From Consulted to Death...
Whack. Casey hit the bleached wood of the door with the flat of her hand, and in a flash frame saw the sink, shaving cream, deodorant, a razor, and cologne lined up on the counter beside it. The door poinged off a rubber stopper. She hit it again and took two steps into the room.
Beyond the toilet, gold knobs jutted from the wall. Steaming water drooled from the faucet between them. Tiny ripples spread slowly across the oversized tub, breaking around the knife in the back of the man who'd never use the shampoo he clutched in his right hand.
Swaying, she backed away, then fell against the dresser, gagging.
"Get your hands up!"
She spun toward the voice.
"Now! Get them up!"
The uniformed cop crouched in the bedroom doorway, his gun leveled at her chest.
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