Page 165 of Wicked Little Secret
Eighteen stories below, Dean Rothenberg arrives via a private driver. He thanks his chauffeur and then heads for the same private entrance Heather used moments ago.
He’s in the elevator by the time Heather’s stumbling out of the bathroom on the verge of collapse. She makes it over to the unmade bed, where the sheets are wrinkled and a Composition Notebook rests on the night stand, open to a page full of lipstick kisses. She notices none of it as she coughs, then plops down on the edge, wheezing for air.
The front door opens to Dean Rothenberg surveying the furnishings with an impressed nod. His reaction mirrors Heather’s in that way, as though he recognizes he’s made the right choice in showing up tonight.
He hadn’t needed much convincing.
He used NSFW, the same VIP site as Jackson Wicker had, often meeting up with women across the city at places like the Scarlet Room and other obscure clubs.
But tonight’s proposal was so special, he couldn’t turn it down.
The use of Thurman Adler’s penthouseanda young woman propositioning him?
MzSexi99 was a flirtatious blonde looking for an older man to spoil her. Dean Rothenberg was more than willing to volunteer in exchange for some sexual gratification.
Nyssa was behind the account on NSFW. I was behind loaning him my father’s penthouse for the evening.
I’d done so under the guise of feigned ignorance. Just an innocent offer I sensed Rothenberg couldn’t refuse. Since Wicker’s penthouse was off the table after his murder, the dean couldn’t resist the next best thing for his indiscretions.
“Hello?” he calls into the silent penthouse. He takes a few steps toward the open layout, which leads into theliving room area and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Castlebury. “MzSexi99? Are you hiding from me?”
No one answers him.
His brow creases as he explores some more, wandering toward the other half of the penthouse. Mere footsteps outside the master bedroom, he finally picks up on the fact that he’s not alone.
“MzSexi? Is that you?”
He nudges the door open all the way only to choke on air.
“Ms. Driscoll? What are you… why are you…?”
The dean can’t bring himself to finish his thought as he peers at the passed out strawberry blonde on the bed.
He hesitates for half a second and then hurries over to check on her. His fingers press at the pulse point at her neck as he leans closer to see if she’s breathing.
“Wake up,” he says, shaking her by the shoulders. “Ms. Driscoll, open your eyes. Are you MzSexi? Why would you lie? Is this some kind of set up?”
He shakes her some more as her eyelids slowly lift open.
Heather goes from catatonic to shaken awake. A scream erupts from her throat, her arms flying up to slam into Rothenberg.
“Will you stay still?” he grunts, trying to dodge her hits. “I’m trying to help you!”
“GET OFF ME!” she screams.
“Not until you stop being stupid. Don’t you hit me again!”
I sigh from where I’m hidden inside the closet, my skeletal mask on for identity protection. Heather wasn’t supposed to wake up from the sedative in the wine, but apparently she hadn’t drunk enough of it.
The plan was for Rothenberg to walk in on a passed outDriscoll and then be knocked unconscious himself to set up the crime scene.
The Valentine Killer, caught at last.
All the evidence that Nyssa had been planning to use against me was already planted on Rothenberg—the pages in the Composition Notebook, the messages exchanged using the NSFW chat function, even Driscoll’s own words to friends about seeking out an older man.
But the plan wasn’t for her to wake prematurely and then fight the dean.
As she claws at his face, he retaliates with a sharp smack across her cheek. She releases another feral, catlike scream and struggles even harder against him.