Page 51 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

I glance at her other shoulder, noting Goldie’s head hanging limply on it, her eyes barely open. “Not just me, it seems.”

“Sleepy,” Goldie says, her mouth stretching into a wide yawn.

Tesla kisses her forehead and smiles. “Almost to bed, baby girl.”

“Bed?” Goldie repeats, smiling.

I laugh softly. “Rest up the next few days,” I say, slipping on my authority voice. “That’s an order.”

“Boo-hiss,” Goldie says, barely lifting her head.

“I’ve got us booked for a spa day tomorrow,” Tesla assures me. “Rest and relaxation shall be had.”

“Good,” I say.

“How about you? You wanna join us?” She smirks. “Or do you have something else in mind to help you release some tension?”

The elevator stops and I fire her a playful glare as the doors slide open. “Goodnight, ladies,” I say as I step off.

“All right,” Tesla says, slowed down by Goldie. “But tomorrow morning, you have to tell meeverything.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,”she sings, sugary sweet.

Yes. I’m afraid I do.

But I won’t give in until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Make her squirm a little.

I unlock the door and step into my suite. After a few steps, I pause, the corner lamp glowing.

I didn’t leave that on. Not too unusual, this being a hotel room after all. A housekeeper must have left it on.

But they definitely didn’t leave the man sitting in the armchair beside it.

“Hello, Logan,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

I blink twice.

Looks like Paul Monroe, the disgraced former head of Midnite Music.

Sounds like Paul Monroe, the rejected almost-head of Sugar Sound.

But in all the time I’ve known the man, I’ve never known him to have a beard. Or wear a hoodie. Or tennis shoes.

“Monroe,” I saying, stopping the greeting there as I look him over.

“Oh.” Monroe gestures at his clothes. “Yeah. My wardrobe is, unfortunately, a bit more casual these days. Since the missus cleaned me out and all.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I say, not really sorry. “What are you doing here?”

He rises off the chair. “You don’t call. You don’t text. I was worried sick about you! And those adorable girls.”

“I’m fine. They’re fine. Get out.”

Monroe scoffs, not budging from his spot as he curls his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Now, Logan,” he says. “Let’s not neglect our manners here.”

“Manners?”

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