by Debra Webb
“Vanya won’t talk if you’re there.”
“You can’t go in alone,” he protested. “We’ll come up with another idea that gets me into that party.” He didn’t know what it would be, but he didn’t want to put her in jeopardy.
“The obvious choice is posing as a potential buyer. You’ll have to act.”
“I’ll manage.” He understood Polzin’s type and was familiar with the sort of men he associated with. “This isn’t the first time I’ve gone up against bastards with unthinkable habits.”
“The Angeles Forest killer?”
“Among others.” His mind drifted back to Mubi. “So, where to for clothing or costumes?”
“You’re letting me decide?”
He nodded, a little too enamored with her enthusiasm. “As long as it’s not the studio or some trendy store at the mall.”
Her soft laughter filled the car. “Back to Malibu.” She reached for his phone and entered an address into his navigation app. “Nothing public, I promise.”
“Someone you trust?”
“Absolutely.” She held up her hand. “My friend will be the soul of discretion and her husband is about your size.”
“Great.” He’d be stuck in another man’s clothes while she assumed yet another persona. He told himself it was a means to an end. Anything to get the job done. “Does your friend draw paparazzi?”
“That could be trouble,” Lauren admitted. “I’ll send a quick text and let her know we’re on the way and that we need a clear path to her.”
Mike hoped her friend was as trustworthy as Lauren believed.
Just reading the friendly text reply from her friend made Lauren feel a smidge of hope again. Mike was quiet on the drive up the Pacific Coast Highway. She didn’t want to guess what he was thinking, but her mind whirled over these latest discoveries. Somehow they had to get into that party. Without the evidence they needed to call in the FBI or Interpol, their own ingenuity would have to do.
Lauren ordered herself to relax as they drove the last few miles. She lowered her window just enough to allow the breeze coming off the ocean to filter into the car. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. She imagined burying her toes into the sand and feeling the water rush over her feet and ankles. The car slowed and Lauren opened her eyes. She couldn’t wait to see her friend.
“Zoe Langston?” Mike asked as he made the turn into the driveway. “How is this discreet?”
“She’s my best friend. Are you a fan of her music?”
“By default. She’s married to surf champion, Blake Scott.”
Lauren wanted to pump her fist, happy she’d found something that might give her leverage for a compromise. “If you’re nice I’ll arrange an introduction and you can surf with him.”
Mike laughed. “I’ll just be holding my breath over here.”
Lauren laughed, her first real one in days. “Pull to the left of the side driveway and we’ll be out of range of any potential onlookers.”
“Hope so.”
On this side of the house, they were safe from prying eyes unless someone with a serious telephoto lens was out past the surf line in a boat. It had happened on rare occasions. Today, as Lauren gazed out over the private slice of beach, the waves were clear.
Zoe met them at the back door and pulled Lauren into a big hug. “What a relief it is to see you. I’ve been worried sick. Why didn’t you call?”
Lauren felt a measure of the tension unravel under Zoe’s unconditional support. “My phone was damaged,” she explained with a sideways glance at Mike. She introduced him as the bodyguard who’d kept her safe and Zoe immediately embraced him as well, showering him with gratitude.
“Just doing my job,” he replied.
Lauren shook her head. The man had no idea how to accept a compliment with any grace. She stepped in, sparing him any unnecessary conversation. “We need a favor.”
“Anything.” Zoe threw her arms wide. “Ask away.”
Lauren smiled. “We need some formal clothes, makeup, and I need a wig.”
“What’s mine is yours.” She looked Mike up and down. “Same goes for anyone keeping Lauren safe.”
“Thanks,” he said tightly.
“Don’t worry,” Zoe said. “You’re built like my Blake. He’s got a tux that will make the ladies swoon at first sight.”
Mike in a tuxedo was a mouthwatering image Lauren didn’t need. “A tux is overkill for tonight,” she replied. “I was thinking the charcoal pinstripe.”
“Hmm... maybe.” Zoe hummed, her gaze lingering. “Make yourself at home, Mike. Lauren and I will see what we can come up with.”
Mike gave a nod. “I have calls to make.”
When Lauren and Zoe were alone in her bedroom, Lauren closed the door with a snap and leaned back against it. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
“What happened?” Zoe demanded, keeping her voice low. “And where did Mr. Hottie come from? He doesn’t look like any security detail I’ve seen.” She stepped in front of Lauren. “You don’t get so much as a false eyelash until you spill.”
“No time,” Lauren protested. Mike would use every idle minute to come up with reasons to abort her idea to confront Vanya.
Zoe folded her arms, refusing to budge. “You’re my best friend, Lauren. Tell me what’s going on.”
As quickly as possible, Lauren brought her up to speed about the murder and how they’d found signs that Desmond was making deals with criminals. She let Zoe’s imagination fill in the blanks, leaving out details about the finishing school and the Russian mob. “No matter what you see or hear on the news I didn’t kill Desmond.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Zoe said with utter devotion as she stepped aside to give Lauren full access to her wardrobe. “Though you had plenty of reason to.”
“Please don’t say that in any interview.”
“The police were already here and I’ve had a few calls from the press.”
Lauren felt her chin drop. “I’m so sorry.”
Zoe shrugged. “What’s Hollywood without a little drama? It’s not like I had to lie about not knowing anything.”
“Mike explained that turning to my friends could make them accomplices or targets. Maybe both. I couldn’t risk that. But no one followed us here. Mike made sure.”
“Relax, doll. I’ve been watching the news and hoping you’d show up. I’m happy to do whatever I can. Let’s help Mike find a suit first,” Zoe said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“He’s just the bodyguard. Don’t get any ideas.” Lauren didn’t need any help on that front. She seemed to have new, enticing ideas every time she looked at him.
“Why not? You deserve a hot fling. God knows Desmond had plenty. I wanted to wring his neck for treating you like crap.”
“I let him do it,” Lauren pointed out. “And I wasn’t a complete doormat, despite public opinion.”
Zoe gave her a quick hug. “I know.”
They perused Zoe’s husband’s closet and emerged with two suits. They gathered ties, shirts, belts, and shoes and Zoe carried all of it out to Mike to try on in another room.
By the time she returned, Lauren had chosen a few different dresses, searching for just the right look. “Mike surfs and he’s a huge fan of Blake’s. Assuming we don’t end up in prison,” or dead, she didn’t say, “do you think Blake would hit the waves with him one day?”
“Count on it.”
“Tonight, in disguise,” Lauren assured her friend, “we should get some proof to take to the police and clear my name and hopefully what we need to stop these monsters.”
“Good.” Zoe reached out and snagged a handful of dresses, carrying them to the dressing area. “Let’s make a statement for whatever role you’re playing tonight. What’s Mike’s favorite color?”
“Stop it,” Lauren scolded gently. “I can’t look like me anyway.”
“So you do like him! How could you not? That body and...”
“Does your husband know you drool
over strangers?”
Zoe laughed. “Blake has my undivided adoration and loyalty and he knows it. You, however, are afraid of something.”
Lauren shifted her attention to the dresses, trying to get into the head of a woman who would help a man buy and sell other women. “The police and a killer are looking for me, afraid is probably a smart thing.”
“That’s not it,” Zoe stated. “You’re hung up on the hot bodyguard.”
“He’s so not my type.”
“Please. He’s every red-blooded hetero woman’s type.” Zoe held up one dress after the next, until she found a bold blue silk. “This is perfect. It matches his eyes.”
“This is not a date,” Lauren protested as she considered the dress. “I don’t know. With a short black wig and contacts... brown or maybe green.”
Zoe circled her finger in the air. “Only one way to know for sure. Off with your clothes.”
Lauren stripped to her bra and panties and stepped into the dress. Zoe pulled the zipper up her spine and gave a low whistle. “Your backside looks great. Turn around.”
“Yes, drill sergeant,” Lauren teased.
Her friend only hummed a little as Lauren did the model’s turn. “This has potential. With a black wig and the smoky eye no one will realize you’re Lauren Marie Woods or Dr. Loveless.”
“That’s the goal.” Lauren stepped to the mirror and angled her body left and right. The dress clung to her curves, showing a generous amount of cleavage and her dedication to fitness. “This should keep the focus where it belongs.”
“No one will be looking at your face, that’s for sure.”
Zoe helped her wriggle out of the dress and they gathered the right accessories. “I need one more dress. A step down from this one.”
“No problem.” They went through the selection and found a red dress that gave off a sexy power vibe without overdoing it. It would be perfect for her upcoming attempt to interview Vanya.
“Stay for dinner,” Zoe offered.
“We really can’t.” If she missed her chance to talk to Vanya they’d have a real fight getting those women out of the mansion.
“A drink then. The stress is obvious, Lauren. Take a minute to catch your breath.”
“The longer we stay the more risk to you.” Now she sounded like Mike.
“You didn’t kill him. Surely there’s a cop who will listen to your side.”
“The less you know the better. Mike and I can handle this.” She hoped. “You have no idea what Desmond was into.” Lauren knew it would be years—if ever—before she could get the images of those captured women out of her mind. “Trust me, Zoe. I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as I can.”
Zoe studied her a bit too closely. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?” Lauren knew her friend trusted her unconditionally, though she might express more than a few doubts if she knew about the gang of human traffickers.
“You promise me you’ll remember not all men are like Desmond.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “I know that.”
“I wonder.” Zoe tapped her foot. “Men like to give orders and they love to be right, but good men aren’t selfish or mean. A good man has your best interests in mind.”
“Well, if I’m not in prison or dead, I’ll keep that in mind when I start dating again.” She couldn’t picture that yet. Dating felt too normal and yet too risky. She wasn’t sure how long it would take before she trusted her judgment of potential companions again.
“I say start with the man you’ve got in your pocket.”
“Zoe, stop. Mike’s not with me because he’s interested. He’s doing a job.”
“Oh, he’s interested,” Zoe insisted. “If nothing else, consider him practice.”
“Fine!” Agreeing with Zoe was the only way to put an end to the subject and get back to the task ahead of them. How had she not noticed how bossy her best friend was?
With a final hug, the borrowed clothing neatly packed and zipped into garment bags, she and Mike slipped away from the house and headed back toward LA.
“She worries about you,” Mike observed.
“Yeah. She’s a good friend.” Lauren was relieved when he didn’t press her for more details or another assurance that Zoe would keep the visit to herself.
“I grew up in California.” His quiet statement surprised her. “Celebrities rarely impress me.”
“Zoe isn’t the norm,” Lauren admitted.
“Neither are you,” he said.
She wasn’t sure how to reply.
“That’s a compliment,” he explained. “Say thank you.”
“Thank you.” She resisted the urge to ask him what prompted the compliment. Not with Zoe’s have a fling speech disrupting her thoughts anyway. A fling with Mike would probably be life altering, but she couldn’t grant herself that type of diversion. Not now.
“We should be able to catch Vanya at the club,” she blurted. “I’ve been thinking about how to convince her to talk to us and then testify against Polzin.”
“Big goals,” he said. “You’re assuming she knows anything helpful.”
“She does.” The more Lauren thought about it, the more she was certain this wasn’t a case of wishful thinking, but solid, helpful fact. They just had to find the irrefutable link between Desmond and Polzin. “She’s the ace up our sleeve.”
Beside her Mike grunted, seemingly unconvinced, but he waited until they were back in the hotel suite to try and talk her out of this again. “Sending you in alone could backfire,” he called from the other side of the bathroom door as she wriggled into the red dress she’d chosen to approach Vanya at the club.
“Of course you’d want to rehash this when I’m distracted.” She glared at the door, hoping he could hear the frustration in her voice.
“Look,” he said. “I get the philosophy behind your approach. You want to appeal to her woman to woman, like the last time.”
Ignoring him, Lauren tugged the short black wig into place and meticulously confirming no evidence of her natural blond hair remained. She started her makeup with the contacts that transformed her eyes from the distinct silver blue to a deep green. As she applied foundation and blush, Mike rattled on, hoping to change her mind. She wouldn’t. Those women were her problem now. She didn’t care if her determination was fueled by associative guilt.
Giving particular care to match her eyebrows to the wig color, she had everything on but the lip color and shoes when she stepped out of the bathroom.
Mike’s jaw dropped. “You—”
She gave him her back. “Can you finish the zipper and hook please?”
His warm touch was fleeting and the only sound was the hushed rasp as the zipper came together.
“There you go.”
She felt him step back, felt the absence of his body heat. Moving around him, she avoided eye contact as she slipped into the matching red heels Zoe recommended for this dress.
“You look...”
Mentally, Lauren filled in the blank with about a dozen likely adjectives before Mike finished the sentence.
“...exotic.”
Lauren felt something like a blush warming her skin. No one had ever referred to her that way. Beautiful, sure. Lovely, sometimes. Occasionally she earned a striking. Though her favorite was girl-next-door pretty when she was caught running errands without her makeup.
Then Mike scowled. “If Polzin sees you he could be a problem.”
“He won’t even be there,” she said, dismissing his concern. “He’s at the mansion overseeing the preparations for the party tonight, remember?”
Mike’s dark eyebrows were still furrowed over his midnight-blue eyes. She walked over and caught his hand in hers, to hell with the temptation that touching him caused. “I’ll be all right. No one will recognize me and I truly believe Vanya wants to help us.”
One of those dark eyebrows arched. “I agree you don’t look anything like Lauren Marie Woods.”
She smi
led. “Good.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and she remembered her lips were bare. She’d have to fix that before they left.
“Lauren.”
“Yes?”
He tipped up her chin and captured her lips in a fierce kiss. Nothing tentative or seeking this time. Her heart skipped and her pulse leaped straight to all-out need. Something inside her sighed as his tongue plunged and retreated with a bold, sensual promise. Fingers digging into the firm muscles of his shoulders, she let her head fall back, reveled in the soft scrape of his short whiskers against her skin. He rained kisses down the column of her throat and followed the slope of her collarbone with tantalizing nips.
“You taste like Lauren,” he breathed against her ear.
She would’ve laughed, but he pulled her close and she felt his hard erection against her belly. The words in her head now had little to do with Zoe’s advice. She wanted Mike. Now. Here. She pushed at his shirt, pulling the hem from his waistband and sliding her palms across rippling abs and up over hard planes of his sculpted back.
He cupped her backside and boosted her up and she wrapped her legs around his lean waist, rocking her hips against him. It was a wonder their clothing didn’t burn away.
“Mike,” she whispered, with more need than she’d ever felt for another man. His hands roamed along her thighs, trailed up and teased her breasts through the fabric, and then back down to trace the narrow outline of the cheeky panties she wore. Each place he touched turned molten, desperate for more.
For him.
The fires he lit burned away all rational thought until all she felt was the sweet-hot need. She reached down and stroked him through his jeans. The sigh that rattled through him gave her a delicious sense of power. She stroked again. And once more. He felt enormous. Virile. Alive. She wanted to feel all of him deep, deep inside her.
She stilled. Was this his attempt at distracting her? With monumental effort, she flatted her hands against his chest and drew away from that hungry mouth of his. “We can’t do this now.” Later. Yes. Oh, definitely later.
