Killer Calories

gave him a kiss on the cheek, then a wave good-bye as he continued on down the hall to the room he now shared with John Gibson.
    Mercy, that man is a hunk and a half, she thought, while watching him walk away. Ryan was as dark and handsome as Dion was gold and gorgeous; they must have made a stunning couple.
    Oh, well....
    She unlocked her door—or at least, she started to unlock the door—but found someone had beaten her to it.
    It’s probably Tammy, she told herself as she turned the knob and eased the door open a crack. Even though I told her be sure it was locked all the time, she must have forgotten.
    But she knew it wasn’t Tammy. She could hear someone rummaging around in the room, and if it were Tammy, the hair on the back of her neck wouldn’t be standing at attention And she wouldn’t have gooseflesh on her arms.
    She reached into her sweater pocket and pulled out the Beretta, feeling its reassuring cold metal weight in her palm. Never, in all her years of carrying the weapon, had she actually been forced to shoot anyone with it. And for that, she was infinitely grateful.
    But she had scared the crap out of more than a few, and that had been just fine and dandy with her. One of the advantages of carrying a big gun was its fright quotient. Looking down that cavernous barrel tended to make even a hardened criminal reconsider his position on a number of society’s most controversial issues.
    Bracing herself, holding the gun with both hands, she kicked the door the rest of the way open and found herself face-to-face with the intruder.
    “What the hell are you doing in my room?” she asked the person who stood only about six feet in front of her, face frozen in shock.
    When no reply was forthcoming, she added, “Never mind what you’re doing here. What I want to know is: Were you the asshole who tried to knock me over the head in the avocado grove? ‘Cause if you were, I’m gonna plug you one, right between your beady little eyes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

    S avannah had found her former assailant; no doubt about it. She could tell by the way he refused to meet her eyes as she stared him down over the Beretta’s barrel.
    “Okay, Josef, cough it up. Why were you stalking me in the oleanders and trying to bash my brains in under the avoca -dos? What did I ever do to you?”
    “You went through my room, messed with my stuff without my permission.”
    His eyes were coldly angry, and Savannah made a mental note to herself to watch this one. He was more than pissed; he was big, he was ugly, and he was dangerous. She wondered if Kat Valentina had looked into those eyes the night she had died,
    “You went through my room first,” she said, taking a verbal stab in the dark. Of course, she had no way of knowing if Josef had been the one to rearrange and redecorate their room when she had first arrived, but it was worth a try. “And you left mine a mess. At least I was neat when I searched yours.”
    Score one for the girls’ team , she thought when his eyes widened with surprise and maybe a touch of guilt. Gee, maybe Josef the Terrible had a wee bit of a conscience, after all. Or, perhaps, his reaction had been mere discomfort at having been caught.
    “What were you looking for when you tore our room to shreds?” she asked, deciding to press her advantage. After all, since she had him at gunpoint, she would probably never have a better time to grill him.
    When he didn’t answer, she waved the gun a bit for emphasis. “Well?”
    “Information,” was his curt, tight-lipped reply.
    “About what?”
    “About why you were here. It was pretty obvious you didn’t come to the Royal Palms to get into shape.”
    The way he gave her a quick, sarcastic, visual scan up and down her body made her want to nick one of his overly developed biceps with a bullet... just for effect... one little grazing wound. It probably wouldn’t bleed much, and the shag carpet was pretty ratty anyway.
    “You’re here to get something on Kat, aren’t you?” he said bitterly.
    “On Kat? She’s the one who’s dead, remember?”
    “Yeah, but you’re trying to say she killed herself. You’re going to ruin her reputation.”
    “Her reputation?” Savannah almost chuckled but reconsidered. Josef didn’t look like a guy who was particularly skilled in impulse control, and there was nothing to be gained by pushing him beyond his limits. If he charged her, she’d have to shoot him—and that would sully her pristine