Hannah traced a fumbling path through her memory. All she could see were the hazy images of a very bad brunch. Now she was in bed with a sixteen-year-old boy who—God help her—she wasn’t above seducing.
“David?”
He rolled onto his back and blinked in sleepy half awareness. His eyes popped open and he launched to a sitting position.
“Hannah! You’re awake! Wow, that’s . . . Hi.”
“Hi.”
“How are you feeling?”
She held the blanket in front of her chest as if she were topless. “Confused. What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain, but let me get Amanda first.”
“Wait!”
He paused at the edge of the bed. As she studied the wrinkles in his T-shirt, she waded through a tangled patch of queries and stopped at the thorniest one.
“How mad is she?”
“Who? Amanda?”
“Yeah. You were there this morning. You saw the way I acted.”
David eyed her in dim, blinking stupor. “Okay. Huh. Well, the good news is that she isn’t mad at all.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“Not bad news. Just . . .” He checked his wristwatch. “You’ve been unconscious for twenty-two and a half hours. That whole thing happened yesterday.”
“What?”
“Let me get Amanda.”
Baffled, she traced a finger along her forehead bandage and removed the blood-soaked hand towel that rested against the back of her skull. Despite all evidence of injury, she felt perfectly fine.
David soon returned with Mia and Amanda. Hannah was stunned by her sister’s dismal appearance. She looked like she’d gained ten years and lost two more husbands.
Amanda wrapped Hannah in a tight embrace. “Oh thank God. I was so worried.”
“I’m okay. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. It’s not your fault. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”
“Not even a little.” Hannah glanced at her bloody towel. “What happened to me? Did I fall?”
Amanda’s expression grew cloudy and dark. Hannah saw David and Mia trade an anxious glance.
“Okay, someone needs to tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Amanda asked her.
“You sat on Zack’s lap. Then I got all bitchy at you. I said horrible things. I think I threw a glass at the floor.”
Hannah blanched at the sight of Amanda’s brow bandages. “Oh my God. Did I do that to you?”
“It’s not your fault. You were drugged.”
“Drugged? How?”
David filled her in on everything she missed—the spiked mimosas, the tempic hand, the rushed escape to Suite 1255.
Hannah listened quietly, staring down at the bedspread with increasing agitation. By the time he finished, her eyes were filled with wet, seething rage.
“He needs to die.”
“We’ll worry about Evan later,” Amanda insisted. She hugged Hannah again. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”
She suddenly caught the scent of shampoo in Hannah’s hair, an odd smell for a woman who hadn’t showered since yesterday. She ran her fingers along the back of Hannah’s scalp.
“You checking my wound?”
“Yeah.”
“Must not be too bad if I can’t feel it.”
It bothered Amanda that she couldn’t feel it either. No broken skin. No scabs. Not even dried blood in her hair.
Hannah peeked into the empty living room. “Where’s Zack?”
“He’s in the other bedroom,” Mia replied. “He just had a long phone call with Evan.”
The news surprised David as much as Hannah. “He did? What did he say?”
“I don’t know. He just went straight to his room. I’m worried about him.”
“He’ll be all right,” Amanda said, unconvincingly. Still mystified by Hannah’s condition, she looked to David. “Did anything strange happen here last night?”
“Strange how?”
“I don’t know. Anything.”
He shrugged in drowsy detachment. “I slept like a stone. If anything happened, I missed it. Why?”
Amanda shook her head, dismissing the issue. For all she knew, accelerated healing was a new aspect of her sister’s weirdness. There were certainly worse problems to have.
As the fog slowly cleared from Hannah’s thoughts, she suddenly remembered her other recent drama. She looked into the living room again.
“Where’s Theo?”
—
Twenty-four hours after Amanda flexed her great tempic arm, the incident continued to plague the Piranda Five Towers. The property bustled with law enforcers and news reporters, plus an ever-increasing influx of fanatical Gotham-seekers.
Theo felt like a rock star in disguise as he crossed the crowded lobby. He lowered his baseball cap, adjusted his sunglasses, and cast his eyes down at his shopping bag.
Sometime during his food run, management had called in the cavalry. Security guards blocked the path to all stairs and elevators now, refusing entry to civilian nonresidents.
Unfortunately, the only key Theo possessed belonged to the hotel’s most infamous suite. He counted the cash in his pocket. He had $653, enough to rent a basic room.
He approached the reception desk. The small blond clerk studied Theo skeptically.
“No luggage, sir?”
“It’s in the car.”