Page 88 of The Hangman's Rope

He looked at me in stunned amusement and his eyebrows went up before he started to laugh.

“Good to know I clean up nicely,” he said, holding out his wrist to me. I stepped forward and helped him fix the cuff and mumbled something about that being the understatement of the year.

He laughed at me, picked up his jacket from the bed, and slapped me on the ass over my towel wrapped around my body on the way out to the kitchen.

I sighed, rubbing over the swat just a bit, recognizing that he was nervous about being around so many people we didn’t know. I was, too, quite frankly – but this was one of those things that Synister had orchestrated in a bid to catch my assaulter… or at least one of them.

There had been no luck in finding Calrose Pierce, which had to be some kind of assumed name to do what he did, just in case a girl like me remembered…

I swallowed hard, and put on my clothes, each layer going on like battle armor, the fabric chic and shimmering, covering my body but also fitting close. Sexy without being too revealing, black as this was a black-tie affair and themed some type of noir…

I put on my necklace and earrings, slipped on my rings and took my tennis bracelet out to Hangman for help.

“Your turn,” I said, rounding the corner in the living room and he smiled from the kitchen island. The smile was a brittle thing, and he had a finger left of the two he’d poured of the whiskey in his glass.

He held it up and tipped the glass, swirling the golden amber liquid in it in a tempting offering to me.

I shook my head.

“I’ll get something to carry around at the party,” I said. “But whiskey isn’t my thing.”

“It’s scotch,” he said with a half-smile and I made a face.

“Then it’s definitely not my thing,” I said. “That shit tastes like a rusty bucket of haunted bog water and I don’t know how you can drink it.”

He burst out laughing and came around and fastened my bracelet for me.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said and we smiled at each other.

“Cone here, sit down,” he ordered gently taking me by the hand and leading me to his recliner. I sat, and he knelt down in front of me and took up my shoes, one at a time, slipping them onto my feet and buckling them across the arch. I smiled and reached out, cupping his handsome face with my hand, smoothing my thumb over his softly bearded cheek. He’d used the nice beard oil that I’d bought him, the one that smelled of the outdoors closer than anything I’d ever known.

“Thank you,” I murmured and he smiled at me.

“Anything for you,” he said, capturing my hand and turning his lips to kiss the inside of my wrist.

I felt my pulse jump, my heart set to pounding, blood racing beneath my skin, through my veins, carrying with it the heat of my desire.

“Are you as nervous as I am?” I asked softly.

“In some ways, in others I feel like I’m marching right into another combat situation.”

“These clothes are much cooler than body armor, I suppose,” I said, trying to make light of things just a little bit.

He flashed a smile and said, “The body armor is oddly more comfortable.”

I smiled back at him and let him help me to my feet in the heels I now wore.

“Shall we?” I asked.

“I believe that’s supposed to be my line,” he shot back.

We went, me gathering my clutch off the table by the door as we passed through into the muggy heat of the outdoors.

We walked to the club just a scant block and half outside the cemetery gates, and I stayed close to Hangman. It was a quiet street – nothing ever really happening here, but still. I felt vulnerable in a way I couldn’t describe being out here, dressed so nicely. I hadn’t dressed to impress since that night and it felt odd to be doing so now.

We got into the garage portion of the club and Hangman went for the expensive yellow Porche, opening the door for me on the passenger side.

It wasn’t his, but one of his brother’s. I didn’t know who’s though.

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