a good way to get the shit kicked out of yourself."
She rolled her eyes. "It was just a joke."
"Yeah, hah hah. I'm laughing my ass off." He put on his socks and shoes, shoved his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, and showed her his teeth in what could have been a smile. "Let's just say that if I hear of any eyeballs being cut out, I might have to give the cops your description." A thought occurred to him: he quickly glanced around, saw the small shoulder bag she'd dropped on the floor, and quick as a cat snatched it up.
"Give me that," she snarled, lunging for it, but he caught her and tossed her facedown onto the bed, planting one hand in the middle of her back and leaning his weight on it to keep her in place while with the other hand he emptied the bag onto the bed. She wheezed, trying to suck in air as she bucked and twisted, but he didn't let up. Cursing, she slung her arm back, trying to hit him in the crotch; he twisted sideways, deflecting the blow with his hip.
"Watch it," he warned. "You don't want to make me mad."
"Fuck you!"
"Been there, done that, don't want the T-shirt."
With his finger he poked through the things he'd dumped out of the bag. She didn't have a wallet - at least, she didn't have one in the bag, just a money clip. That struck him as odd, because how many women carried money clips? There was also a little leather thing with credit card slots on both sides. One of those slots held her driver's license. He thumbed the card out of its slot and looked at the photo to make certain the license was really hers, then checked out the name.
"Well, well... Deidre Paige Almond. So you really are some kind of nut." She must not have thought his little joke was funny, because she cursed again, Goss grinned, enjoying himself more than he had in a while. What was even funnier was that he'd given her a false name, as well. Twisted minds evidently thought alike. "Let me guess - 'Kami' is a nickname, right?" He tossed the license on the bed beside her.
She bucked under his hand, her tousled dark hair falling across her face as she turned her head to glare at him. "You son of a bitch, let's see if you think this is so funny when I press charges against you!"
"On what grounds?"' he asked, sounding bored. "Rape? Too bad I got in the habit of carrying a voice-activated tape recorder with me whenever I'm with a woman - just in case."
"Bullshit!"
"Actually, it's a Sony." He patted his right pants pocket, where his cell phone made a nice little bulge. "The sound quality is top-notch. Besides, what name would you give the cops?" He made a tsking sound. "You can't trust anything anyone tells you these days, can you? It's been fun, gotta go now, won't be seeing you around. Just remember what I said about the eyeballs. And if you were fooling around, you might want to rethink the routine." He released her and moved swiftly out of her reach. "Don't bother getting up," he said as he went out. the door.
She didn't - or at least, she didn't bother coming after him, maybe because she was naked. Goss let himself out of the condo and walked down the cracked sidewalk. She had driven them here, so he was temporarily stranded, but he wasn't perturbed. He had a phone, and he had a card in his pocket with the number of the cab company he'd used earlier. He walked until he came to an intersection where there were street signs, then called for a taxi.
He wouldn't have been surprised if Deidre-Kami had come speeding down the street in her five-year-old Nissan and tried to run him over, but she had evidently decided not to look for more trouble. Goss didn't know if she was just some kind of flake who thought it would be funny to pretend she was a psycho serial killer, or if she was a real psycho, but his instincts had been telling him he'd better get his ass out of there. All in all, it was one of his more interesting evenings.
After a fairly reasonable length of time - coming close to what he would consider unreasonable - the cab arrived and he climbed in. Twenty minutes later he was whistling softly as he walked down the hotel hallway toward his room. It was after one am; he wouldn't get much sleep, but the evening's entertainment was worth it.
He showered before climbing into bed, where he slept like a baby until the bedside alarm went off at six. There was nothing like a clear conscience - or, better' yet, no conscience - for a good night's rest.
A box containing their weapons was supposed to be delivered by seven am, but that time came and went without the delivery. Toxtel got on the phone to Faulkner, who had arranged everything, and then they waited. Goss used the time to order breakfast. Shortly after nine, and half an hour after they were supposed to have been in the air, a bellman brought up a box marked "Printed Material" and sealed with masking tape. Toxtel took the delivery; he looked like some sort of executive, or maybe a salesman, in his suit and tie. Goss had chosen to dress with more comfort, in slacks and a raw silk shirt, no tie. He imagined people who went to B and B inns were there on vacation, not to work, but Toxtel was going to wear his suit and tie regardless of the circumstances.