Dressed to kill

Pauley stared at the proffered hand. The flawless ivory skin, the impeccably manicured nails, flowing from the cuff of a pale green silk blouse. Unable to lift her arms, she shifted her gaze to the other woman’s face.

Smiling down at her were the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. A mane of chestnut hair framed the face of the other woman. She was speaking, but Pauley could only process a word here and there.

“Millicent…. boss… lucky… cyanide… killed you.”

Turning her head side to side as far as she could manage, Pauley tried to take in the room where she was being kept. It looked like a hotel room, but the IV tower and saline bag next to her bed were confusing. Squinting, she could almost make out her Walther pistol on the night stand atop Millicent’s purse, just out of reach.

Her head felt like it would explode and every blink was like grinding glass shards into her eyes. It was hurt to swallow and her tongue was like sandpaper. There was a slight bitter taste of almonds in her mouth.

Fighting to remain conscious, Pauley’s last thought before her vision went black again was did her boss send this woman to save her or kill her. If it was to kill her, shouldn’t she already be dead.

Millicent checked Pauley’s pulse, making sure she was merely sleeping. The antidote was working and she’d make a full recovery.

Stepping back to get a good look at her, Millicent was curious about the younger killer.

Pauley’s boss, Butch, had called earlier that day. He was concerned about his rookie gunman. Her growing reputation as an expert sniper was causing a few problems with other families and a contract was put out on her. Butch found out and tried to warn her.

When Pauley wouldn’t answer her phone, he called his old friend Millicent. He knew she was in town at a chemist conference. The perfect cover for a sociopath with a skill for formulating toxins. She owed him a favor. The contract was with a pro in poisoning, making Millicent the perfect foil.

Picking up her discarded Vogue, Millicent sat back down in the hotel chair. Watching Pauley’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, she studied the other woman. Wondering what lead her to this life so closely tied to death.

Younger by at least 10 years, Pauley could pass for a teenager. Her pale skin, devoid of any makeup, was like porcelain. Long, fine sandy blonde hair fanned out over the bed giving Pauley a shimmering halo. Her eyelashes were so blonde, they looked white against her skin. She could blend into any situation with ease, but when her eyes were open, their striking emerald green was hard to forget.

She still had a boyish body, slight and athletic. Pauley’s small frame was deceptive. She was all muscle, and heavier than she appeared. Millicent struggled to carry her from the elevator and get her into the room.

Scrutinizing her lack of style, Millicent thought Pauley could use some practical fashion advice. With a little guidance, Pauley would be a stunner, and deadly with more than her gun.

Millicent drew her phone out of her Prada bag. Scrolling through her contacts, she dialed a much used number.

“Remy! Bonjour mon amour,” Millicent cooed into her phone. “Yes, but I’m only in town for a few days. I have a project for you. I have a friend who needs your master’s touch.”

Millicent stood up to get a better look at Pauley’s supine figure.

“I’d say a small size 2. About five-foot-six, maybe 110 pounds. Blonde with remarkable green eyes. Ha! Not more than a handful, and no hips to speak of.

“She won’t be able to make it to your salon, can you bring the ensembles to the Hennessy? Have the concierge let me know when you arrive.

“Merci. I will see you soon.”

Millicent touched the screen, ending the call. Sitting at the edge of the bed, she picked up Pauley’s limp hand. Turning her arm over, she admired the taut muscles of the girl’s bicep.

“Yes, indeed,” Millicent whispered. “If you listen to me, Pauley, you will be even more dangerous than you are now. Almost as dangerous as me.”

This is the third installment in a collaborative story with Lance from “My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.” We’ve teamed up our female killers – Millicent, a sociopathic expert with poisons, and Pauley, a sniper with a conscience. Lance’s next installment is “She’s in Fashion.” You’ll want to check out the previous chapters too.

Part 1 – Let it go to voice mail
Part 2 – Remedy