“She was beautiful, like you,” Michael said. “I’ll do my best to find a picture.”
Instinctively she knew he wouldn’t.
After he left, she took Slammer for another marathon traipse through the park, her mind flying in a thousand different directions. What else was Michael hiding? He’d stonewalled her on everything she’d asked. She’d learned nothing about her mother. Just that Gloria was this mysterious twenty-one-year-old girl who’d gotten shot. A girl with apparently no relatives, no family at all.
Later in the day, Natalie called her back from L.A. She wasn’t in the mood to confide long distance—especially as she was still getting over the effect of the Halcion, which had made her groggy and bad-tempered.
She listened as Natalie carried on about all the celebrities she’d recently interviewed and what assholes some of the young actors were. “Simply ’cause I’m up there in front of a camera,” Natalie complained, “they think I’m all theirs. But, girl, I got news for them. They can take their arrogant little cocks and shove ’em elsewhere.”
“The important thing is you like what you’re doing better than your last job,” Madison said.
“Yeah, I gotta admit that.”
“Then that’s good.”
“When are you coming out here again?” Natalie asked. “I miss you!”
“I’m seeing Victor tomorrow. Maybe one of his brilliant ideas will bring me back to L.A.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t go down like last time.”
“Yes, that was a nightmare,” Madison said, remembering Salli T. Turner, the TV blonde who’d gotten murdered the evening after Madison’d interviewed her.
“Hey—at least it made fantastic copy,” Natalie said cheerfully. “You wrote the crap out of it—did Salli proud.”
“Thanks.”
“So what’s goin’ on in the love stakes? You seeing anybody?”
“Like who?” Madison replied sourly. “They’re all morons.”
“You’re in a good mood. Is this your ‘I hate men’ week?”
“How about you?” Madison said, ignoring the crack.
“No time,” Natalie said. “I’m workin’ my ass off on the new show.”
“What’s your coanchor like?”
“An older guy who is not thrilled to be working side by side with a black woman. And no way as friendly as Jimmy Sica.”
“I guess that means he’s not lusting to get into your pants.”
“Right!” Natalie said, laughing. “He’s another married one. Besides, he’d sooner be sitting next to Barbara Walters or Diane Sawyer. Now them he could lust after!”
“I guess you miss working with Jimmy?”
“Ah yes, he was my favorite married cheater. Always on the prowl.”
“His brother Jake called me.”
“No shit? You were kind of into him, weren’t you? Only he was busy running after that hooker, Kristin something or other.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
“Well, it’s the truth.”
“Okay, I’ll call you in a couple of days,” Madison said. “Hopefully I’ll have some news about my plans. Believe me—I’m in the mood to get away.”
•
Her doorbell rang at ten o’clock the next morning.
“Damn!” she said, almost tripping over Slammer on her way to peer through the peephole.
An exceptionally tall person stood in the hall.
She opened the door. “Good morning,” the tall person said. “I’m Kimm Florian. We have an appointment.”
Slammer went into attack mode, growling viciously.
Madison dragged him away by his collar.
Kimm Florian was a broad-faced Native American woman dressed in plain khaki slacks, a brown sweatshirt and running shoes. She wore no makeup, and her jet-black hair was plaited in a long braid down her back. She was not fat, merely large-boned.
“Oh,” Madison said, realizing that she’d been so distracted that she’d forgotten to cancel the appointment. “I’m so sorry—I meant to call you.”
“Problem?” Kimm said, standing there—an imposing presence.
“My friend changed her mind,” Madison said, thinking that Kimm Florian looked less like a private detective than anyone she could have imagined.
“She did?”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
Feeling guilty that Kimm had made the trip for nothing, Madison invited her in. “Can I offer you a coffee, orange juice or something?” she said.
“Water will be fine,” Kimm said, entering the apartment.
“You don’t look like a private detective,” Madison remarked.
“No?” Kimm answered, with the glimmer of an amused smile. “What’s a private detective supposed to look like?”
“I dunno,” Madison said vaguely. “Don Johnson or something.”
“I’ll see if I can summon up some of that stubble,” Kimm said dryly, sitting on the couch. “The good thing about me is that nobody ever suspects I’m watching them.”
“That works,” Madison said, fetching a bottle of Evian from the kitchen and handing it to the tall woman.
“Tell me about your friend,” Kimm said.
“Well, uh . . . she was suspicious of her husband for about five minutes, then she realized she was making a mistake.”
“Women never make mistakes,” Kimm said knowledgeably. “Instinct is everything. The first time a woman suspects her husband is screwing around, she’s right.”
“How do you know that?”
“A hundred and fifty cases later I should know. Your friend will require my services. Maybe not now or next week, but she’ll definitely be calling again.”
“You seem pretty sure.”
“I’ll give her a test to do.”
“What test?” Madison said, humoring the woman.
“Have her go to his wallet, take a look to see if he keeps a condom in it. Most men do, you know.”
“Not married men.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Okay, she goes to his wallet, and to her amazement she discovers a condom. What then?”
“She marks the corner of the packet with a small dot. Then a week later she checks out his wallet again to see if the same packet is still there.”
“What will that prove?”
“If there’s no dot, it’s a new packet. And . . . if he’s not using condoms with her . . .”
“That seems awfully simple.”
“It’s the simple things that trip ’em up,” Kimm said, with a knowing nod.
“Really?” Madison said, and then she had a brilliant idea. “Do you track people down?” she asked. “You know, look into their past? Can you go back like twenty-nine years and find out about someone?”
“Certainly,” Kimm said.
“There’s a man and a woman I’d like you to investigate.”
“Give me their names and all the information you have on them.”
“It’s not much. The woman’s name is Gloria Delagado. She was involved with a man called Michael Castelli. Apparently she was murdered. Shot.”
“Isn’t Castelli your name?”
“Uh . . . yes.”
“Is Michael a relative?”
“He’s my father.”
Kimm looked at her shrewdly. “You want me to find out about your father?”
“Yes. I want to know everything about him, because I have this horrible feeling that I don’t know him at all.”
“I can take care of it for you,” Kimm said. “But you should be aware that if he’s not giving you the information you need, you might not like what I discover.”
There was something reassuring about Kimm. She was strong and sympathetic, yet at the same time she exuded confidence. Madison had faith in her. “I know,” she said. “Go ahead and find out everything you can.”
•
By the time Madison arrived at the office it was past noon.
Victor gre
eted her with a hearty pat on the back. “I have exactly two things to say to you,” he said, his voice louder than ever. “And you, young lady, will like both of them.”
“Don’t call me ‘young lady,’ ” she said irritably.
“Why?”
“It’s patronizing.”
“So sorry,” he huffed, not sorry at all.
“Run it by me,” she said, all business.
“You’ve never interviewed a boxer, have you?”
“No.”
“There’s a big fight coming up in Vegas. Antonio ‘The Panther’ Lopez versus the champ—Bull Ali Jackson. I think The Panther’s a fascinating subject.”
“That’s ’cause you’re a guy. What about our female readers?”
“You’ll get into the personal aspect of his life, the same as you always do. You know, his women, clothes, social activities . . .”
“Is he married?”
“No. He’s had three children with three different women, and he’s only twenty-three. Is that interesting enough for you? The fight is in Vegas in six weeks. You’ll be ringside.”
“Ringside!” she said disgustedly. “Who wants to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other?”
“You do. It’ll be exciting.”
“Sometimes you’re such a guy, Victor. Do you really think that’s what excites women?”
“I know what excites women,” Victor said dourly. “A new mink coat every winter. It certainly turns Evelyn on.”
“Haven’t you told her that wearing fur is politically incorrect?”
“I’ve told her till I’m speechless. It makes no difference. She still expects me to buy her a new fur every year.”
“Don’t,” Madison said sharply. “You’re supposed to be supporting the cause. What would you do if somebody threw a can of paint over her?”
Victor couldn’t help smiling. “I’d slip them a reward,” he said, chuckling to himself. “A big reward.”
“So, you want me to go to Vegas?”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Not too bad—I was hoping to get away.”
“Why?”
“Just because . . .”
“You look tired,” Victor said, peering at her. “Is everything all right?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Another long, lonely weekend?”
“I do not have long, lonely weekends,” she said, irritated. “First of all I have tons of friends, and secondly, I have a dog. Just because I’m not with a guy doesn’t mean I don’t have fun.”
“You miss David.”
“Fuck David!”
“Yes, you miss him. But I have the answer for you.”
“Can’t wait,” she said, not at all anxious to hear what it was.
“We’re having a dinner party. Evelyn insists you come.”
“And why is that?”
“Because my dear wife considers herself Manhattan’s greatest matchmaker, and she has the perfect man for you.”
“No, Victor,” Madison groaned, “not again. I’ve been through that too many times at your house. Let me see now—the last time the perfect guy was twenty-one and a nerd. And the time before that he was like eighty-six. I mean, with all due respect to Evelyn, she has no idea what I’m looking for. In fact, I’m not looking period. If I trip over it, fine, and if I don’t, then I’m perfectly happy by myself.”
“I see,” Victor boomed.
“What is this whole deal about a woman always having to be with a man?”
“You can’t turn us down this time,” Victor said. “It’s Evelyn’s birthday.”
“Oh, God!”
“I take it that’s a yes?”
“Okay, I’ll come. I’ll even bring a present. But please, whatever you do, no more fixing me up.”
CHAPTER
14
“COME TO MY OFFICE,” Joel suggested. “Be here around twelve forty-five.”
Rosarita didn’t need asking twice. It was Tuesday, and she’d spent far too much time with her in-laws, although there had been a slight diversion—Dex getting into sex again was a mild bonus.
Chas hadn’t said a thing about her request that he get rid of her husband. Was it such a terrible thing to do? If Dex planned on screwing up her life, he had to be gotten rid of. There was no choice.
However, on the other hand, if he cooperated and gave her a divorce with no problems, perhaps she’d allow him a stay of execution.
Should he be difficult, she had alternative plans. If Chas wouldn’t get with the program, she’d be forced to hire a professional. A grim thought, but she’d definitely do it. No way would she allow herself to be trapped—tied to a clinging, unsatisfactory husband who wouldn’t let her go.
She’d never been to Joel’s office, situated in the Blaine Building—a magnificent shimmering tower of glass and concrete owned by his father. Joel had confided he was all set to take over the business. “Leon’s ready to retire,” he’d informed her. “So I’m the man.”
Rosarita was surprised to discover that Joel’s office was on the thirty-fifth floor, because according to what she’d found out, the place to be was on the thirty-sixth floor, where Leon Blaine kept his suite of personal offices.
Joel’s assistant, Jewel, a skinny black girl with four-inch talonlike nails painted green, a massive amount of cornrowed hair and a belligerent attitude, was sitting behind a pale wood reception desk. “Yes?” she said in an unfriendly fashion as Rosarita approached.
“I’m here to see Mr. Joel Blaine,” Rosarita said haughtily.
“And who might you be?”
“Mr. Blaine is expecting me,” Rosarita said.
“Then I guess you gotta have a name,” Jewel countered.
They locked eyeballs.
“Tell him Rosarita is here,” she said through clenched teeth, realizing—and not for the first time—that she’d been stuck with a Mexican hooker’s name because she’d been conceived while her parents were lolling on a beach in Puerto Vallarta.
“Rosarita,” Jewel repeated, giving her name an evil twist. “I’ll tell him. Take a seat, honey.”
Honey! Now Rosarita was seriously pissed off. She sat down in the reception area, picked up a copy of People magazine and stared mindlessly at a picture of a half-naked Brad Pitt.
The girl with the green nails was now on the phone. A personal call. She was whispering and snickering, completely ignoring Rosarita’s presence.
After ten minutes of this crap, Rosarita got up and approached the desk. “Does Mr. Blaine know I’m waiting?” she demanded in a shrill voice.
“Oh,” Jewel said, completely unconcerned. “He was on the phone when you got here. I’ll check if he’s free now.” She buzzed him, and said in a far too familiar fashion, “Joel, some lady called Rosarita’s waitin’ out here. You want I should send her in?” A pause. “Okay,” she said, giving Rosarita a long, insolent smirk, “you can go in now.”
Rosarita marched into Joel’s office and was somewhat taken aback to find it was not the expansive suite of rooms she’d imagined. It was nice enough, with leather furniture, and a big window overlooking the Avenue of the Americas, but it was hardly the luxury space she’d thought it would be.
Joel was sitting behind his desk, wearing a pink cashmere sweater and a welcoming smile. “Hi, babe,” he said. “Come on in, an’ close the door behind you.”
She did as he asked. He stood up from behind his desk, walked around the side of it and came toward her. From the waist down he was totally bareassed naked.
“Joel!” she shrieked, half shocked and half amused. “I notice you’re pleased to see me.”
“Thought I’d put a smile on your face,” he said, grinning.
She couldn’t keep her eyes off his penis—it gave “big” a whole new meaning. Rich and well hung, what more could a girl ask for?
“You’re a rude boy,” she scolded. “Rude and crude.”
“And you get off on it, don’t you, ba
be?” He leered.
She glanced at the large expanse of window behind him. They were overlooked by another office building across the street. Naturally his window blinds were open.
This immediately excited her. She knew there must be people watching, which is exactly the way he wanted it. “How was your weekend?” she asked.
“Pretty laid back,” he said, casually touching himself.
“What did you do?” she asked, taking a deep breath.
“What didn’t I do.”
Instinct warned her not to question him further.
“Why doncha get on your knees an’ gimme one of your specials,” he suggested, planting himself in front of her.
“Shouldn’t we lock the door?” she said, knowing full well what his answer would be.
“What for? Nobody’s gonna come in unless they knock.” He turned slightly so that his profile was in a direct line with the window.
Rosarita got down on her knees, feeling naughty and dirty and incredibly turned-on.
He put his hands behind his head, shoving his johnson in her mouth without so much as touching her.
She attempted to grab his magnificent eight—plus.
“No hands,” he commanded. “Only your mouth, babe.”
A surge of excitement coursed through her veins.
“C’mon,” he urged. “Do me the way you know I like it.”
So she did.
After he’d climaxed, she waited for him to reciprocate.
He didn’t. He strolled back behind his desk, picked up his pants and pulled them on.
“What about me?” she demanded, getting off her knees.
“Come back tomorrow,” he said casually. “I’m gonna spread you on my desk and eat you like I haven’t had food in a week.”
She felt shudders of anticipation.
“Okay, babe,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “I got business to conduct. Same time tomorrow.”
Rosarita had never been treated in such an offhand fashion. It was unbelievably exciting!
The girl at reception gave her a knowing look as she retreated from his office. Damn! She’d forgotten to complain about her.
No hurry. She’d do that tomorrow.
•
Across town, Dexter was having coffee with the star of Dark Days, Silver Anderson, a magnificent sixty-something-year-old woman who had ruled television for the last twenty years. Martha and Matt were also at the table, both of them completely in awe of the fabulous Silver.
Lethal Seduction Page 10
