Rude Awakening (Kit Tolliver #2) (The Kit Tolliver Stories) by Lawrence Block Read Free Book Online Page B

good time. And, just so that you don’t have to worry, we took precautions.”
    “That’s good to know.”
    “And then you, uh, passed out.”
    “I did?”
    “It was a little scary. You just went out like a light. For a minute I thought, I don’t know—”
    “That I was dead,” she supplied.
    “But you were breathing, so I ruled that out.”
    “That keen analytical mind must serve you well on Wall Street.”
    “I tried to wake you,” he said, “but you were gone. So I let you sleep. And then I fell asleep myself, and, well, here we are.”
    “Naked and unashamed.” She yawned, stretched. “Look,” she said, “I’m going to treat myself to a shower, even if I didn’t win the right in the Name That Stud contest. Don’t go away, okay?”

    The bathroom had a window, and one look showed that she was on a high floor, with a river view. She showered, and washed her hair with his shampoo. Then she borrowed his toothbrush and brushed her teeth diligently, and gargled with a little mouthwash.
    When she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in his big yellow towel, the aroma of fresh coffee led her into the kitchen, where he’d just finished filling two cups. He was wearing a white terry robe with a nautical motif, dark blue anchors embroidered on the pockets. His soft leather slippers were wine-colored.
    Gifts, she thought. Men didn’t buy those things for themselves, did they?
    “I made coffee,” he said.
    “So I see.”
    “There’s cream and sugar, if you take it.”
    “Just black is fine.” She picked up her cup, breathed in the steam that rose from it. “I might live,” she announced. “Do you sail?”
    “Sail?”
    “The robe. Anchors aweigh and all that.”
    “Oh. I suppose I could, because I don’t get seasick or anything. But no, I don’t sail. I have another robe, if you’d be more comfortable.”
    “With anchors? Actually I’m comfortable enough like this.”
    “Okay.”
    “But if I wanted to be even more comfortable . . .” She let the towel drop to the floor, noted with satisfaction the way his eyes widened. “How about you? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you got rid of that sailor suit?”

    Afterward she propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at him. “I feel much much better now,” she announced.
    “The perfect hangover cure?”
    “No, the shower and the coffee took care of the hangover. This let me feel better about myself. I mean, the idea of hooking up and not remembering it . . .”
    “You’ll remember this, you figure?”
    “You bet. What about you, Peter? Will you remember?”
    “Till my dying day.”
    “I’d better get dressed and head on home.”
    “And I can probably use a shower,” he said. “Unless you want to—”
    “You go ahead. I’ll have another cup of coffee while you’re in there.”
    Her clothes were on the chair, and she dressed quickly, then picked up her purse and checked its contents. She opened the little plastic vial, and counted the little blue pills.
    Six of them, which was the same number she’d had at the start of the evening. Six little Roofies, so she hadn’t slipped one into his drink, as she’d planned.
    Nor had she fucked up big time and taken Rohypnol herself, which was what she’d begun to suspect. Because she hadn’t been hitting the Cosmos anywhere near hard enough to account for the way the evening had turned out. It would have added up if she’d dosed his drink and then chosen the wrong glass, but she still had all her pills left.
    Unless . . .
    Oh, Peter, she thought. Peter Peter, pussy eater, what a naughty young man you turned out to be.
    She returned the vial of blue pills to her purse and drew out the small glassine envelope instead. It was unopened, and held perhaps half a teaspoonful of a crystalline white substance. Not so fast as Rohypnol, according to her information, but rather more permanent.
    She went into the kitchen, poured herself more coffee, and considered what was left in the