Never Sleep With Strangers Read Online Free PDF Page B

him.
    Yet somehow his presence seemed to linger, and Sabrina found herself turning to stare again at the wax tableau of Matthew, Laird McNamara.
    Very tall, straight, broad-shouldered he was, with hands on his hips as he stood over the woman at his feet. Handsome, proud, merciless, powerful—laird indeed of his domain.
    So powerful that he could kill and get away with it?
    She forced herself to turn away, to look at the other figures as they engaged in their various dances with death.
    The diffuse lighting made everything even more horrible. Shadows filled the room except where each scene stood, looming out of the darkness in eerie purple light, adding to the sensation of everything being real. Sabrina could imagine that the figures breathed. That they twitched, that they sweated. That they might move at any second…
    Matthew McNamara stood over his wife, fists clenched.
    Jack the Ripper wielded his knife.
    And Lady Ariana Stuart continued to scream in terror and chilling silence.
    A new wave of chills began a route through Sabrina’s bloodstream, and she jumped again when Brett’s hands fell on her shoulders.
    â€œLet’s get out of here, shall we?” he said.
    And she realized that even he suddenly sounded afraid.

3
    â€œM s. Holloway!”
    Cocktails were being served in the library of the castle, just down the grand staircase from the guest rooms on the second floor and opposite the great hall, where everyone would gather for dinner. Sabrina found herself arriving rather late. She’d lingered in the modern bath for a very long time, drawing together the courage to dress and go downstairs. Her brief meeting with Jon Stuart had left her far more unnerved than she’d imagined it would. For once she had to be grateful for Brett’s presence. He kept her from feeling too lost and alone, even if he was annoying.
    She’d barely reached the doorway to the library when she heard her name being called. A small woman with short-cropped, shiny brown hair was moving toward her, offering her a glass of champagne. She had powder blue eyes, a pretty, heart-shaped face and a tentative smile that immediately set Sabrina at ease.
    â€œWelcome, welcome, we’re so delighted that you could come. Well, I’m delighted especially, since I’m a true fan.” She pressed the champagne flute forward into Sabrina’s hand.
    â€œThank you so much,” Sabrina said. “And you are…?”
    â€œOh!” The young woman said, and flushed, making her appear even prettier and more delicate. “I’m Camy, Camy Clark. I’m Jon’s secretary and assistant.”
    â€œOf course, Joan of Arc!”
    Camy flushed more deeply. “Yes, that would be me. Joshua Valine is a good friend.”
    Sabrina laughed. “He must be. You look lovely, even being martyred.”
    â€œWell, Josh is a dear. He makes everyone look wonderful. You’re definitely the finest looking victim I’ve ever seen on a rack.”
    Sabrina laughed again, lifting her champagne glass. “He’s very talented, certainly.”
    â€œSo are you. I love your work. The male writers can be so dry. You know, all action but no endearing characteristics to their people. I just love your Miss Miller. She’s a delight. So real, so sympathetic, brave but not ridiculously so.”
    â€œThank you again. Very much.”
    â€œCamy, Camy, Camy!”
    A slim woman of about five-five, with short, artfully styled dark hair, was bearing down on them. Her off-the-shoulder cocktail dress was elegant designer wear; her shoes matched its soft mauve. Sabrina knew Susan Sharp, because Susan herself made a point of knowing everyone. Most writers both feared and appreciated the literary critic because she had so much clout, especially in the world of the wealthy, and thus, by word of mouth, could help make or break a book or an author. She had written two mysteries herself and done very well with