“Now,” Tory said, walking up and down the length of the stage. “Whenever you hear me say the word mango, you will come to believe that you have just passed gas. Loudly. In a crowded room.”
It was five minutes before Tory said the word mango. Immediately, all of the hypnotized subjects started looking distinctly uncomfortable, except for Michael, who gave an elaborate shrug, and the girl who’d been sitting with Aaron, who took a step forward. And then another. And another.
She walked straight to the edge of the stage, her head bowed. Just when I thought she might walk off the front, she came to a sudden halt.
“Miss, I’m going to need you to take a step back,” Tory called.
The girl lifted her head. Her light brown hair fell away from her face. She stared at the audience, her gaze piercing. “Tertium,” she said.
One of the stage lights shattered and popped.
“Tertium,” the girl repeated, her voice louder, more piercing.
Tory was trying to get her to back up, trying to wake her up, but she couldn’t.
“Tertium.” The girl was screaming now. Behind her, the rest of the hypnotized subjects stood perfectly still. Michael broke away from the others, his eyes cogent and clear.
The girl raised her hands to the side, palms out. Her voice lowered itself to a coarse but powerful whisper that hit me like spiders crawling down my spine. “I need nine.”
The girl’s eyes rolled back in her head. She collapsed. Tory leapt forward. In the row in front of us, Aaron pushed his way to the aisle.
The curtain came down. An uneasy murmur spread through the audience. The people around us had no idea what had just happened. They had no idea what it meant.
You.
Need.
Nine.
The thought came to me in pieces. I forced air into my lungs.
“Nine.” Sloane’s voice somehow managed to reach my ears through the dull roar of the crowd. “Tertium. Tertium. Tertium. Three. Three times three—”
“Please remain in your seats,” a deep voice commanded over the loudspeaker. “The show will resume momentarily.”
Judd took one look at the potential for chaos and jerked his head toward the nearest exit.
“What about Townsend?” Dean said as we pushed our way through the crowd. “He’s still onstage.”
Judd deposited us safely in the hallway. “I’ll go get Michael,” he told Dean. “You stay here and watch the girls.”
That got a substantial eyebrow raise out of Lia. “I do hope my dowry is large enough to attract a virile man,” she told me wistfully. “I’m so very helpless on my own.”
Dean was wise enough not to reply.
Once Judd was out of earshot, Lia lowered her voice. “So are we all thinking that either Aaron’s little girlfriend is our killer and she just had a psychotic break, or that our killer somehow hypnotized her into delivering that message?”
I nodded. After a second or two, Dean agreed. “Yes.”
“Tertium again,” Lia commented. “You think our guy considers that his name?”
Tertium, I thought. Meaning the third time.
The third time. The third time. The third time.
I need nine.
“It’s not a name,” I told Lia. “It’s a promise.” I turned to look at Sloane, to get her read on the numbers—but she wasn’t beside me. I whirled, doing a three-sixty.
No Sloane.
Lia cursed, then slammed back into the theater. An instant later, Dean and I were on her heels. Sloane was usually easy to spot, but in a crowd this large, the best I could do was follow Lia and think, Sloane came here to see Aaron. And the last time I saw her, she was talking about the numbers.
That meant that she was either trailing after Aaron or she’d gone straight to the source of the numbers. The girl. Either way, she was probably—
“Backstage,” I yelled to Lia, struggling to keep up with her as she pushed her way to the front of the auditorium. Two bouncer-types were positioned on either side of the stage. Lia leaned forward and whispered something in one of their ears. The man paled and stepped aside, allowing us to pass.
I truly did not want to know what Lia had told him, but I had to admit that her particular skill set definitely had its uses.
Backstage, I spotted Michael crouched near the girl, who was sitting up now. Judd stood behind Michael. Sloane wasn’t with them. That left one likely option.
“Find Aaron,” I said, “and we’ll find Sloane.”
“You son of a bitch.”
I turned, just in time to see Beau Donovan slam Aaron Shaw up against a wall. Aaron had three or four inches and a good thirty pounds on Beau, but Beau came at him like he was completely unaware of that fact.
“I found Aaron,” Lia said.
Aaron threw Beau off him. Beau skidded backward on his heels, then came at Aaron again. This time, a small blond blur stepped in front of Aaron.
Sloane.
Dean lunged forward. He hated violence. He avoided it at all costs because he could never be sure that he wouldn’t wake up one day and like it too much. But if anyone laid so much as a finger on Sloane…
Aaron stepped in front of Sloane a second before Beau collided with her. Dean latched a protective arm around Sloane’s waist and pulled her back. Beau shoved Aaron again, and Aaron snapped and surged forward. They both went down. Within seconds, Aaron was on top and unquestionably in control. Beau’s gaze locked onto Aaron’s face with intense hatred.
“What is your problem?” Sloane’s brother spat.