Free Never Sleep With Strangers by Heather Graham Page B

and gentlemen. There will be clues left around the castle, and instructions for your characters will be slipped to you at various times as the week moves on. I’ll warn you all, the first murder is planned for sometime today, so everyone take care. Oh, and anyone who chooses—living or dead—can meet at seven each evening for cocktails, to be followed by dinner at eight, and at that time discuss the case. More coffee, anyone?” he asked blandly.
    â€œOnly if you drink it first,” Anna Lee replied dryly.
    â€œSure,” Joshua said. He procured the coffee carafe from the buffet, poured himself a cup, sipped it, then walked around to Anna Lee’s place, pouring her more. Smoothing back his blond hair, he leaned close to her, a teasing light in his eyes. “One can’t be too cautious around here.”
    â€œI’ll take more coffee, too,” Jon said, pushing his cup forward. “Late night,” he explained.
    â€œDeath by poison!” V.J. said with a shudder. “Well, I’d been intending to go on a diet anyway. I can live without food, but never without coffee.”
    â€œNever without a good gin and tonic,” Reggie argued.
    â€œNo, never without beer,” Brett corrected.
    â€œWell, as far as coffee and food—or even cocktails and beer—go, you can indulge now,” Jon said dryly. “The game doesn’t begin until we’ve all exited the dining room. Everyone is then to go to his or her room for the next hour, while Camy and our master sculptor make sure that the weapons you’ve just seen have been properly hidden. If someone finds the weapon with which he or she was to be murdered, it can be used against the killer. But for now, feel free. Indulge.”
    â€œWell, then, let me have just a wee bit more toast,” V.J. said, adding a touch of a Scot’s accent to her voice.
    â€œI’ll go for the bacon,” Joe said.
    â€œToast for me, too, V.J.,” Sabrina called to her.
    And suddenly everyone at the table was hungry again. They ate like a group of loggers about to head out for hours of hard labor. But, finally, one by one, they began to leave. Sabrina, seeing Brett ahead of her, purposely lagged behind, lowering her eyes as she sipped her coffee. When she lifted her gaze again, she was startled to realize that only she and Jon remained in the room. He was seated across the table, studying her.
    â€œIt really is good to see you again,” he told her, voice husky, eyes firmly on her.
    To her dismay, she felt a fluttering in her heart. “Thank you.”
    He sat back, still watching her. She felt as if his eyes were penetrating her skin, and she groped about quickly for something casual to say.
    â€œSo, are you the killer?” she inquired.
    He arched a brow. “Are you talking about the game—or real life?”
    She flushed. “The game.”
    â€œIf I were,” he answered slowly, “I couldn’t tell you. Just as you couldn’t tell me. It wouldn’t be fair.” He leaned forward then, a dry smile curling his lips. “But don’t you want to know about real life?”
    She stared back at him, feeling as if her breakfast had suddenly sunk from her stomach to her feet. “Jon, I didn’t come here to question you or to bring back unhappy memories.”
    â€œWhy not? It’s why most of the others did, both my friends and my enemies. Don’t you want to know the truth? Or did you really run away from me simply because you didn’t give a damn?”
    She wasn’t going to answer that, so she stared at him and demanded, “So did you kill Cassandra? What a question! If you had killed her, you couldn’t tell me, could you? There’s no real difference between the game and real life.”
    â€œOh, there’s a difference, all right. As far as the game goes, I can’t tell you if I’m the killer or not. As for real life…no,