“I’m sorry. Hopefully she won’t suffer any long-term effects. We need to find who did this to her.”
“I know, that’s why I’m going over everyone she might have had contact with, including the models. You were saying Saul might know some of them?”
“I suspect Saul could have rubbed shoulders with them, especially since his brother was a model.” Jason scratched an itch on his unshaven face. “He lives where the agencies stack up the models. An apartment complex in Brooklyn. So did Ernesto Gomez, the shooter. He might have gotten acquainted with the fashion world through them.”
A visible shudder undulated down Avery’s body at the mention of Brando’s killer. “I thought it was gang related.”
“We were looking too hard on the gang angle,” Jason said. “What if this has to do with the dead models? Did they all work for Alida’s agency?”
“Starbright is one of Alida’s subsidiaries,” Avery said. “I get my models through her at a discount since I’m her client.”
“So, she’s a one-stop shop.”
“She deals with celebrity publicity and image management.” Avery brought up Alida’s website, Adams on Fifth. “She has a modeling agency, but she also represents actors and others in the entertainment industry.”
“She takes a cut in their fees?”
“More than that.” Avery clicked to the modeling agency’s page. “Starbright scouts and sources models from all over the world. They provide the promising ones with wardrobes, travel, lodging, and book gigs for them.”
“Must treat them well. How do they afford all of those amenities?” Secretly, he wondered if they trafficked them from less-developed countries. He tucked that away to look into later.
“Trust me,” Avery continued. “They make money from us designers and anyone else hiring models. The housing is substandard. Bunk beds in places like the Brooklyn stash house. They control their food, making them diet. Provide a gym for exercising and take a big cut for all expenses. I never did make a dime from modeling.”
“Really? I heard these supermodels make—”
“Not these days.” Avery cut him off. “You’re talking back before InstaDirt and FacePlant where everyone who wants to be a model has an account. Nowadays, makeup artists and Photoshoppers can make anyone with good bone structure into a star in a blink of an eye, and just like a falling star, it’s only as good as the last flash. Back then, supermodels became celebrities because the supply was controlled by the elite agencies. These days, agents cull through the chaff and control who gets placed and how big a check they get.”
“Then why do you do it, if not to make money?”
Avery hugged herself and let her gaze travel to her window. The view of Central Park was magnificent, and for the first time, Jason asked himself how she could afford it.
She sighed and her eyes glazed over. Shrugging it off, she said, “I suppose you won’t believe me if I say it’s a hobby.”
“You work too hard for it to be a hobby. I’m no expert, but I think you’re very talented.”
Her face flushed and she smiled wryly. “You’re too kind. The truth is, I don’t have any other talents. All my life, people told me I should be a model. It started when I was born and my mother entered me in a baby clothes modeling search.”
“I bet you were cute.”
“I can’t picture you using the word ‘cute.’ Why are you so nice this morning?”
“Are you saying I want something?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re always wanting answers. What did you find out this morning?”
She’d shared a lot of herself with him last night, although he noticed she skirted far around the edges of her personal dealings with the socialites her parents hobnobbed with.
“I spoke to Popo, and it turns out Harvey Leach was friends with her nephew. He was the one who told her Joselito might have drowned in the East River.”
Avery’s face changed color, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “That’s a horrible way to find out. I feel so bad for Popo.”
“Could Harvey have pushed Joselito into the water? It’s too bad no one questioned him, as far as I know.”
“Harvey isn’t violent,” Avery insisted. “He’s a gossiper, and I’m betting he heard about it. We should talk to him.”
“Can you give him a call?”
She shook her head. “Not until after the private show I do for his father. Larry’s up in arms because I tried to postpone the show. I’m so behind I haven’t even gone to The Garden to get the lay of the land.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to have it at The Garden?”
“There’ll be guards at every entrance. Metal detectors. President’s daughter pulled out though, so no Secret Service.”
“Still, there will be a lot of empty seats where someone can hide something.”
“You’re so paranoid.” She gave him a light shove. “Let’s go over the model lists. I see José Perez was on last year. Last known address is in Brooklyn.”
“Same building as Saul.” He sat shoulder to shoulder with her on the couch and let his nose enjoy her freshly showered fragrance. Too bad he was still grungy. He hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her place and use her shower, soaps, and shampoo. It would feel like an invasion. Besides, he'd rather have her permission and let her participate.
Clearing his thoughts, he said, “Let’s look through your list.”
“I already started before you got here.” Avery pulled up a spreadsheet on her laptop. “None of the male models are repeats, but there’s a female, Tatiana Renzi.”
Jason nodded, taking out one of the pictures from last year’s show. “See Joselito right here? There’s Tatiana, clear as day. Now, I wonder. Why would an anger management therapist be a model in your show?”
“She models occasionally. Isn’t that what you want to do? Do an occasional photoshoot, walk in a show? It’s sort of like extras you hire at the last minute. All photographers have a list of extras in their back pocket in case someone is sick or missing.”
“Or dead,” Jason finished for her. “Larry Leach knows Tatiana. I think he might be dating her.”
“So?”
“I’m thinking out loud.” Jason got up and paced around the room. “Tatiana had a knock-down, drag-out fight with Larry. Remember when Mrs. Bonet called the police?”
“Yes, but what does it have to do with the fashion show?”
“Larry’s father is your mentor in the fashion world. The Leaches are putting on a fundraiser for your dad. Larry knows Tatiana, possibly intimately.”
“Maybe Larry asked Alida to put Tatiana in the show as a favor for him.”
Jason snapped his finger as a light bulb sparked in his mind. “I’m betting Alida assigns models as party guests to Larry’s fundraisers as room decoration.”
“I don’t get why you’re so excited.” Avery shrugged, turning her hands up. “All of these swanky parties have models milling around as beautification. Clubs and restaurants hire models for their grand opening or special events. Especially these days with all of the social media. The guests love taking selfies with beautiful and stylish people.”
“I’m betting they don’t stop at selfies.”
The color drained from Avery’s face. “What are you implying?”
“You can’t possibly be in the dark. You practically grew up in the business.” Too late. Jason bit his tongue and recoiled from the fire in Avery’s whiskey-colored eyes.
“You called me a whore before. Get out. Just get out. I know that’s all you think of me. A pretty face and an easy lay.”
“Hold it right there.” He withstood her flailing herself at him and grabbed both of her wrists. “We’re brainstorming a crime. Not talking about you.”
Unless he hit a sore spot, he thought.
Her breath sizzled through her teeth. “I have standards. I don’t let them touch me.”
He could almost hear the unspoken, not anymore.
This was the r
eason she went from modeling to designer.
He got it. Even without her stating it. He was a cop. He didn’t need her to spell it out. A young model was vulnerable, especially if her parents socialized with predatory men—the ones who thought themselves above the law—actually, not only were they above the law, they paid off the law to look the other way.
The Leaches fit, and being family friends gave them cover. No wonder Avery knew the hidey holes at her family’s mansion. A deep pang ground in his heart at how frightened the young girl must have been. How a beautiful girl was only regarded for her looks, and that no one dug beneath the surface to find the brokenness beneath the doll’s perfect face.
“What are you looking at?” Avery’s voice was faint. “You pity me. Don’t you? You think less of me.”
“No, I think the world of you.” He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. “I see a strong, resilient woman who is much, much more than a pretty face. I feel your humanity. The way you care for Saul and want to help him lift himself by his bootstraps. The way you love on Mrs. Bonet and the way you honor Brando’s life and memory. You diminish me when you believe I have such a lack of faith in you.”
Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she gazed at him, blinking and shaking her head. “I’m not as good as you believe.”
“You’re better than I believe. Believe it yourself. You are not made of the circumstances you cannot help, but your mettle is constructed by how you rise above them.”
“Then why do you blame yourself for your mother’s death?”
Whammo! She certainly turned that one around on him.
Jason’s heart melted like hot wax. He lowered his gaze and held his breath to control the sudden onslaught of wetness in his eyes.
Her hands were soft over his head, running through his hair and caressing the back of his neck. She gently cradled his head against her breasts and soothed him with her steady breaths.
How long they stayed, with him on his knees being comforted by her, he couldn’t say. But gradually, his heart swelled, and her touch drew sparks across his skin.
She kissed the top of his head and then bent lower to kiss his temple. She dotted nibbles around his ear, and her warm breath fanned heat that radiated straight to his growing cock.
He lifted his head, and she lowered her lips over his mouth, and then he was on his feet with her in his arms, sweeping her off her feet. And she was kissing him hard, panting and moaning, and inviting him to imbibe, consume, and ravish her.
He lumbered to her bedroom, and together they crashed onto the bed. A voice in the back of his mind urged caution. Only a few minutes ago, she was accusing him of degrading her. She’d called herself an easy lay. Little did she know how utterly difficult it was to hold himself back.
Her lips were plastered to his, and that tongue of hers worked magic, twisting and squirming around his mouth. She was fire and ice, wrapped in one, and he couldn’t stop himself from melding his heart to hers, whether to be scorched or frozen out, he didn’t care.
He held her close, running his fingers over the curves of her exquisite body, but that wasn’t the main thrust of her attraction. It was the soul inside, of a survivor, like him, but a survivor plagued with guilt—again, like him, who raged at a past that could not be changed.
Her hands splayed against his chest, moving down his torso to the sides of his hips. She squirmed against his ballooning erection, lighting embers of lust throughout his body. He should put a stop to this. They were in the middle of an investigation. His mouth froze in a moment of indecision, and she relinquished the kiss.
“I shouldn’t do this to you.” His voice sounded like rough gravel. “This isn’t how I envisioned it.”
“Life isn’t how any of us envisioned it.” Her tone was silky, without a hint of regret. “I trust you, Jason. I’m sorry for what I said earlier about accusing you of pitying me. You, of all people, know what’s gnawing me.”
“This can’t fix that.” He gritted his teeth, trembling to tame the heat within him.
She palmed the side of his face and stared into his eyes. Hers were large and luminous, soulful, deep with understanding. “I’m not trying to fix what’s broken. I’m wanting something new.”
“New?” The concept cracked open his heart. He’d never thought of trying anything new. He’d been papering over the same wound, taping and bandaging it, over and over.
“Jase, you’re dead-ass new to me.” Her smile brightened her entire face.
“How so?”
“Because you’re the first man I have to chase.”
“You’re chasing me?”
She replaced his dropped jaw. “Don’t drool, Burnett, but it’s true. I’m distracting you from your policing work.”
“We’re a team together on this, but I could use a break. As long as you’re not going to regret this later.”
“I’m done with regrets.” She dragged her hand down below his waist and slid her fingers beneath his waistband, finding his hot and throbbing piece of meat engorged for her taking.
Her strokes ignited bolts of passion, and he would be quickly overtaken if he didn’t slow it down.
“Last chance to stop.” He had to check for consent, even as his hand cupped her breasts, squeezing and twirling her hardened nipples.
“Not a chance I’ll ever stop.” She grinned wickedly, licking her lush lips. Then she was destroying him. She rubbed her thumb over the slit at the top of his cock and spread the pre-cum over the head.
The zinging sensation of an impending orgasm threatened, and he was on fire, ready to explode and embarrass himself.
He had to take control, or he was a lost man.
“Off with your clothes,” he barked, backing away from her hand by unzipping himself.
“Oh no, you don’t.” She swatted at his hands and pushed his cock back behind his fly—no easy task because Willie Wanker had doubled in size.
“What are you doing?” He sounded like a frog jumped down his throat.
“I’m going to be in control.” She struggled to zip him back up. “You behave or I’m going to handcuff you.”
Ah, he got it—as dense as he was—he was to be her first submissive. This was definitely new to him, too.
“You can’t expect me to lay back and do nothing.”
“Actually, Detective, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.” She reached for a piece of silk lying on her sewing machine and held it up. “Are you going to behave yourself?”
“I’m not sure I’m going to like this.”
She straddled him, locking her knees on both sides of his hips and rubbed her crotch long and hard over his handy nightstick. “Stick them up, Sheriff.”
He raised his hands, helpless.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Avery knotted Jason’s wrists together, not too tight, and attached them to the rails of her headboard. She wanted to trust Jason, and part of this was a test. Would he allow her to take full control? Could he be patient and yielding, or was he a man who had to dominate her, no matter what?
He was harsh and brash, used to getting his way, and that encounter at the cabin had shown how quickly he’d turned the tables on her. It was thrilling and frightening at the same time—to be so sexually attracted to a man who was twice her size and could snuff her out like a matchstick.
He lay back, breathing hard and glaring at her, his muscles tense and his erection prominent behind his fly. She was still straddling him, riding him, and admiring how utterly sexy he was—all scruffy and oozing with maleness.
“You have me, all of me,” he said, his voice low and crooning, touching all the deep places in her heart. “I’ll let you do what you will.”
“You’re not afraid?” She expected him to scoff at the notion he’d have a reason to fear little ol’ Avery, the pretty little puppet, who never dared to rebel.
Until now.
His darkened gaze softened, and he gave her a tight nod. “You put me in quite a v
ulnerable position. They didn’t go over this in police academy.”
“What? Being tied up by a suspect?”
“That, too.”
“Are you afraid of me?” She lowered herself so that her face hovered over his. From this close vantage point, she could bathe herself in his musky morning scent.
“A little.” He sounded reluctant to admit it.
She bit his lower lip. Hard.
“Yeoch! Okay, I’m scared stiff.” He jutted his rod of iron up between her legs. “All joking aside, you are a frightening sight.”
“That’s not flattering.”
“No, but it’s true. Your hair’s wild. Your teeth are sharp.”
She reached over at her nightstand and unsheathed a hunting knife. Twirling it around, she dragged the sharp point over his throat, not quite touching his skin.
His breath caught, and sweat popped over his brow. “Now, you’re crazy. I would have never guessed.”
“You underestimated me, Jason Burnett.” She lifted the blade over his face. “I’m not a sadist.”
“Could have fooled me.”
She let a faint smile slide over her face. “Are you afraid of me?”
This time, his Adam’s apple bobbled and he grimaced. “I’m more afraid of triggering you and setting you off.”
“What do you think will trigger me?” She twirled the blade, staring at the wicked serrated edge.
“Love. True love.” His voice was guttural and rough. “A man who’d go to hell with you and bring you back. A man who’d sleep in your arms with that knife held above his heart.”
Oh, how little did he know. He thought himself so noble and brave, but would he truly taste her hell and stick around?
Brando had denied it ever happened. Made her swear to leave it all behind. He would have bought her the ticket to heaven with his ring. The white picket fence, the white clapboard house, the white minivan, and the pretty brood of children.
Look how well that ended.
She tasted bitter bile and slapped the knife on the surface of the nightstand. Her fingernails clawed at both his cheeks, and she drilled her tongue into his mouth.
Triggered by Love Page 26
