Page 70 of The Situation Ship
“Everything goes to the incinerator. Even if the killer tossed the weapon or her clothes, it should be long gone,” Isaiah reasoned.
“Don’t jinx us,” Poppy snapped, desperate for a new lead. She looked at the chute, but couldn’t bring herself to check. The fear of disappointment froze her solid.
“Want me to check?” Isaiah asked softly. Poppy nodded and held her breath as he looked inside.
She waited for him to say something, but he shook his head and stepped aside. She inspected the steel chute next, but it was empty.
Just as she was about to give up hope, something caught her eye in the corner. A glimmer; a shimmer of hope. She reached further into the back until her fingertips touched the sharp steel edge where the chute dropped off, and she felt something snagged in the corner, rough and heavy. She didn’t know what was caught, but she pulled it up anyway.
In the dim light, a heavy green fabric shimmered. It was the dress the killer had used to trick the cameras. Relief flooded over Poppy, a wave of emotion she couldn’t contain as she held the dress, confirming it was real.
“You found the dress,” Isaiah said in disbelief.
Poppy felt the blood drain from her face as she noticed the plunging neckline and the mesh sleeves. The dress was familiar –too familiar. She read the designer label and checked the hemfor the alterations she knew would be there. Isaiah was talking to her, but all she could think was how this was impossible. It couldn’t beherdress, yet it was in Poppy’s hands.
“I know whose this is,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. She handed him the dress as if it would burn her if she held onto it any longer.
“Whose?” he asked, taking it. A puzzled frown distorted his features as she found the courage to speak.
“Martha Roe’s.”
“CouldMartha have given the dress to someone?” Isaiah asked, filling the silence in the lift.
“No way. Martha wore that dress when she won her first Academy Award. She never let anyone borrow her things, especially not something so valuable or precious,” Poppy said. She’d never have been allowed to enter Martha’s wardrobe. “It must have been stolen, either from the house before she died or from the storage unit I rented after.” She had put her aunt’s things in storage when she’d put the house on the market. However, Martha had dozens of evening dresses, so keeping track of all of them would have been impossible. She’d packed up in such a hurry, she never would have noticed one was missing.
The lift binged, but the doors failed to open when they stepped forward. Isaiah hit the button for their floor again, but the doors didn’t open.
Poppy panicked. “Please don’t tell me we’re stuck.” The small screen started blinking between 1 and 2.We aren’t stuck,she thought repeatedly, hoping the gold doors would open.
“It’s okay. It’s probably just a glitch because of the storm,” Isaiah said, hitting the alarm. The high-pitched ringing didn’t help with her nerves.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Poppy said, taking his arm as the lights flickered. “Oh God, please don’t let the lights go out.”
Isaiah turned to face her. “I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
She rested her forehead against his chest and tried to slow her breathing.
“I’m not usually claustrophobic,” she said, envying his calmness.
“You don’t have to justify yourself. I’m scared, too,” Isaiah said, stroking her hair.
She started to forget where she was as he kissed the top of her head. Wanting to distract herself, she began kissing his neck and jaw until he claimed her lips.
“Poppy.” He said it like it was a warning or a question, but she didn’t let up.
“What? Can you think of a better way to distract ourselves from being trapped?” She smiled against his lips as he pressed his body against hers.
“You’re a bad influence on me,” he whispered, so close his nose brushed hers.He dropped the green dress on the floor, unable to keep his hands off her.
“You’re only realising this now?” she rasped as he backed her up against the wall and pinned her hands above her head.
Poppy shrieked as the lights flickered again. The thrill of his hands on her body and the fear of plunging to their death clashed within her.
“Focus on me, and only me. When your senses are overwhelmed, it’s easier to distract them than silence them,”Isaiah said, his fingertips pushing the hem of her short red dress up her thighs.
“Yes, sir.” He tasted like champagne and mint sorbet. She forgot where they were again, only for the lamps to flicker. She clung to him as the alarm repeated and her heart rate quickened.
“Just focus on me, Princess,” he growled, tightening his hold on her.
