Lethal Seduction (17 page)

She headed into the kitchen and put on the coffee, then she slid back into the bedroom, threw on a shirt and jeans, grabbed Slammer's leash, left the apartment and ran him around the block.

When she got back, Jake was in the kitchen, pouring coffee into two mugs.

“And
so,”
he said, killer grin going full force. “She looks perfectly beautiful in the morning too.”

“What are you—a poet?” she said, smiling.

“Last night was
very
special,” he said, handing her a cup of coffee.
“Exceptionally
special, in fact.”

“How did it happen so fast?” she marveled, perching on a high stool at the kitchen counter.

“Guess I'm irresistible,” he joked.

“Sure, that's it,” she joked back. “Must've been those bony knees of yours that got me going!”

“My knees aren't bony,” he objected, sitting next to her. “My knees are perfect.”

“Says who?”

“Me?”

“Okay, he has perfect knees. I'll accept that.”

“And
she
has a perfect mouth,” he responded.

“Anyway,” she said, becoming serious, “it's no big deal, right?”

“What? My knees?”

“No.
Us.
Y'know, jumping into bed so quickly.”

“Right,” he agreed. “After all, we've been friends for a while now, almost a year.”

“That's true, and as you said, this
is
our second date, so it wasn't like I threw myself into bed with you on our
first
date.”

“You worry about stupid details,” he said.

“I know,” she agreed. “I'm trying to get over it.”

He smiled and sipped his coffee. “How's work?”

“Same old grind. You know I wrote a piece for the magazine on call girls in L.A. I didn't quote your girlfriend since you asked me not to.”

“She wasn't my
girlfriend,”
he explained. “She was a nice girl with whom I had a brief fling. And she only got into the business because she had to take care of her sister.”

“How compassionate.”

“Don't be bitchy.”

“Well . . . I do have to say,” Madison admitted grudgingly. “She
was
very beautiful.”

“She was
pretty,”
he said, giving Madison a long, intense look.
“You're
beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she said, feeling the burn of intimacy and not quite sure how to handle it. After David she was determined never to get hurt again. Casual was the name of the game from now on. No expectations. No disappointments. Simply fun.

“How about you?” she asked. “What's going on with you workwise?”

“Everything's good,” he said. “I got back from Africa a week ago, where I was photographing cheetahs in the wild.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “I
love
cheetahs. They are
the
most beautiful animals.”

“You should watch them running. It has to be the most powerful sight you've ever witnessed.”

“Can I see your photographs?”

“Any time.”

“I'd like that.”

“And . . . I'd like to . . .”

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“I think you know what,” he said, leaning over and kissing her full on the mouth.

She could taste the coffee on his tongue, and once more desire began coursing through her. She wanted him again, and there was absolutely no reason why she couldn't have him.

•

A week later he was gone. A long, lingering kiss at the door, and then he was out of there on his way to an assignment in Paris.

“Come with me?” he suggested.

She knew it was too soon to start following him around the world. “I can't,” she said. “I'm waiting to hear from the detective. I have work commitments, and I've got to talk to Stella.”

Excuses, excuses. She could go if she wanted to.

“I'll miss you,” he said. “I'll miss everything about you.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“As long as it takes. You know me—not into making plans.”

She was beginning to understand that.

And so, after a week of complete togetherness, he vanished out of her life as quickly as he'd reentered it.

Normal existence resumed. She checked out her answering machine. It was jammed. For seven days she'd holed up with Jake and gotten lost in the experience. Now she had a list of people to call back and explain her absence to. Victor for one. Michael had phoned every day. Jamie, Natalie, Anton and David.

At least people cared whether she lived or died.

She called Victor back first.

“And where exactly have
you
been?” he boomed. “How dare you skip out of town and not tell anybody. You missed Evelyn's birthday. Even more important—you missed the date she arranged for you. Evelyn is mad, and that's not a pleasant sight.”

“Sorry, Victor. I fell in lust.”

“You
what?”

“Caught up with an old friend.”

“You mean you had sex?”

“I really don't think that's any of your concern.”

“Ha!” Victor said loudly. “You'd better think of a way to make it up to Evelyn. She is
not
pleased. Besides, it makes
me
look bad.”

“We never had a definite arrangement.”

“Of course we did,” he argued. “You assured me you were coming.”

“How could I do that when I didn't even know what day your party was?”

“I left six messages on your machine.”

“I only listened this morning.”

“Ha!” he repeated. “What if it had been an emergency?”

“It wasn't, was it?”

“You always have an answer.”

“You trained me well.”

“How's your research on The Panther coming along?”

“Pretty damn good,” she lied.

“You all set for Vegas?”

“I have a question,” she said, suddenly coming up with a great idea.

“Yes?”

“What photographer are you assigning?”

“Haven't thought about it yet. If the Panther wins, we'll do him as the cover, so I need the best.”

“And if he loses?”

“Tough shit.”

“You're such a charmer, Victor.”

“Thanks,” he said, his voice louder than ever.

She hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead. “Uh . . . remember Jake Sica? The photographer you hired in L.A.”

“That's the guy who informed me he couldn't work for us anymore. Had to go off and do other things. Like photographing wildlife or something.”

“He's back.”

“In your bed?”

“Wouldn't
you
like to know.”

“In your bed,” Victor said, absolutely sure.

“I was thinking he could do a fine job, he's great with action shots. He might be the photographer to send to Vegas with me.”

“You don't have to hit me over the head with a two-by-four,” Victor said. “I get it. Where can I contact him?”

“He's in Paris at the moment. I'll have
him
call
you.”

“I've been meaning to ask, how's your book progressing? Still working hard?”

“Oh, my book,” she said guiltily, realizing that she hadn't worked on it in weeks. “Yes, it's making progress,” she said, getting quite adept at lying to Victor. “I promise you'll be the first to read it.”

“Good. Send Evelyn flowers.”

“No,
you
send Evelyn flowers, put my name on the card.”

“Cheapskate,” he muttered.

“You're
the one with the enormous expense account,” she pointed out. “I'm merely an employee.”

She called Michael next.

He sounded even more tense than the last time they'd spoken. “What is this?” he said. “You leave town and don't even tell me where you are?”

“Why do you want to know?” she said, not prepared to offer any explanations.

“Because I've been trying to reach you for days.”

Too bad,
she thought, still trying to work out how she felt about him.

He's my father and I love him.

He's made my past meaningless and I hate him.

“What's so important?” she asked, wanting to punish him with her indifference.

There was a long silence before he spoke. “It's about Stella,” he said at last. “She's . . . dead.” Another long, ominous pause. “The funeral's tomorrow. I'd like you to be there.”

Thank God for Chas,
that's all Rosarita could say. As far as entertaining Matt and Martha Cockranger went, he'd been a prince, she didn't know what she would have done without him. Probably thrown herself off the top of Barney's, because anything was better than spending another minute with Dexter's boring parents. The only good thing about them staying in the apartment was that it seemed to turn Dexter on.

The next night they all went to dinner at Le Cirque. Chas insisted on bringing his date—even though Rosarita begged him not to.

Her begging had put him in a bad mood. “Somethin' wrong wit' Alice?” he demanded. “She's a nurse for crissakes. Give her some respect.”

“Nurse my ass,” Rosarita responded, acid tongue in action. “She's a stripper with huge fake tits. Silicone has always been your weakness. Why can't you get over it?”

After that little exchange, Chas chose to ignore his annoying daughter, palling up with Martha and Matt, who hung on to his every word as if he were a movie star. Chas basked in the attention as he entertained them with a few of his outlandish stories.

Rosarita had managed to consume two martinis and a hefty steak—which she planned to regurgitate later—when she suddenly spotted Joel. He entered the restaurant with a long, thin blonde draped all over him like a mink wrap. It made Rosarita
crazy.
She realized he had to have a life away from her, because after all, what could she offer him? She was married, so therefore she couldn't spend all her time with him. But to actually see him out on the town with a date—well, it wasn't very pleasant.

The girl had the kind of long, straight blond hair you saw on models in the fashion magazines. And she had creamy skin and legs that went on forever. And a flat chest, Rosarita was happy to note. She was taller than Joel. He probably didn't like that. Or maybe he did.

It occurred to Rosarita that she had not bothered to investigate all of Joel's likes and dislikes.

She gulped down the rest of her third martini and sat up straight. What was she supposed to do? Go over, wave, say hello? As far as Dex knew, she and Joel had barely met. She'd vaguely mentioned that she'd been introduced to both Leon Blaine and his son at a cocktail party. Dex hadn't taken much notice, he probably had no idea who Leon Blaine was.

She reached into her purse, took out her compact and a lipstick, and examining her face in the compact mirror, decided that she looked miserable. She
was
miserable. Who wouldn't be, stuck next to Matt and Martha Cockranger every night? And Chas wasn't much help, what with insisting on bringing his latest inflated-tit bimbo. God! What a group to be seen with!

She watched Joel as the maître d' seated him. His back was to her. Thank God he hadn't spotted her. Now the only question was, did she go over or not?

Not. She didn't care to be introduced to that tall drink of water he was with. Why should she honor her with a hello?

“I'm tired,” she complained to Dexter.

“We haven't had dessert yet,” he said, studying the menu.

“I know, but I'm exhausted.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't have had three martinis,” he said with a cutting edge to his voice.

“What're you doing—counting my drinks?” she said belligerently.

“No. I simply happen to know how many you've had.”

“Now, now, children,” Martha interrupted, chuckling gaily. “No bickering at the table.”

Chas guffawed. Varoomba gave a squeaky little giggle.

“What hospital do you work at, Alice dear?” asked Martha, paying Varoomba some attention. “Is it one of those ER places, where you see all these emergencies, and handsome doctors running around? I
love
George Clooney.”

“What's ER?” Varoomba said blankly.

“Emergency room,” Chas said, kicking her under the table.

“Oh, yeah, emergency room,” Varoomba said. “I'm a private nurse, I only give private service.”

“I see,” Martha said. “So you go to people's homes?”

“Only if they pay me enough,” Varoomba said.

Chas threw her a
shut-the-fuck-up
look. So Varoomba shut the fuck up.

Rosarita ordered another martini while keeping a well-trained eye on Joel's back. It seemed to her that his date was the one paying him all the attention. At one point she noticed the girl snake a long, thin arm around his shoulders, her hand making its way up to the back of his neck, where her fingers proceeded to do a little dance.

Skinny Bitch!

She managed to leave the restaurant without Joel seeing her. So much for small favors.

The next morning, the first thing she did was call him. His answering machine picked up, so she tried him at his office.

“Joel won't be in for a few days,” said the girl with the green nails, or at least Rosarita assumed it was her.

“Is there anywhere I can reach him?”

“Who's calling?” Jewel inquired.

Oh, Christ! Here we go again,
Rosarita thought. And she hung up.

Damn! Joel hadn't told her he was going away. But then
why should he? They didn't have that kind of relationship. And the reason they didn't was because Dexter was in her way and refused to budge.