High-Heeler Wonder

by Avery Flynn

  Hunger flashed across his chiseled face so quickly she almost missed it, but it lasted long enough to make the butterflies in her stomach break into a flash mob dance performance.

  The store’s door flew outward, forcing Tony and Sylvie to jump apart to avoid the impact.

  Pippa Worthington stormed out, her white hair streaming behind her like a battle flag. The moment she spotted them, her stiletto-clad foot faltered and she bobbled. Her eyes went as large and round as oversized mother-of-pearl buttons. The fashion world’s self-proclaimed ruler swayed, caught between her diamond-hard façade of superiority and the cold hard reality of public humiliation.

  Without hesitating, Tony clasped Pippa’s elbow, stabilizing her. Her footing regained, she raised her chin and narrowed her eyes into slits of disdain. “Please remove your hand.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shoved his hand into his pocket.

  Sylvie looped her arm through Tony’s elbow, giving Pippa her most insincere smile. “I hope you’re doing well.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. I’m always fine.” Pippa pushed a pair of opaque sunglasses up her long, straight nose, shielding the vulnerability in her frosty blue eyes. “Why don’t you tell that to the world on your little blog?”

  Sylvie blinked away the momentary shock. She hadn’t expected Pippa ever to acknowledge the High-Heeled Wonder. According to staffers at Chantal, there was a longtime style editor at the magazine whom Pippa had refused to acknowledge for the past decade. Cold. Impervious. Despised. That was Pippa Worthington. What she hated, she decimated. What she couldn’t destroy, she ignored with the efficiency of a tailor on awards night.

  “I would tell the world, but I can’t. Someone hacked the site.”

  The upper edges of two pencil-thin eyebrows appeared from behind Pippa’s oversized sunglasses. “How unfortunate.”

  Tony’s hand squeezed Sylvie’s twice. A part of her registered the warning to step softly, but it was too late. Fury and frustration over fighting an unknown and unseen enemy had reached its peak. Adrenaline roared through her veins, daring her to force the self-proclaimed queen to defend her position.

  “It’s no secret you hate the High-Heeled Wonder.” Sylvie shook off Tony’s grasp. “The threats. The e-mails. The driver who tried to run me down. Was it you?”

  Instead of being offended, Pippa laughed. “Oh my, you have annoyed someone. But not me. Little one, your worthless site barely registered on my radar.”

  “Until I broke the news about you losing Chantal.”

  The laughter died. Pippa’s shoulders straightened and she tossed her hair over one shoulder. “I haven’t lost Chantal. Don’t you worry about Chantal…or me. We’ll be brilliant. You should be worried about yourself. You’re not a real fashion journalist. You’re not a professional. You don’t produce a tangible product. You don’t have the influence, brains, or guts to really make an impact on the world of fashion. You’re just someone who fannies about on the computer. People like you aren’t ready to sit at the adults’ table. Don’t you know better than to mess with people who buy their ink by the barrel?”

  The insults, delivered with expert precision, landed with deadly force. Sylvie reacted the only way she knew how when cornered. She bared her teeth. “If you even—”

  “Don’t bother threatening me.” Pippa waved manicured fingers in the air. “I have more important things to do with my day than worry about some insignificant blogger. I have a fashion empire to run.”

  She stormed off to her black Town Car, where a man in an ebony suit held open the door. Sliding inside, she never looked back, let alone offered a thank you to Tony for stopping her fall.

  “Well that went…” Tony’s voice trailed off as Pippa’s limo merged into traffic. His cell phone buzzed and he slid it out of his jacket’s inside pocket.

  “Yeah, it went.”

  “That’s quite an interrogation technique you’ve got. I’m shocked they don’t teach it at the police academy.” He smiled as he said it, but his eyes stayed glued on the text message.

  “Sorry, I guess I lost it a bit there.” To put it mildly. “Doubt we’ll get another chance to find out what she knows.”

  Tony tsked. “No need. Cam just finished checking her out. No ties to the IP address Carlos found. No encrypted files on her computer, and the documents on her hard drive and smartphone, home and office, are almost all Chantal-related. She doesn’t have a driver’s license or a car, let alone a silver Mercedes. She does use a car service, but as you saw, their vehicles are black Town Cars, and each trip is logged into a central system. No questionable financial transactions going out or coming in. She’s squeaky clean. So either she’s innocent or she knows how to cover her tracks like a CIA agent. Oh, and she was in DC at the White House interviewing the first lady the day you almost got mowed down.”

  She stared at him. “How the hell did you manage to get all that information?”

  “I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

  Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Was it at least legal?”

  “Legal-ish.” He shot her his most charming smile, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

  Pippa had never made much sense as her stalker. Running a magazine like Chantal wasn’t a nine-to-five job. It was a brutal undertaking that required eighty-hour work weeks and almost slavish devotion. Her stalker had had time on his hands to create such a hate-filled plot. And with Ivy as good as cleared, that left Anders. With assistants, freelance designers, and business managers, could he have managed it?

  Sylvie sighed. “So clearing her is that simple?”

  “Yeah, sometimes it is.” He jingled change in his pockets. “Still, she’s a real piece of work.”

  No damn kidding. “Is this your first in-person dealing with her royal highness?”

  “Yep. No, wait. She came out into the garden at your sister’s wedding.” His forehead creased. “Hmm. Anders wasn’t at the wedding.”

  She shook her head. “He’d said he was going out of town.” Anya had done the happy dance when she received his regrets for the RSVP.

  “So Anders might have an alibi.” Tony paced the width of the store’s display window, his jaw clenched.

  “There was the e-mailed threat, but nothing ended up happening at the wedding.”

  He regarded her. “Really? Tell me how you found Daniel.”

  “On his knees.” A familiar humiliation slapped her cheeks.

  “Not that part. How did you happen to stumble upon him?”

  “I was looking for the bathroom and—” Her heart dropped to the sewer tunnels buried beneath the sidewalk. “Kevin, Anders’s assistant, gave me directions. Which ended up sending me down the wrong hallway.”

  “How convenient.” Tony stopped at her side and his warm hand grasped hers. “From what you’ve said and my intel on him, Anders doesn’t strike me as having the tech skills to accomplish this on his own. We need to find out who he’s working with. Get your game face on, sweetheart. We’re going in.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You have to give the little divas something.”

  —Christian Siriano

  If Tony had any doubts about Anders Bloom’s douchebaggery, taking three steps inside his high-priced boutique would have extinguished them. The man had four-feet-tall Andy Warhol–style photos of himself all over the store. A close-up hung over the cash register, manned by a pink-haired clerk whose eyes rounded when she spotted Sylvie. A full-body shot of Anders took up the dressing room door that opened for a Hitchcock blond trying on a dress from the designer’s latest collection. A framed profile as tall as a hockey net covered the wall behind a display of shoes. The price tag of a single pair probably equaled Tony’s monthly mortgage.

  He hadn’t felt so out of place since he’d accidentally walked into his middle school’s women’s restroom in seventh grade. Seeing Mrs. Ricci adjusting her bra had done all sorts of things to improve his ability to stay awake during her algebra class…if not his final grade.

/>   “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the High-Heeled Wonderbitch herself.” Anders glared down at them, leaning against the rail of a balcony-like landing at the top of a staircase going to the second-floor offices. The designer had a bird’s-eye view of the store from his lofty position and had probably spotted them as soon as they walked in.

  To her credit, Sylvie didn’t immediately flip him off, which was pretty much the response Tony expected after her slash-and-burn conversation with Worthington. He nudged her with an elbow, praying she’d take the hint and keep it friendly. They needed to get into Anders’s office. Not that he expected the designer to tell them anything useful. No, the reason he needed up there was a listening device burning a half-inch-square hole in his pocket.

  “Looks like you forgot your tacky High-Heeled Wonder boots, Sylvie girl.” Anders’s smug tone grated. “Judging by your past comments about my designs, I don’t think you’ll find anything here to replace them.”

  Sylvie slanted Tony a glance and picked up a metallic silver pair of display shoes emblazoned with a magenta-hued image of Anders on the toe. “Finally, something we agree on.”

  Tony’s toes began to itch. He needed to take control of this interview before the whole thing went sideways. “Mr. Bloom, we’d like to have a moment of your time, if we could?”

  “Aren’t you a polite one? Does your new boy toy play for my team, too, Sylvie?” He delivered the dig without sparing her a glance. “Because he is downright yummy and I’m always in the mood for bear.”

  Sylvie stiffened.

  Shit. “Invite us up and you can ask me yourself,” Tony said quickly, before she lost it.

  Anders’s booming laugh drowned out the ear-bleedingly-bad dance music coming from the store’s speakers. “Marvin, bring them up. I do love a man with a little fire.” His lips flattened. “And I do mean a little.”

  With a bitchy little shrug, Anders pivoted off the landing and disappeared through a set of French doors.

  Two side-by-side kaleidoscope images of Anders on a nearby wall split to reveal the interior of a stark-white elevator. A man dressed in a black suit stood in the back corner. Marvin, no doubt. He had the width of a linebacker and the height of an NBA all-star. Anders obviously spent some coin on his personal bodyguard. The only people who did that were paranoids and those with a long list of devoted enemies. Which category applied to Anders?

  Tony floated the idea of letting Sylvie know about the wireless transmitter in his pocket, but some things were best left on a need-to-know basis. Between this and the origins of the first e-mails to the High-Heeled Wonder, there were a lot of things she didn’t know. Not yet. And he didn’t want to think about her reaction when she discovered the truth.

  He and Sylvie crossed the elevator threshold and the doors swooshed shut. Ten seconds later they walked into Anders’s studio. The space was smaller than Tony had expected. Two long tables dominated the room, one of which was stacked high with bright fabrics and several clear plastic bins filled with buttons and zippers. The rev of a sewing machine hummed away at the opposite side of the room. Clothing hung on racks next to a closed door.

  Marvin nodded toward it. “He’s in his office. Follow me.”

  Anders sat behind his desk, framed by the French doors that led out to the landing overlooking the store. The cramped space lacked any other furniture, but the sun’s rays streamed in from a skylight, highlighting the purplish streaks in Anders’s hair. The dye job may have been his trademark, but it only exaggerated his gaunt, clammy skin. He turned his bloodshot, dilated eyes on them. “So, do you feel free now that you’re out of the closet, or are you regretting all your bitchery?”

  Sylvie didn’t even twitch. “Does it matter?”

  “God, yes. Inquiring minds and all.” He steepled his fingers, tapping the tips against his chin.

  Taking advantage of Anders’s focus on Sylvie, Tony slipped the transmitter out of his pocket and palmed the device. The size of a postage stamp, the black plastic stick-on device could be hidden anywhere, but he needed it on the desk for the best reception. Anders’s desk was piled high with squares of fabric, colored pencils, sketch pads, a telephone, and a computer. He needed to stick the micro-transmitter to something that wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  “I didn’t out myself. Someone did that for me.” Sylvie’s voice cracked on the last words.

  “Now, doesn’t that just break my heart? As if. Count me in the camp that’s thrilled your secret is out.”

  Tony flicked off the transmitter’s protective coating with his thumbnail and casually leaned against the corner of the desk. His hand landed just behind the computer monitor. Perfect.

  He stuck the transmitter to the monitor’s underside. It wouldn’t go undetected forever, but should be good long enough for his purposes.

  Mission complete, he turned to the next order of business and asked Anders in a deliberately accusatory voice, “How long have you known Sylvie was the High-Heeled Wonder?”

  Rolling back his chair, Anders slid his dead-eyed gaze to Tony. “Eons now. Her little friend Ivy let that slip when she fell off the wagon. How is our girl doing, by the way?”

  “Just fine,” Sylvie gritted out, not falling for the dig.

  “I take it you two reconnected?” Anders’s expression was snide. “Amazing. The way she tells it, you abandoned her once your site made it to the big time. She’s quite bitter.”

  “And you took advantage of that, didn’t you?” she muttered.

  “I only take what’s offered.” Anders stood and leaned forward with his palms flat on the desk. “But I’m in a generous mood today, so this time let me offer you something—good advice. Shut that stupid blog down.”

  Tony couldn’t have asked for a better opening to really set the designer off. “She can’t. Someone has hacked into it. You wouldn’t happen to know who’s behind that?” he asked belligerently.

  “Me?” Anders stumbled back, blinking rapidly. His skin turned a mottled red. “Why, I can barely get my wireless printer to work.”

  Guilt, or surprise? Unease tickled the back of Tony’s neck. “Where were you Monday morning around eleven?”

  Anders pulled a white handkerchief from the pocket of his silver-striped pants. He took his time unfolding it and then blew his nose. After giving the results a look-see, he refolded the handkerchief and stuffed it back in his pocket. “Visiting suppliers, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Just the kind of alibi that left a lot of wiggle room. “Can anyone confirm that?”

  “I’m sure they could, but this interview is over.” Anders pushed a button on his phone. “Marvin, our guests are no longer welcome. Please show them out.”

  Marvin appeared in the doorway almost before his boss had finished uttering the order. After another ten-second elevator ride, the bodyguard ushered them out with a curt warning not to return.

  “That wasn’t exactly productive.” Sylvie fished a pair of sunglasses out of her bag as they hustled through the store.

  “I wouldn’t say that.” As soon as they crossed the doorway and emerged on the sidewalk, Tony took out his cell phone, hit mute, and dialed the number associated with the SIM card implanted in the transmitter.

  Anders voice came through loud and clear. “I said get her on the phone. Now!”

  Tony hung up and texted the go signal to Cam so he could monitor the voice traffic from Maltese Security’s office com center.

  “What was that all about?” Sylvie asked.

  He could lie to her, but the deceptions had started to come too easy. His self-disgust grew with every heartbeat, weighing him down. “I planted a bug in his office.”

  She blinked. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” The question came out gruffer than Tony had intended and she jumped. He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Throngs of people swarmed around them, hurrying on their lunch breaks, but for Tony, Sylvie was the only other person in the w
orld at that moment. When he’d sent that first anonymous e-mail, she’d been an unknown entity. He’d been so obsessed with finding Keith’s killer that the line between right and wrong had all but disappeared. She had been his means to an end. Bile tickled the back of his throat.

  As she stood before him, the spring breeze teased her tawny hair away from her face. The truth seemed so obvious. Smart, loyal, and sexy as hell, Sylvie Bissette was beyond what he’d ever expected…or what he deserved. He’d done the wrong thing for the right reason—to bring Keith’s killer to justice.

  He hadn’t meant for this to happen.

  He hadn’t meant to fall for the High-Heeled Wonder.

  The store doors whooshed open and the pink-haired sales clerk hurried out. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I overheard enough to know something’s happening. Take this.” She shoved a brass key into Sylvie’s hand. “It opens a secret door behind Anders’s picture by the shoes. We all know there’s a room back there, but everyone pretends it doesn’t exist. The last girl who asked about it stopped showing up for shifts. The manager said she’d quit. Anders dropped the key when he came in this morning. I don’t think he realizes it’s gone.”

  “Why give it to me?”

  The girl bit her lip. “I won’t be able to slip you tips for your blog anymore. I got a new job, and after today’s shift I’m walking away from this fucked-up place for good.”

  Sylvie stared at the key in her palm. “What’s in the room?”

  The girl glanced over her shoulder toward the store. “You’ll have to see for yourself. I’ve already taken enough risks. For what it’s worth,” she added, “I know you didn’t write that horrible stuff yesterday.” She nodded her head and hightailed it inside.

  Desperate for something to focus on besides his own failings, Tony swiped the key out of Sylvie’s grasp. “Come on, let’s go discover Anders’s big, bad secret.”

  The salesgirl acted as their lookout, guiding Tony and Sylvie from one security camera blind spot to another in the store until they arrived eye-to-oversized-eye with Bloom’s picture. Tony slid his fingers along the frame’s edge until he found the lock. He inserted the key and the mechanism clicked open.