FORBIDDEN
TOUCH
Deleted
Scene
In
my third book, Forbidden Touch, I deleted a whole murder. I
decided it unnecessarily complicated the story and took it in a direction
I didn't want to go. But I do still like the tension of this scene where
Iris walks into a mess she didn't anticipate.
She rolled
out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt.
Slipping her feet in a pair of thong sandals, she grabbed her door key and
headed out.
She bypassed
the elevator down to the second floor and took the stairs, letting the
two-story descent work off some of the tension building in her chest.
Exiting on the second floor, she walked quietly down the deserted hallway
toward Room 207.
She stopped
by the door to Shayla's room, listening for voices. She heard the
faint sound of music coming from a room down the hall, but Shayla's room
was quiet. Had she already gone to bed after all? Iris glanced
at her watch. Eleven-twenty. Shayla had said she should feel
free to call any time before midnight.
Iris closed
her eyes and sifted through the flutter of sensations roiling inside her,
Most were coming from the hundreds of small dramas playing out behind the
closed doors within the St. George Hotel, but she tuned them out and
concentrated on what was happening inside room 207.
A few seconds
later, she realized she was feeling nothing. It wasn't the same
hollow emptiness she'd felt from the bearded man outside the Tropico.
It was more solid than that.
Maybe Shayla wasn't in her room.
Still,
someone had answered the phone just a few minutes ago, even if they hadn't
been able to hear Iris on the other line. Iris lifted her hand and
knocked on the door.
The door swung a few inches inward.
Iris stepped
back, her heart giving an unsteady jerk. No noise came from within
the room. Iris listened hard for the sound of breathing but heard
nothing.
"Shayla?"
she called softly.
Silence
answered her.
She stepped
back from the doorway, uncertain what to do. What if Shayla was hurt
and in need of help? All she had to do was open the door and check.
But if
someone had done something to her, that someone might still be inside.
She'd be stupid to venture inside alone.
The sound of
footsteps moving closer, softened by the thick carpet lining the hallway,
filtered into her consciousness. A hollow feeling seeped into the
center of her chest, and she turned to find the sandy-haired stranger with
the Van Dyke beard walking slowly toward her.
She backed up
slowly, fear tangling around her legs, making them slow to respond.
"Don't run away," the man said. The foreign accent was
gone, replaced by a neutral American inflection.
"Who are
you?" she asked, pressing her back against the wall of the hallway.
He didn't
answer, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the partially opened door.
"Whose room is this?"
"You
answer my question first," Iris responded, taking a sliding step
toward the stairway exit.
He ignored
her reply and pushed open the door to room 207. He stared inside a
moment, his expression impossible to read. But Iris felt a flicker
of dismay run through the empty pit in her gut before he clamped down on
the emotion and turned to look at her, his expression grim.
Iris stared
at him, her heart plummeting. "What is it?"
He stepped
back, as if to make room for her to see what was inside for herself.
Weighted down by dread, she forced herself to join him in the doorway.
She lifted her head and looked inside.
Lying on the
floor, her neck twisted at an impossible angle, Shayla Phelps stared at
the ceiling with cold, dead eyes.
Copyright
© 2007 by Paula Graves
