You Slay Me Read Free Page B

need to be doing is running away as fast as you can. I took a deep breath and edged toward the chair that held my case. He moved backwards a step, effectively blocking me off from the exit. Panic, held rather tenuously at bay, rose within me. It quickly became clear that I needed to distract the handsome green-eyed murderer so I could escape.
    His eyes glittered darkly at me in a way that simultaneously scared the crap out of me and made me want to throw myself on him. "Ah. Yes. A joke. I thought that is what it was."
    Distraction, girl. Don't get caught up in a pair of pretty eyes, not when they likely belonged to a cold-blooded killer. "Um. I was just going to check and make sure Mme. Deauxville was really dead." I closed my eyes for a moment, aware of just how damning that sounded. "That is, I wanted to make sure she wasn't still alive. Not that I want her to be dead, you understand. I just want to make sure that she's not. Oh, crap, it's all coming out wrong."
    "You want to make sure there is nothing you can do for her," the dark man said neutrally, his voice—a sexy blend of an English accent and something that sounded vaguely Germanic to my ears—oddly flat. It sounded just the way you'd expect someone to speak if he suspected you of being a deranged killer.
    "Although that really is an oxymoron. I mean, what killer isn't deranged?"
    The brilliant green eyes considered me for a moment. "Is that a rhetorical question, or do you wish for an analysis of the mind of killers?"
    I groaned. "Sorry, that just kind of slipped out. Don't you think one of us should ... you know, check her? To make sure she's not just gravely wounded?"
    He looked back at the body. I looked, as well. "You don't believe she's really dead?"
    I had to admit he had a point. The body was too still, the heavy silent atmosphere of the apartment (house, street, possibly the whole world) almost smothering. I knew without even thinking about it that there were only two living beings in the apartment, and the body that hung by her hands wasn't one of them.
    The man cocked his head again, then whirled around and closed the door that was still standing open. Fear flared to life with the movement. He was going to kill me! I looked around frantically for a weapon, shrieking when his hand clamped down on my arm.
    "What is the matter with you? You look like you're going to pass out."
    "Me? Nothing's the matter with me. I'm fine. Although, now I come to think of it, I have a horrible memory problem. I can't remember what people look like. Or sound like. Or the things they said to me, or... or... anything. So anyone who was worried about what I might have seen or heard would really have nothing to worry about at all. Because of my memory problem. It's permanent, too."
    He gave me a long, curious look, then made an annoyed noise and let go of my arm as he squatted down to study the ash circle. "I told you I didn't kill her. I'm not going to harm you. Your fear of me is senseless."
    What is it about scorn of any sort that makes your bravado fire up? My chin lifted at the arrogant tone in his back-to-being-sexy voice. "Yeah? Who said I was afraid of you?"
    "I can smell your fear. What do you make of this?"
    He gestured toward the ash circle. I glanced toward it and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to sniff the air around my armpit region without it being obvious I was doing a BO check. "It's an ash circle, inscribed with the twelve symbols of Ashtaroth. What does fear smell like, exactly?"
    He frowned at the circle but didn't touch it. "Sexy."
    I blinked a couple of times. (Like that was going to make me think better?) "What?"
    He straightened up and turned toward me, and once again I was very much aware that I was alone in an apartment with a dead woman and a mysterious man who was much too handsome for my peace of mind. "It brings out the predator in me."
    My eyes widened as he leaned toward me, his eyes a mesmerizing green that seemed to suck me into their cool