Killer. (Book Six)

Twenty-Seven: Deja Vu...Revealed.

Hanna skidded across the slippery marble floor, coming to a stop. This hotel was a maze, and somehow, she'd managed to retrace her steps and was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling tapestry of Napoleon yet again. She looked right and left, searching for Mike. The crowd of parties was so thick, she didn't see him anywhere.

She passed the throne room and heard a familiar voice. Inside was Noel Kahn, draped over the large, velvet throne, his shoulders shaking with laughter. There was an upside-down champagne bucket on his head, a makeshift crown.

Hanna groaned. It was unbelievable that Noel could get away with at Rosewood parties, just because his parents bankrolled the town.

She marched up to him and poked his arm. Noel turned and brightened. "Hanna!" He smelled as if he'd drunk a whole bathtub of tequila.

"Where's Mike?"

Noel threw his legs over the chair. His pant legs rose slightly, revealing blue-and-red argyle socks. "Don't know. But I should kiss you."

Ugh. "Why?"

"Because," he slurred. "You won me five hundred bucks."

She stepped back. "Excuse me?"

Noel brought his cocktail, a reddish drink that looked a lot like Red Bull and vodka, to his lips. Liquid dribbled down his shirt and pooled on the seat of the chair. A few Quaker school girls sitting on paisley-upholstered footstools nudged one another, giggling. How could they think Noel was hot? If this were really Versailles, Noel wouldn't be the Louis XIV. He'd be the French version of the village idiot.

"The whole lax team had a bet going to see who Mike could get to take him to prom," Noel explained. "You or your hottie stepsister. We made the bet after you started throwing yourselves at him. I'm going to give Mike half my winnings for being such a good sport."

Hanna ran her hands along the piece of her Time Capsule flag, which she'd tied to the chain of her Chanel purse. She felt the color drain from her face.

Noel nudged his head toward the door. "If you don't believe me, ask Mike yourself."

Hanna turned. Mike was leaning against one of the Grecian-style columns, smiling at a girl from Tate Prep. Hanna let out a low growl and made a beeline to him. When Mike saw her, he grinned sheepishly.

"Your teammates bet on us?" Hanna screeched. The Tate girl quickly skittered away.

Mike supped his wine, shrugging. "It's no different than what you girls were doing. Except the other guys on the lax team were playing for money. What were you playing for? Tampons?"

Hanna ran her hand over her forehead. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Mike was supposed to be vulnerable and weak, a victim. And all along, he'd known they'd been competing. All along, he'd been playing her.

She sighed, weary. "So I guess our prom date is off?"

Mike looked surprised. "I don't want it to be."

Hanna searched his face. "Really?" Mike shook his head. "So then...you don't care that you were just some...bet?"

Mike glanced at her bashfully, then looked away. "Not if you don't."

Hanna tried her best to hide her smile—and her relief. She nudged him hard in the ribs. "Well, you'd better give me half your winnings."

"And you'd better give me half your..." Mike stopped, making a face. "Never mind. I don't need half your tampons. We'll use the winnings for a bottle of Cristal for the prom, how's that?" And then, he brightened even more. "And for a motel room."