Never Too Rich (37 page)

“
We’ll see,” Billie said evasively.
In truth, she didn’t want to get involved with him any further—for
his sake, not hers. The incident with Snake proved just how
dangerous knowing her could be. Then, feeling responsible for his
trashed car, she said, “Yes. Let’s try again.” After all, she owed
him something for his troubles, and if that meant having dinner
with him, then it was the least she could do. The very
least.

“
There’s no rush,” he said
agreeably. “Anytime you’re up to it, just give me a
buzz.”

“
I’ll do that,” Billie said,
grateful that he was sensitive enough not to try to pin her down to
a firm date and time. Besides, despite the disastrous turn their
date had taken, the idea of seeing him again appealed to her
immensely. “I’ll call you
real
soon,” she added, surprising
herself.

“
And next time, we’ll stay uptown,”
he promised with a good-humored chuckle, ringing off before he made
too much of a nuisance of himself.

Hallelujah opened her window, climbed up on the
sill, and eased herself out. She dropped easily down to the
terrace, four feet below. Both her mother and Ruby were sound
asleep. She knew, because she’d sneaked into their rooms and
checked.

She pried open the faulty study window and climbed
inside. Playing a flashlight around the room, she avoided the
toppled mountain of magazines and headed straight for the easel,
selecting ten of what she considered were her mother’s best fashion
sketches. She stuck them inside her T-shirt and silently left the
way she’d come, wedging the window shut behind her.

She knew that sooner or later her mother would find
out what she’d done—and when she did, she’d do either of two
things: thank her or kill her.

Back in bed, she dialed her father. “I got ‘em,
Pops,” she rasped in her best imitation of a 1930’s gangster. “It
went down like a piece of cake.”

“
Pops?” Duncan Cooper sputtered.
“Pops?”

“
Yeah, Pops. I’ll get the pics to
ya first thing in the A.M., huh?” And with that, cat burglar
Hallelujah Cooper hung up.

Chapter 39

The next day. Afternoon.

Santelli’s Salle d’Armes on West Twenty-seventh
Street was jumping. All around, pairs of white-clad fencers, faces
hidden behind black mesh masks, did carefully choreographed ballets
of thrusts and parries. Their vibrating foils whistled and whipped
and clashed.

The sounds filtered into the locker room, where
Duncan Cooper had already changed into his fencing outfit. “Well?”
he asked the man seated on the bench.

Leo Flood studied the last of Edwina’s sketches,
which Hallelujah had smuggled to Duncan that very morning. He
looked up. “They’re good,” he said, nodding approval. “In fact,
they’re damn good.”

Still in his late twenties, Leo Flood exuded power
and prime-time looks. But despite being impossibly handsome and
youthful, there was nothing inexperienced about his face: he had
the kind of aggressive intensity that is a merger of intelligence
with street smarts.

Leo Flood was the epitome of that 1980’s business
phenomenon— the young leveraged buyout king who had come from
nowhere, with nothing in his pocket, and overnight had set the
financial world ablaze.

He was tall, over six feet, and whippet thin, but
wiry with lean muscle. Had hair black as ebony and ice-green eyes
that pierced. A tan that wouldn’t quit. And slashing, almost Slavic
cheekbones, with slanting black eyebrows to match.

Leo put the sketches down. “Know if she’s working
for any particular designer at the moment?”

“
She used to be at de Riscal, but
right now she’s looking around.”

“
She designed at de
Riscal?”

Duncan gave a short laugh. “Nobody designs at de
Riscal except the great Antonio himself. She handled his
shows.”

“
And her relationship to you?” Leo
looked at him slyly. “She your girl?”

Duncan smiled wryly. “Try ex-wife.”

Leo got to his feet and clapped Duncan on the back.
“Trying to win her back, eh, sport?”

“
Actually, no. It’s just that my
daughter claims that with nothing to do, Eds is driving her up the
wall. You once told me you wanted to invest in fashion. Fine. I
happen to know she’s available and she has what it takes to make a
go of it. She knows Seventh Avenue like nobody else—and is a damn
good designer herself. So I’m steering you to her. Now that I’ve
done that, here’s where I get off.”

Leo looked amused. “Playing it safe, sport?”

Duncan shook his head. “Put it down to inexperience.
Fashion’s about as far from my alley as you can get. About the only
thing I do know about it is that the competition’s deadly. They say
skydiving’s safer.”

Leo looked at him with a glint in his eyes. “Maybe
you won’t believe it,” he said, “but that’s what turns me on to it,
the risk.”

“
Then what you’re really after is a
gamble,” Duncan said. “Is that what you are, Leo? A
gambler?”

“
Everyone’s a gambler, Cooper.
Life’s a gamble. Business is a gamble. Hell, in this world, every
time you take a breath of what you hope is fresh air, it’s a
gamble. And you know what?” Leo grinned. “I kind of like
that.”

“
And that’s the reason you want to
get into the rag trade?” Duncan said incredulously.
“Because
it’s a gamble?”

“
That’s one of the reasons, sure.
You see, it’s not money that drives me, Cooper. Money’s just a
by-product, a pleasant dividend.”

“
Then what does drive you,
Leo?”

“
The game, what else? The fashion
industry’s one of the all-time great gambling casinos around. I
mean, everyone knows that Seventh Avenue is sewn up tighter than a
puritan’s snatch when it comes to newcomers. And once you’re in
among the sharks, it’s like being in the midst of a feeding frenzy.
Between the unions, established businesses, and racketeers, it’s
the biggest roulette game of them all. Ninety-five percent of all
new garment businesses fail. Did you know that?”

Duncan chuckled. “Seems to me that’s the best reason
of all to stay well clear of it.”

“
On the contrary.” Leo smiled. “I
like the odds. They’re my kind of challenge.” He picked his face
mask up off the bench and put it on, wearing it like Duncan wore
his, with the mesh face guard flipped up. “Ready for a
workout?”

“
Ready when you are.”

Leo grinned one of his frequent blinding porcelain
grins, a grin that redeemed the otherwise disturbingly chilly
perfection of his face. “Then let’s go, sport.”

Together they headed out into the gym, feeling
utterly at home. Both men could easily have afforded, and been
welcomed at, any of the city’s exclusive and more conveniently
located athletic clubs, but they went the extra mile and came to
Santelli’s for the best reason on earth. The founder, Giorgio
Santelli, had been one of the world’s great acknowledged maestros
of the sport and his establishment was, at least in the United
States, to fencing what the Cyclone is to roller coasters and the
Napa Valley is to wine.

Once on the gym floor, they stood on the sidelines a
moment and watched the fencing matches in progress. The lunchtime
dilettantes had already gone back to their jobs, and some serious
swordplay was in progress.

As always, Duncan marveled at the graceful athletes.
Fencing, he thought, more closely resembled ballet than any other
sport, and required dedication just as strict, and practice just as
stringent. It wasn’t the kind of activity that encouraged
deviation. Form was everything.

Leo turned to him. “Having just talked about
gambling, care to lay a little wager?”

Duncan looked at him expressionlessly. “What kind of
wager?” he asked cautiously.

“
Oh, some stakes to make our round
of fencing a little more . . . interesting.”

“
No way.” Duncan shook his head.
“Count me out. You may be a gambler, Leo, but I’m not.”

Leo’s voice was hushed. “Bullshit. Everyone’s a
gambler if the stakes are right.” His cold green eyes seemed to
burn with an unholy joy. “What do you say, if you win, I back your
ex-wife to the tune of three million dollars?”

“
What!” Duncan was shocked, and
showed it. Then he shook his head as though to clear it, and
relaxed slightly. He grinned sheepishly. “Funny, how your ears can
play tricks on you,” he said. “For a moment there, I could have
sworn I heard you say you wanted to bet three million. Crazy, isn’t
it?”

“
No, it’s not,” Leo said quietly.
“That’s exactly what I said . . . Well?”

Duncan took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“No, Leo. Maybe you can afford to bet that kind of money, but I
can’t.”

“
Who’s asking you to?”

“
You just got through telling me
you’re willing to bet three million on this game.
Right?”

“
Right.” Leo nodded. “I’m betting
three mil on our game, but it’s me and your ex-wife who’re going to
be the real winners or losers. Not you.”

“
I still don’t get it. What happens
if I lose?”

“
It’s really very simple. If you
lose, you’ll neither be richer nor poorer. You see, your bet is
your ex’s bet
in absentia.”

“
Huh?” Duncan shook his head. “Now
you’ve really lost me.”

“
Then let me lay it on the line for
you. If you lose, I won’t be backing her, in which case she’ll have
to look elsewhere for financing.” A faint smile touched Leo’s lips.
“Well, sport? Skill-wise, we’re pretty evenly matched. Care to lay
your ex-wife’s career on the line?”

“
And if I don’t?”

“
Then I just might decide not to
back her at all,” Leo said, his brilliant grin at odds with the
softly spoken threat.

Duncan looked at him narrowly. “Are you by any
chance trying to blackmail me, Leo?”

Leo assumed a look of utter innocence. “Who?
Me?”

Duncan tightened his lips and frowned. He really
didn’t like laying bets, even if he had nothing to lose. It was a
matter of principle with him.

Leo was waiting.

“
All right, Flood.” Duncan stuck
out his hand.

The two men crossed the floor to take the place of
two fencers who had just wound up their match. Duncan tested his
custom-made foil by swishing it through the air a couple of times.
It whistled like a whip and quivered nicely. Opposite him, Leo did
likewise with his.

Well, Eds, here goes! Duncan thought, and reached up
to flip his face guard down.

Still smiling, Leo took off his mask and tossed it
carelessly aside.

“
No masks, Cooper,” he challenged
softly. His eyes were hard and shiny. “You up to fencing the
old-fashioned way?”

“
Are you
nuts!”
Duncan
flipped his face guard back up and stared at him. “We’ll both get
kicked out of here for good! You know the rules!”

Leo laughed. “Don’t be so bourgeois. Rules are made
to be broken.”

“
Maybe for you they are, but I
happen to like coming here. I want to be able to come
back.”

“
You afraid, Cooper?” Leo smiled
tauntingly, showing his sharp canines.

“
No, I’m not afraid,” Duncan said
firmly, “but I’m not stupid either.”

“
Good. That makes two of us. But
don’t you think for a three-million-dollar stake I’m entitled to
call the shots?”

“
If it means impromptu surgery on
humans, no. You’re not.”

Leo laughed again. “Come on, Cooper,” he urged with
a grin. “If there’s a mishap, I won’t harbor any hard feelings. You
can always sew me back up.”

“
Yeah, but I can’t very well sew
myself up, can I?”

“
So? Your associates
can.”

Duncan just stood there. “Oh, what the hell,” he
said finally, deciding to risk it. He pulled off his mask and
tossed it aside. “All right, Leo,” he said quietly. “You’re
on.”

“
Atta boy!” Leo grinned and Duncan
called position. With a metallic clash, they crossed foils in
midair.

“
En garde!”
Leo shouted, and
serious swashbuckling began.

Leo lunged forward and thrust his foil at the red
heart sewn on Duncan’s chest, but Duncan easily deflected the
attack and danced a step backward. Despite himself, he couldn’t
help grinning. Maybe Leo was right. There
was
something
primevally appealing about fencing the old-fashioned way and
putting your neck on the line. Hadn’t men, since time immemorial,
fought sporting duels without benefit of protective gear? And
wasn’t there something powerfully, electrifyingly dramatic about
such a show of machismo? Puerile though it might be.

Everyone else in the gym stopped fencing and drew
around to watch. Somehow, news spread wordlessly that this was no
ordinary match. Even the men in the locker room came out and
gathered along the sidelines.

Duncan moved faster than lightning, effortlessly
parrying and counterattacking. A wild kind of excitement came over
his face. His dark eyes glowed rapturously. He knew his foil had
never flashed this swiftly or lethally; he knew he had never before
fenced with such intense concentration; above all, without even
consciously thinking about it, he was secure in the knowledge that
he had never fenced this well. It was as if he was guided by some
hitherto unknown gladiatorial power.