Inside the well-lit, well-appointed foyer, Toby leaned against the door the moment it closed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Martha, the housekeeper/warden, coming down the hall. Mia’s warning ricocheted inside his head. Look sappy, dreamy. He closed his eyes and started to hum under his breath to the count of ten, at which point he pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered through the foyer to the staircase that led to the second floor. He pretended to notice Martha for the first time.
“Well, helllooo, Marthaaa. Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” he singsonged as he did a little twirling jig in his effort to look like a love-struck fool.
Martha was a motherly-looking, bosomy, middle-aged woman with graying hair, pink cheeks, and a penchant for wearing a ton of jewelry that tinkled and clanked as she moved. “Are you all right, Toby? You look . . . um . . . out of it. As usual, we missed you at dinner. Do you need help? You aren’t drunk or high, are you? You know the rules.”
“I am, I am, I am. Drunk on love, that is. I am sooo in love. I met this gorgeous, beautiful young woman in a museum, of all places, and she cannot keep her hands off me. We just hit it off perfectly. I met her a while back and kept bumping into her at the most unlikely places, and today we both just stood there looking at each other. I invited her for coffee, and she said yes. Do you believe that?” Toby squealed. “Her name is Mia Grande. Isn’t that the most beautiful name you’ve ever heard in your whole entire life? It’s like music when you say it out loud. Meeaaa Grandeee. I’m going to be dreaming of her all night long.” He squealed again.
Martha’s eyes narrowed. “Just like that you’re in love! What do you know about her? You have to be careful out there, Toby,” Martha said in her most motherly voice.
“Martha, Martha, Martha. I knew the moment I met her, she was for me. She said the same thing. It was meant to be. You should see her car. Man, that is one impressive set of wheels. She’s doing some grad work at Georgetown, and she carries a four-point-oh. Now, that I respect. Plus . . . plus . . . are you ready for this? She’s rich. She’s an heiress to some Brazilian hot sauce fortune. She’s really, really rich. Not that money is important, but it does help. She’s from Brazil, and she is runway-model beautiful, and her body is smoking hot. Did I say I’m in love? I am. God, I am sooo in love!”
“Uh-huh. Well, it’s late, Toby, and you should be in bed by now. Unless you want me to fix you some warm milk or hot chocolate.”
“No, no, no milk or chocolate. Oh, Martha, you’re right. You are so right. Mia. That’s her name. Did I tell you that?” he continued to gush. “She is picking me up at six so we can go running together and have breakfast. I won’t have any trouble sleeping tonight. Besides, I promised her I would dream about her all night long. She promised to do the same thing. This is so great. I can’t believe how wonderful I feel.”
To prove his point, Toby grabbed the housekeeper, hugged her until she squealed, then kissed her on the cheek. “See ya,” he bellowed as he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Inside his room, Toby locked the door and dived onto the king-size bed, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst right out of his chest. “I pulled it off. I know I pulled it off.” The gang, the mercenaries, would be proud of his performance. He was almost sure of it. Even the damn dog would be proud of him.
Chapter Five
The ten-thousand-square-foot penthouse in Crystal City, Virginia, was tomb quiet at five o’clock in the morning, as it should be. It wasn’t that the penthouse was empty, because Pilar and Gabriel Sanders, the owners, lived in the luxurious quarters. They were a quiet couple even when they were together. Now, though, only Pilar Sanders, who was five feet ten inches tall and weighed 120 pounds soaking wet, moved about the blinding white and stainless-steel state-of-the-art kitchen. She moved silently, pressing buttons that would activate the quiet built-in coffee machine. The machine was so high tech, it didn’t even make the plopping sound common to all coffeemakers when it finished brewing.
Pilar Sanders wasn’t beautiful, though she was reasonably attractive, thanks to Botox injections, contact lenses that were changed daily depending on their color and her mood, pricey dental work, a sculpted nose job to the tune of eight thousand dollars, a chin tuck to erase the turkey wattle that seemed to attack most women when they hit the magic five-oh, along with a plethora of hair extensions. The breast implants that threatened to spill from the satin dressing gown had been a must-have no matter what, as had the tummy tuck. Then there were the acrylic nails, the dyed hair to match the extensions, and the tattooed brows and eyeliner. The end result was Pilar Sanders. As her husband, Gabriel, put it, she was a walking, talking hundred-thousand-dollar bill with a five-thousand-dollar-a-month maintenance tab.
It was all true, and in private she had no problem admitting to it when fighting with her husband, which was a constant, ongoing part of their lives.
Gabe, as he liked to be called, had wondered countless times what his wife looked like under the heavy makeup she was never without. Even this early, at five o’clock in the morning, Pilar was perfectly made up, perfumed, and powdered, every hair in order, the hair extensions perfectly placed. “How,” he’d asked thousands of times, “do you sleep?” Pilar’s answer was simple. She didn’t sleep, getting by on catnaps and perhaps an hour or so of actual sleep here or there. Her favorite saying was she would have plenty of time to sleep when she was dead.
Pilar glided in satin slippers across the exquisite floor tiles, poured her coffee, and settled herself in the cozy breakfast nook she’d designed for just these early morning alone times. She flipped open the laptop on the table and brought up the nightly reports from all eleven Supper Clubs. Then she checked her e-mails, fully expecting nothing of interest since she’d checked them around eleven last night, before shutting down her computer. She frowned when she recognized an e-mail address belonging to Martha Howell, the housekeeper/spy at the Supper Club One residence. She bit down on her lower lip. An e-mail from Martha could mean only that something was up with her number one dancer, Toby Mason.
She childishly crossed her fingers that the e-mail wasn’t going to pose a problem and disrupt her plans. She delayed the inevitable by sipping the dark French roast coffee she was addicted to as she concentrated on what she considered to be real and imaginary problems where Toby Mason was concerned. The main problem was that Toby was too smart for his own good. It was entirely possible that Toby was her first and only mistake since she and Gabe had embarked on what she called their Supper Club Adventure. It wasn’t that Toby was asking questions or doing something he shouldn’t be doing. It was more that he wasn’t doing anything.
When a routine of several years’ making was the rule of the day, and then that rule was bent or ignored, it threw up a red flag. Pilar was constantly on the alert for red flags. Her gut had warned her months ago that Toby bore watching. She’d hired a top-notch investigative firm, which had proved to be not so top-notch, because they kept losing Toby and filing reports that simply said “The guy is onto us.” She didn’t believe that for a minute and had fired the firm and hired a new one, which hadn’t fared any better. Like it or not, she finally had to admit that Toby Mason was smarter than she’d given him credit for.
And now this e-mail.
Pilar clenched her pricey dental work and clicked open the e-mail. She scanned it, then read it word for word. Then she smiled. So the young man was in love. Well, that certainly explained things. Or did it? No, not really. Toby had been acting peculiar for months now. According to this e-mail, he’d fallen in love virtually overnight. She read the e-mail again, noting this time that Martha had gotten the license plate of the fancy sports car that had dropped him off last night.
Without stopping to think, Pilar sent an e-mail to the second investigative agency, asking for an in-depth check on one Mia Grande. She added an ASAP in bold red letters. She was confident that by ten o’clock, she’d be reading the in-depth report she had requested. There was a
lot to be said for young love. A lot.
Pilar finished her coffee and was about to refill her cup when she looked up to see her husband standing in the doorway. She cringed at his bed hair, which was standing out at all sorts of crazy angles, at his dark stubble, and the potbelly pressed against his pajama top. She said what she always said when she saw him like this. “Gabe, you really need to get that fat sucked out of your stomach.”
To which he replied, “Not going to happen, babe. You’re the beautiful one on this team.” Pilar shook her head.
“So, anything going on?” Gabe asked as he scratched at his chest as if he were digging for gold.
Pilar winced again. Where, oh where, was the buff, muscled man she’d married so long ago? “Not really. There was an e-mail from Martha. She said Toby is in love. Check the e-mail for yourself.”
Gabe did just that as Pilar refilled her coffee cup and also filled one for her husband.
“Well, guess you feel pretty foolish now, don’t you? The guy is in love. That explains everything. You were stewing and fretting over nothing and spending a fortune on those private detectives.”
“No, Gabe, it does not explain everything. Toby was acting peculiar months ago. He wasn’t in love then. In fact, I doubt he knew this girl back then. Martha said they’d met just recently. I requested an in-depth background check on the woman. I should have it by midmorning.”
Gabe nodded. “How did the club do last night?”
“Stable. You know that revenue is down when it’s just dinner. I think we should start having the guys dance on Wednesdays now, until the holidays are over. Carlie told me yesterday that people are already calling for Christmas reservations.” Carlie Fisher was the Sanderses’ business manager and the person responsible for all the scheduling of the dancers.
“Works for me if it works for you. Did you sleep at all last night, Pilar?”
“Actually, I did, Gabe. Don’t I look fresh and rested?”
Gabe snorted as he eyed his wife. “Someday, I’m going to drag you through a car wash so I can see if you look anything like the young girl I married all those years ago. You’ve been nipped and tucked, sliced and diced to the nth degree. And those pillow lips! What the hell is up with that? Believe me when I tell you they look slutty. Don’t you care that people whisper behind your back? What you really look like under all that war paint is still a mystery to me these days. What happened to that bright-eyed girl I married?”
“You mean that scrawny, knock-kneed, ugly duckling with the space between her front teeth, the crooked nose, and the thick glasses? That bright-eyed girl?” Pilar asked with a warning bite in her voice.
Gabe shrugged. “Yes, that’s the one. The one I fell in love with. Look at you. You look like you’ve been shellacked and lacquered from head to toe. You don’t even look real anymore. You look like one of those plastic mannequins you see in department stores.”
Pilar sighed. They had had this same talk so many times that she’d lost count. Well, what was one more time? “Look, Gabe, the time before we picked up and left that trash heap back in Alabama and made our way up to this place is not something I like to dwell on. How many times do I have to tell you the past is past? I don’t want to remember wearing rags and going hungry and looking like a starving refugee. I like where I am, and if you don’t like how I look now, just say so and be on your way. No hard feelings.”
As always after this little speech, Gabe backed down. In his heart, he knew he would never be happy unless he was with Pilar, because somehow, someway, she was ingrained in his DNA.
“What’s on the schedule for today?” Gabe asked as he rubbed at the stubble on his face. He asked the question, not caring if Pilar answered or not. Anything to keep the conversation moving in this overly bright, institutional-looking kitchen. He took it a step farther and said, “You should get some flowers for the table. This place needs some color. It would also be nice if from time to time we could smell something around here besides air fresheners. Like frying bacon or cinnamon.”
Pilar stared at her husband over the top of her laptop. They’d had this same conversation just as many times as the one where they discussed her physical appearance. Secretly, she had herself convinced that somehow Gabe had programmed himself. Not that she cared. “That’s why they have restaurants and coffee shops. When we moved in here, I told you I wasn’t going to do any cooking. You said it was okay with you. And if you want flowers, go out and buy some.”
Gabe felt his insides start to shrivel. He didn’t like his wife’s tone. She was always nasty, but today he was hearing something strange. Worry? If Pilar was worried, that had to mean it was time for him to panic. He swallowed hard. This whole past year he’d been warning his wife that it was time to downsize, time to pack up and head to the islands, like they’d originally planned when they started out in this crazy-ass business.
“Pilar, we need to talk seriously. It’s time to shut down Supper Club Five, Eight, and Eleven. They are deadweight. Supper Club Eleven is a black hole. We moved too fast on those. We should have stuck with the nine, but oh, no, you got greedy. We also need to think about clubs three and six. Breaking even isn’t worth it.”
“I know, I know. But I think we should wait till after the holidays. Carlie seems to think things are picking up. They always do during the Christmas season. If we stay open until the first of the year, we can recoup some of our losses.”
Gabe stood up and leaned over the table so he was eyeball-to-eyeball with his wife. “Listen to me, Pilar. I want out of this business. Out, as in all the way out. My gut has been warning me for a year now. I’ll be honest with you. I can’t imagine going it alone without you at my side, but I will, because I cannot handle this any longer. So far, we’ve been lucky. That luck is not going to hold forever. We both know that. We have, at last count, fourteen million dollars in our accounts. That’s more than enough to keep to our plan and head for the islands. If we shut down totally the first of the year, sell off everything, we’ll end up, if we’re lucky, with three or four million dollars more. If we invest wisely—and I think you have to agree that I’ve done a good job so far—we can live just the way you want for the rest of our lives. I do not want to be a drug dealer, Pilar. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore. We’re pushing our luck, honey. Can’t you see it? I know how fearless you are, but that’s what is going to do you in, in the end.”
The pillow lips puckered up in a pout. Pilar nodded ever so slightly to signal her agreement with her husband. “I thought we both decided never to use that hideous term. I hate it. We need the score this year to even things out. I know we’ve been lucky, and now is the time to get out, especially with . . . well, whatever it is that’s going on with Toby Mason. For now, let’s plan for a retirement party for New Year’s Eve.”
Gabe was stunned at how easy that was. When Pilar agreed with him, though, it was always suspect. He looked at his wife and struggled for a smile. He knew he wasn’t pulling it off, because he saw his wife narrow her eyes.
“I mean it this time, Gabe. Relax.”
Like he could really relax with what they were doing. He tried to remember the last time he’d truly relaxed and simply could not remember. He hated looking over his shoulder all the time, hated wondering when he would be hauled off to jail and be separated from Pilar. Maybe she was finally seeing things his way. Maybe. But he didn’t believe it for a minute.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Gabe? You don’t believe me. Is that it?”
Gabe stared at his wife for a very long minute before he turned and walked away. He had to stiffen his spine, make a decision he could live with. Stick around or go it alone without his wife at his side. A no-brainer really when it came right down to it. Going it alone was a hell of a lot better than living in a nine-by-six cell alone. He turned and said, “No, Pilar, I don’t believe you. I’m tired of preaching to you. Do what you want, but don’t count on me for anything other than keeping track of our i
nvestments, which, by the way, will be split right down the middle if you backwater come the first of the year.”
Pilar stared at the spot where Gabe had been standing. A small worm of fear crawled around her stomach. He had sounded so . . . so final. Was that an ultimatum she’d just heard? They were a team; they’d always been a team from the time they were youngsters. Surely, Gabe wouldn’t kick her to the curb. They were just words to scare her, the way she used words to scare him when she wanted things to go her way. Teamwork was all well and good when it was just business, with each member pulling his or her weight, but when you were involved in drug running, there was only one rule, and that was “Do not get caught.” With Gabe watching her back, she hadn’t worried too much, but now that he was turning on her, she knew she was going to have to alter her plans. Especially with Toby Mason being front and center.
Pilar looked around the kitchen. She saw what Gabe had seen, the starkness, the shiny appliances, the white light. He was right; it looked like no one lived here. He was right about the flowers, too. Clutter bound you to a place. She’d tried numerous times to explain that to him. With clutter, with doodads, junk, stuff, you couldn’t cut and run. While Gabe said he understood, he didn’t, not really.
Pilar rubbed at her temples. She was getting a headache. It would turn into a migraine if she didn’t nip it in the bud. Migraines were her curse in life. She got up and walked into the foyer, where she’d dropped her purse. She picked up her purse and rummaged around until she found the prescription bottle she was looking for. She shook out three yellow pills and dry swallowed them. She was back in the kitchen moments later, filling her coffee cup.
Now all she could do for the moment was wait for the investigative report to show up in her e-mail.
High Stakes Page 6
