Burnt-to-a-crisp toast.
Luckily, she’d had the camera on its strap and anchored around her neck when she’d slipped. The weight of it currently bumped against her chest, and she realized she wasn’t so unlucky after all. Every last one of those incriminating, extremely intimate pictures she’d just taken through the skylight window was worth a bank full of gold.
Oh yeah, the precious camera around her neck was her lifeline…as long as she survived.
As it turned out, she hadn’t needed to use the key Heloki had provided her. Something about just letting herself into someone’s house without knowing how many people were really in there, and where, had given her the paranoid willies. It wasn’t like she was a professional criminal. Until now, she’d never done anything illegal in her life, and didn’t have so much as a parking ticket listed in the motor vehicle database. Well, on second thought, she did have several speeding tickets on her driving record, but who the hell didn’t?
So instead of waltzing in the front door—that had been an idiotic plan anyway—she’d counted the remaining people before leaving the reception, hid in a copse of loulu palms near the road, and waited for the last person to leave. During the party, she’d spied the trellis she’d climbed up to get to the rooftop. It was positioned on the back of the house near the deck where the ceremony and reception had been held. But that was on the opposite end from the current gallery she swung above, so no help there. Unless she could somehow pull herself back up, scale across the roof, and then descend safely back down from there? It had been the original plan, of course—not the falling, but the going back the way she’d come—yet it seemed an awfully far distance now that she no longer had her footing.
Well, she worked out five times a week. She could do a chin-up, no problem, and if the damn gutter would just hold still, she could probably swing herself back up onto the roof if she really tried. So Anjelee inhaled, closed her eyes, and curled her fingers tighter around the rim of the gutter. Flexing every muscle in her arms and hands, she raised her knees and pulled herself up with all her strength.
Creak.
Anjelee gasped when the gutter shifted slightly in response to her upward movement. She paused, lowered herself carefully back down, and swallowed a dry lump in her throat. “Goddamn, what a cheap-assed piece of crap for such a rich man,” she muttered under her breath.
She hung there immobile for a moment, holding her breath, only letting it out when she was certain the gutter wouldn’t have some sort of delayed reaction and finish separating from the eaves.
“So much for that plan.”
There were no choices left. Even though her stomach churned with terror, she forced herself to look down again. Not down along that scary, rocky plunge, but at the terrace surface to her left. Well, she decided, back to the letting-go-of-the-right-hand-in-order-to-swing-left strategy.
Which petrified the fucking piss out of her.
“Pull yourself together and concentrate, hun,” she whispered to herself. Anjelee narrowed her eyes, forcing her brain into overdrive. She could imagine—no, almost feel—the synapsing and electrical activity firing off hot and all zappy inside her skull.
“Okay, so here’s the deal, self” she muttered, knowing the overdrive had resulted in something just short of panic rather than the composed problem-solving she so needed. “No one seems to be about yet, and the noises inside have died down, therefore, you most likely have time.”
But not all fucking night. That any idiot could figure out. She had to either let go now and risk breaking a few bones, or try Plan B. Or was it Plan C?
She’d begun to lose track, but who really gave a shit which one it was? All she wanted was to get the hell out of there before they caught her, hauled her off to jail for trespassing, and confiscated her precious camera. With all the shocking, rumor-confirming shots she’d just taken of the movie star in his little rub-a-dub-dub bathtub threesome, and all that homosexual activity she’d just captured on film—whew, and had that ever made her heart race—holy shit on a damn stick, was she ever going to be worth a fortune!
Anjelee didn’t even want to think about the fact that just watching them do all that touching and kissing and naughty foreign sex moves had made her breathless and her pulse hammer just a bit too quickly.
No, she had much more important matters to attend to than to analyze her body’s peculiar reaction to that amazing aerial view she’d had of such depravity. Later. Maybe she’d lie on Freud’s little couch and analyze herself later, but Jesus, not now. Before she took the time to do or think about anything else, she first and foremost had to get the hell down from here. She had a lot more to live for now than she’d had just an hour ago, which meant in order to reap her rewards, she’d have to take a chance and just fucking jump.
Her entire body trembled with fear and exhaustion. What she wouldn’t give for a damn Valium right about now. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on. Her arms and fingers were beginning to go numb. And crap, she was starting to get dizzy from all the nervous tension jumbling her brain up in knots and her stomach into chaotic rumbles.
Time to go, you pussy.
“One…two…” She made herself look down, held her breath. “Three.” Finally, she opened the grip on her right hand and let it slip. “Mmmm,” she groaned as her body swung sharply left. And then she released her left-hand hold.
It seemed she fell for hours before she hit with an umph. Her right foot hit first, but slipped backwards out from under her. The force promptly brought her down onto that knee, and the abrupt pain that shot through her leg had her suppressing a howl. The camera knocked hard against her chest—shit, please don’t let it be broken—but in the next flash, she managed all at once to bite her tongue, reach down, and break the rest of her fall with both hands.
Ignoring the throbbing in her knee, Anjelee remained crouched. She dragged in a lungful of moist air and glanced around the huge terrace. She saw no one, so she rose and started to limp toward the low wall that prefaced the rocky decline below.
Up the shore to the right, she caught sight of a giant of a man—most likely one of the hired bodyguards—running like a marathon sprinter toward the house, his footsteps pounding on the packed sand. She stopped in mid-step, perking her ears, her pulse pounding painfully, her breath ragged. Inside the house, shouts rang out, lights flipped on, drowning her in a sudden white glow. She heard the click of a lock on a sliding door nearby and hobbled back to the house. Flattening her body against the wall, she waited, planning, knowing she wouldn’t be there for long. Her time was nearly up.
It’s now or never, you idiot. Run! Get the hell out of here!
Gripping the camera securely against her chest, Anjelee dashed for the stone wall. She climbed over its low height and scaled the boulders like a wounded mountain lioness being tracked by hunters. Grimacing as throbbing pain shot through her knee, Anjelee pressed on, climbing downward toward the beach in the direction away from the approaching guard. And as she went, she prayed like a bitch that any others stationed on the premises hadn’t been alerted in time to cross paths with her.
Her vehicle was parked a half-mile up the road. But what a victorious journey it would be if she reached it without discovery. Then it would be time to implement her next plan, one that most likely would not include Heloki ’Alohi as he’d hoped.
Oh no. Now that she’d hit the jackpot with all those unexpected, juicy shots, she had a cleverer strategy than to just earn a few measly bucks by turning the photos over to the sugar-cane tycoon.
If she kept the pictures herself and offered them to the movie star for a price, Anjelee would be filthy rich. And all her horrible troubles would finally be over.
With a groan of regret, Jager dragged himself out of an erotic dream at the buzz of his cell phone. He clawed his way through the lingering fog, popped one eye open, and snatched the offending object from the hotel bedside table. How could one small piece of electronic equipment be so damned loud and
bright all at the same time?
Focusing on the little window, he saw that the call was coming from his own beachside house. Shit, it must be Mitch or Kiona. What now? He added a grumble, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and flipped open the phone.
“Jager here,” he barked. “And at—” he flicked a gaze toward the digital alarm clock, “—two a.m.?”
“One forty-five,” came Mitch’s snarl, which made Jager’s irritation level rise all the more.
“It’s your damn wedding night, for Christ’s sake, not to mention I was sleeping like a baby. This better be good.”
“Goddamn it, it’s not good at all, believe me,” Mitch growled, instantly churning Jager’s stomach with dread. “What the fuck kind of photographer did you hire, anyway?”
And churning some more.
“What…” God, please don’t tell me that little bitch caused some trouble. He shot to his feet, readjusting the hard-on tenting his boxers. “What’re you talking about? What’d she do? You mean she’s still there?”
“No, she’s long gone. But she was here. Apparently, she stayed long after everyone else left.”
No…
“And I’ll tell you what the hell happened, all right. The three of us, we were…enjoying our wedding night, like anybody just married would be doing. Kiona just happened to look up, and she swore she saw someone’s head peeping over the edge of the skylight above the tub. Then, guess what, pal?”
“I, uh, don’t—”
“Uh-huh, we heard a loud scrape and thump noise. Had to haul my naked ass soaking-wet from the Jacuzzi tub, locate my phone, and alert Larson. Seems after my call, Larson ran up the beach and spotted a woman with long blonde hair running up the road.”
Jager gulped down a knot of dismay. “Blonde?”
“Yeah, blonde…with goddamn pink stripes.”
Aw, fuck.
“Pink stripes?” Jager didn’t know what else to say but to echo Mitch’s angry words. Already Jager could picture his hands closed around Anjelee’s scrawny little neck, never mind the fact she was the one he’d just been screwing in his dream. Fuck that. It was just a damn dream. In reality, he’d kill the conniving little twit before he’d ever slide his cock between her legs.
“Yep, just like that photographer chick you hired for Heloki. Remember? Anjelee whoever.” Mitch forced out an exaggerated breath. The phone shifted. “And guess what else?” he added with a jaw-clamped growl.
“What?”
“I suddenly remembered where I’d seen her.”
Jager’s head fell back. Fuck. He closed his eyes, fantasizing about squeezing Anjelee’s little neck until her gorgeous green cat-eyes popped from their sockets. “You did? Where?”
“Her picture was in Superstars a few months back. As a reporter. One of those little side boxes crediting the writer. Perched right next to the ball-busting feature article she did on Randy McConnell and the torrid affair he’d had behind his wife’s back. It published the day before his new movie hit theatres. The movie tanked, by the way.”
“Oh, her.” What else could he say? That he’d already known who she was? That he was responsible for this whole mess? Hell no.
“So help me, Jager, if that woman isn’t apprehended, my whole career’s going to tank just like Randy’s movie.”
“Why? What makes you think so? Did she do or say something?” As if he didn’t already know.
“Did she do something?” he repeated incredulously. “You’re damn right she did. She climbed on your fucking roof, and I’m pretty sure—no, make that damn sure—she saw us. All three of us. Naked. Going at it, for Christ’s sake. Even if she didn’t have her damn camera with her, she has eyes, a mouth, a memory, and a journalism connection that could completely ruin me. The fact she went to all that trouble to climb on the damn roof and spy tells me you can bet your precious Mercedes this’ll be in next week’s tabloids. Christ, what the fuck am I going to do?”
“Uh…” Jager whistled for lack of a better response. “I take it you didn’t call the police?”
“Hell no! Why would I do such a stupid-assed thing? The media’d be all over it in minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah. Right. Good thing you didn’t.” He inhaled, held the hot air in his lungs until they ached, then slowly let out a shaky breath. “Okay, let me think…”
“Well, you better think fast, because she’s got a huge head start. Larson lost her.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“Okay, all right—”
“It’s not all right, goddamn it!”
Jager winced, hearing Mitch’s pissiness loud and clear. “I know, I know, that’s not what I meant.” He wedged the phone between his jaw and shoulder, and jammed his legs into a pair of jeans. “Look, calm down, I’ll see what I can do. I know where Heloki put her up. I’ll head over there and confront her, and confiscate her camera. Don’t worry, I’ll— Hold on, someone’s pounding on the damn door.”
“Fuck that. Tell them to get lost. You need to get your ass over there right this minute and get that camera from her before she skips the islands and heads back to the mainland. Tell her I’ll pay her five grand, ten, hell, I don’t care how much. Just get the fucking camera from her and make her sign some sort of gag agreement.” He groaned. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this. Jesus, she was on the damn roof watching us. Didn’t you do some sort of background check on her?”
“I…well…” Yes, I did. But only after it was too late. He crossed to the door and yanked it open. And there she stood. “Um, you’re not going to believe this, but it looks like she’s here.”
“What? Who?”
“Anjelee. She just showed up at my hotel suite.”
Anjelee tilted her head and winked at him. Soft light from the hallway spilled in around her, outlining her curves and putting her face in bedroom-like shadows.
“You’re kidding me. Put that fucking bitch on the phone right now,” Mitch said through gritted teeth.
“No. No, let me handle this.” Jager flipped a switch by the door, and a small desk lamp illuminated one corner of the suite near the sitting area.
Anjelee leaned against the doorjamb, her long hair spilling down over her small breasts, and stretched lazily, adding a fake yawn for effect, no doubt. She sent him a smirk of satisfaction, lifting a slim shoulder as if to say, “Do you blame me?” It reminded him of a purring cat who’d just caught the fattest rat in the alley.
Without taking his wary gaze from her, Jager’s pulse hammered with ire as he continued to speak to Mitch. “Believe me, I’ll take care of it. Call you back, okay?”
“You better call me right back. And with good news, goddamn it, or you’re fired,” Mitch snarled before the line went dead.
Jager punched the disconnect button even as he watched her eyelids flutter with mock innocence. “Something wrong, Jager?”
“Don’t you have more important things to do,” he asked, tossing the phone onto a nearby table, “than to spy on unsuspecting, harmless people?”
A brief flash of something almost sorrowful lit up her eyes. But it was gone so quickly, he was certain he’d imagined it.
“Yeah, actually, I do.” She breezed past him, leaving behind the fresh scent of the ocean entwined with her sporty yet feminine perfume. “Which is why I’m here.”
Jager closed the door and turned to face her, arms crossed. “All right, where is it?”
“Where is what?” Anjelee asked in a mocking, sing-song voice. She strolled her way around the room, trailing a finger across furniture.
“You know damn well what. Your camera.”
She plopped down into a plush chair near the patio door and propped her feet up on the round table meant for dining-in with room service. “In a very safe place.” Her gaze raked him from his bare feet to his dull-throbbing head. But her eyes suddenly dropped. And zoned daringly in on his hard-on.
She may as well have closed her palm around him. He hadn’t thought to zip up his pants before answering t
he door, and knowing she boldly perused the head of his cock—which barely peeped over the elastic of his boxers—was like sex itself.
Jesus Christ and Mary, get back to the current crisis.
He thrust a hand through his short-cropped hair. “What’s on it? What sorts of shots did you get?”
The corners of her plump little mouth tipped up. He wondered what it would feel like to plant the tip of his finger into one of the deep dimples that just then emerged on her cheeks.
“All kinds of kinky stuff. For instance, that rumor about him being gay?” She let out an unladylike snort. “Um, believe me, it’s nooo rumor. As if you didn’t already have knowledge of that particular little tidbit.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, or what it is that you really want, but I gotta say you are one deceitful, malicious little cunt if you think you can come here and—”
Her feet hit the floor. “Fuck you.” The cunning smile vanished, and he fielded a brief sense of regret when the dimples went with it.
“Ah, so is that what you’re after? To fuck me? Because if it is…” He made a show of gripping the waistband of his jeans as if he fully intended to whip them off.
“No.”
“No?” He held out his hands, shrugged. “Could have fooled me.”
She leaned forward, slapped her hands onto her thighs, and fisted them in the white pants she’d worn to the wedding. He noted a tear in her right knee with a splotch of red soaking the edges of the ragged hole. Maybe earned during her little trespassing act? Well, at the moment, he didn’t give a damn how it had gotten there. Still, his gaze moved up and over her thin build, took in the fragile, feminine shoulders. The curves of her small breasts were outlined in the shimmery-blue, low-cut camisole shirt she wore, and even though he tried to look away, he couldn’t help but notice the pebbles of her taut nipples straining against the thin fabric.
“Look, you asshole, it seems besides harboring some arrogant, idiotic notion that I’ve got the hots for you—which I don’t—you’re also forgetting one minor detail. I’m the one in the driver’s seat,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes narrowed to slits. “So you just shut the hell up, you hear me? And all your immature name-calling crap, by the way, isn’t scoring you any points with me, you goddamn prick.”
Kabana Heat Page 19
