Page 71 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

Baxter smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “I tried to oomph you and you weren’t having it.”

“Yeah, well… Sometimes I think with my brain rather than my cock.”

“Show off.” The smile faded. “I’m serious. No one could blame you for walking away from this.”

I nodded. “I’ve heard you out. Just like I promised.”

“And?”

“Makes no difference.”

He sighed. “I don’t know whether to feel pleased or annoyed.”

“That’s up to you.” I reached for the room-service menu. “Besides, I’ve found a man who can put me up in hotels, and is about to buy me whatever I want for breakfast.”

“Oh, am I?”

I grinned at him. He lunged for the menu, but I was quicker. It was ridiculous, given the circumstances, how much it felt like a honeymoon, but there were definitely elements in common, like being alone and uninterrupted. Yes, it was a Holiday Inn rather than the Maldives, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

We spent the rest of the day doing very little, both of us in silent agreement that mental respite was necessary. “Tomorrow,” we kept saying when anything practical arose, like my lack of underwear. It hardly mattered because we spent most of the day naked, wrapped in towels, or in bed.

Despite sleeping so late, we were yawning well before midnight and drifted off to a comedy on the TV, neither of us was really paying attention to. We were both aware that we were avoiding talking about what mattered, but neither of us broke the unspoken pact.

The ringing phone was a brutal awakening. I reached for my own before realizing the screen was dark. “It’s yours,” I muttered. Baxter grabbed his phone as I switched on the lamp. The clock told me it was four a.m. Who called at that hour?

“I’ve been getting these calls,” he said, staring at the screen without answering it. “When I pick up, there’s nothing but breathing.”

“Since when?”

“For a few days.”

“And you never thought to mention it?” He shrugged, aiming for casual and failing miserably. “Are you going to answer it?”

He took a deep breath before bringing the phone to his ear, his exploratory “hello” laden with caution. He listened for a moment, his expression tightening. “Jamie, slow down. Tell me what’s going on?” A long pause. “Who told you to call me? What’s his name? What does he look like? Tell me something. Jamie? JAMIE?”

Even listening to the call had my heart in my throat. “Did he hang up?”

Baxter shook his head, already swinging his legs off the bed. “No. I think someone hung up for him.”