Page 23 of Savage Beauty

“You want to give that to me?” I’m close enough now. The shopping bag is in one hand, and I hold out the other arm for her to hand me the weapon.

“Then your prints will be on it.”

“How about I clean it? You get dressed.” I glance around the room, knowing I need to buy us time. We need to be through security before they discover this body. If I put the body in a closet, maybe we’ll get lucky and no one will discover her until after we’re long gone.

“What about the blood?” Her gaze is fixed on the floor and the slowly spreading pool.

There are blankets near the sofas, and a container for used hospital gowns and sheets stands in the corner. Towels might be in the bathroom or a closet.

“You get dressed. I’ll take care of it.” Cleaning a scene isn’t an area of expertise, but I’ve picked up a thing or two over the years from some of our more covert operations.

“Did you get me shoes?”

“Slippers.” With a glance at the body on the ground, I say, “More like fleece lined silky socks. She was right. That was all they had.”

Sloane twists the scalpel, placing the handle in my palm, and bends down next to the nurse’s feet where she unfastens the dead woman’s shoes. “I think she’s about my size.”

Who would’ve thought it? Sloane Watson is a cutthroat badass.

CHAPTER6

Sloane

I killed someone.

But I had no choice. She was going to take me back to Cambodia. Or put me on a boat.

It’s against the law to kill.

But not if it’s self-defense.

The Bible says thou shall not kill.

The Bible also claims a man split a river with his rod.

But you know killing is wrong. It’s the most wrong thing a person can do.

The blade went in so smoothly. She didn’t expect I would fight back.

She underestimated you. Whoever is doing this is underestimating you. Just like Mrs. Jones when she told your parents you might need extra help. You proved her wrong.

I killed someone.

Killing is wrong.

I don’t like the feeling in my chest. It’s uncomfortable. I wish I could squeeze my eyes shut and make it go away.

“Sloane, are you okay?” Max’s touch sears my shoulder, and I flinch. I don’t want to be touched right now. “We need to get going. This woman wasn’t working alone.”

In order to leave, I need to get dressed. There’s a stainless-steel railing on the bathroom wall, and I use this for balance as I change. More fingerprints. But I stayed in this hospital room. My fingerprints will be everywhere.

When I exit the bathroom, the white floor tiles shine, and the air smells of cleaning solution. The nurse is gone. Max works fast. Or maybe I dress slow.

There’s a knock on the door to the suite. Max steps in front of me as the door swings open.

“Ah, you’re ready to go,” this nurse says, sounding surprised.

She’s wearing white shoes that match mine.

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