She waved her arms at him and finally he saw her. He waved back. Smiled. Then he tumbled forward, face down in the snow with the man falling on top of him. Even before she got there she could see the snow turning red.

“Oh God, no.”

Then she saw the old woman. She pointed to the stiletto knife clutched in the man’s hand.

“That’s the bastard that killed Gino,” was all she said.

That’s when Maggie saw the wide end of an icicle sticking out of the man’s back.

>

10:00 a.m.

Monday, December 5

Embassy Suites

Maggie had gotten five hours of sleep. For once she felt more than rested. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a favorite warm, bulky sweater and headed down to the lobby. Pakula already had a table. She saw him through the glass elevator. The same elevator John Robert Gunderson had used for the last four days.

“I ordered our coffee,” Pakula said, standing when she came to the table and pointing to the can of Diet Pepsi in Maggie’s spot. She was impressed that he remembered her wake-up drink.

He had file folders piled up but pushed to the side of the table. She added one to his stack, information Tully had faxed to her late last night.

“So is Gunderson his real name?” Pakula wanted to know.

“Yes.”

They had found a small case inside his hotel suite that contained about a dozen driver’s licenses and credit cards with various aliases. All the same initials.

“He’s a traveling salesman,” she said, taking a sip of the Diet Pepsi. “One of Bosco Blades' top salesmen.”

“Blades.” Pakula shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“He flunked out of med school. I suspected he might have a medical background. He knew too much about where to stab. I just talked to Lieutenant Taylor Jackson this morning. Turns out one of his victims was a classmate of his. Heath Stover. He killed him in Nashville. We think he probably didn’t want anyone to know he’d flunked out.

“Also, we now know he was in Nashville for a medical conference. Was supposed to do a presentation but canceled. Detective Killian told me there was a medical convention going on in New Orleans when he killed his two victims there. Kansas City was a conference for surgeons. And in Omaha—”

“The sales conference at the Qwest Center,” Pakula said, making the connection. “For medical devices or something, right?”

She nodded.

“How could he get away with it? Wouldn’t his co-workers suspect something?”

“He worked out of a home office. Had a secretary at Bosco that he communicated with by phone, text and email. He met with his boss once a month. And he made all his travel arrangements on his own, so he could be whoever he wanted to be when he was on the road.”

“He looked like an ordinary guy,” Pakula said. “Best disguise there is.”

“What about the old woman? You’re not going to press charges are you?”

“Hell no. She did us a favor. I did get her off the streets.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I know a guy who handles security for about a dozen buildings in the downtown area. Seems he was able to find a nice little apartment for her in one of them.”

Maggie smiled. Of course Nick Morrelli would want to take good care of the woman who saved his life.

“And what about Lydia?” she asked.

“Yeah, it appears this building even takes cats.”

No one realized until last night that the old woman had an old calico cat that she kept bundled up and warm in the shopping cart.

“I’ve got to head out,” Pakula gathered up his file folders and Maggie stood to walk him out before she went back up to the room. “Sure you can’t stay for a day or two? My wife makes some of the best kolaches you’ll ever eat.”

“Maybe next time.”

He shook her hand then muttered, “Aw the hell with it,” and gave her a hug.

Just as he got to the door, Nick Morrelli came in. The two men exchanged greetings and then Nick’s eyes found her.

He was clean-shaven this morning and dressed in crisp trousers and a bright red ski jacket. She stood in the archway to the restaurant area where only a few tables were occupied at this time on a Monday morning. She waited for him, watched him stride across the lobby. Last night when she thought he had been stabbed she had such a mix of emotions. Nick had a way of doing that to her.

He wasn’t relationship material, she reminded herself as he got closer and she couldn’t pull her eyes away from his. He had called early this morning, asking if they could spend some time together. Maybe go ice skating. Take a carriage ride. She had agreed. Now as she got a whiff of his aftershave she wondered if perhaps that wasn’t such a wise decision.

He pointed to something over her head.

“You’re always giving me mixed signals, Maggie O’Dell,” he said.

She looked up to see the mistletoe hanging in the archway and before she could say a word he was kissing her. And suddenly she found herself thinking it might just be too cold to leave the hotel.

GET TO KNOW THE AUTHORS

Friends for several years, the authors have long wanted to work together on a project. When Alex approached Erica and JT with the idea of a series of short stories with each author’s protagonist chasing the same serial killer, they jumped at the chance. The result is SLICES OF NIGHT: a novella in 3 parts.

ERICA SPINDLER – The Missing And The Gone

(Detective Stacy Killian, NOPD)

In the heart of the New Orleans French Quarter, a homeless young woman is found stabbed to death. The simple ambush killing proves to be anything but, and NOPD Detective Stacy Killian finds herself in a life-and-death race against the clock. She's willing to risk everything to win. And she's willing to risk it all to do so.

A New York Times and International bestselling author, Erica Spindler's skill for crafting engrossing plots and compelling characters has earned both critical praise and legions of fans. Published in 25 countries, her stories have been lauded as “thrill-packed page turners, white- knuckle rides and edge-of-your-seat whodunits.”

Raised in Rockford, Illinois, Erica had planned on being an artist, earning a BFA from Delta State University and an MFA from the University of New Orleans in the visual arts. In June of 1982, in bed with a cold, she picked up a romance novel for relief from daytime television. She was immediately hooked, and soon decided to try to write one herself. She leaped from romance to suspense in 1996 with her novel Forbidden Fruit, and found her true calling.

Her novel Bone Cold won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence. A Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member, she received a Kiss of Death Award for her novels Forbidden Fruit and Dead Run and was a three-time RITA® Award finalist. Publishers Weekly awarded the audio version of her novel Shocking Pink a Listen Up Award, naming it one of the best audio mystery books of 1998.

Erica lives just outside New Orleans, Louisiana, with her husband and two sons and is busy at work on her next thriller. Become a fan of Erica's at her website: http://www.ericaspindler.com or follow her on Facebook at Facebook/EricaSpindler.

Questions for Erica Spindler

What is your favorite indulgence, treat or reward?

I’m going to be completely honest with you, I believe in indulging myself. I have my favorite Starbucks drink everyday. I keep good, really dark chocolate in the pantry and break off a chunk daily. I also make time for Pilates because it just makes me feel so good. Oh, and did I mention red wine? I must because it’s my favorite way to reward myself after a productive day writing. Ahh . . . enjoy.