The guy says solemnly, “But we stayed until the bitter end.”
The blonde takes a swig of tequila straight from the bottle, then smirks. “Well, you did ’cause you were hoping the dicks would make a reappearance.”
“Shut up, Bethany!”
“You shut up, Todd!”
I say drily, “Great story. Could I get some milk and Oreos sent upstairs when you get a chance? To the room at the top of the landing with the skull painting outside the door. If you don’t have Oreos, chocolate chip with hazelnuts will do.”
I leave, listening to a bright chorus of Sures and Right aways before they go back to arguing about Todd’s interest in dicks.
I have to go back into the pool to get Kenji’s shoes, so I’m wet all over again, this time up to my armpits. I leave the shoes outside his closed bedroom door, then head back downstairs and see Nico conferring with the head firefighter on the patio.
He’s trying to tip him, but the firefighter is refusing.
“What’s the word, gentlemen?”
“Good news is, nobody’s hurt,” says the firefighter. “Bad news is, you might get a bill from the city for our services, seeing as how the tent wasn’t permitted. Also, looks like you got a major clusterfuck out front with the valet. Logistical nightmare for them, everyone trying to leave at the same time. Lots of inebriated people getting antsy. I’d get security out there if I were you.”
I say, “Maybe some live music would calm the situation.”
Nico looks at me, then breaks into a grin. “Brother, you’re a genius.”
“That I am. I’m also soaking wet. You got a pair of sweats I could throw on?”
“Anything you need. You know where my closet is.” He turns back to the firefighter. “You think your boys could help me move some amps outside?”
I leave them to discuss the particulars and head back upstairs, this time to the master bedroom. It’s enormous, like every other room in the house. The walk-in closet is bigger than my entire apartment. The lights blink on automatically when I come in, and I head for the big rectangular island with all the drawers in the center of the room.
I quickly discover that Kat has an extensive selection of lingerie, and Nico wears nothing but black boxer briefs.
I proceed with more caution, opening drawers slowly and peeking inside to get a view of their contents before I dive in, hoping I’m not about to stumble across a dildo collection.
Thankfully, the next drawer I open holds T-shirts.
I choose a black one, then take off the silk vest, which seems to have shrunk from being submerged in water. Thank God it has buttons or I might’ve had to cut myself out of it. I strip off my wet T-shirt and toss it on top of the island with the vest, which is when I notice that someone is standing in the doorway watching me.
“Hi,” says Celine, sounding tentative. “Um. I saw you come up and…” Her laugh is soft and nervous. “I thought you might like some company.”
When I don’t respond, but only stand and stare at her, she turns red.
“Did Nico send you?”
She looks confused by my question. “No. Did you tell him you wanted another drink?”
That’s not what I meant, but it gives me an answer: Nico didn’t pay this girl to come up and show me a good time.
I’m briefly ashamed for thinking he would, because it’s not his style, but then I’m arrested by the thought that it must’ve taken a lot of balls for this young woman to follow me here and present herself like this.
I admire a woman with balls. Figuratively speaking.
“I’m sorry, it looks like I thought wrong,” says Celine, embarrassed by my continued silence. She turns to go.
“Wait.”
She stops and looks at me, biting her lip.
My voice low, I say, “Come here.”
The pulse in her throat jumps. She swallows. Cheeks burning, she walks toward me until she’s standing an arm’s length away.
She has a charming smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, fine as a dusting of cinnamon. One of her eyes is a lighter shade of blue than the other.
“How old are you?”
She glances at my mouth. “Nineteen.”
Nineteen. Jesus. I’ve got shoes older than that. “How old do you think I am?”
A little furrow appears between her brows. “Age doesn’t really matter to me.”
Her gaze drifts down to my bare chest. She bites her lip again. That pulse in her throat is going gangbusters.
She whispers, “Besides, you’re crazy sexy.” Then she reaches out and touches a fingertip to my biceps. She traces it lightly down the vein in my arm, following the letters inked on my skin. “And so are your tattoos.”
When I gently grasp her wrist and drag her closer, she gasps, her eyes widening. Then we’re chest to chest and I’m looking down at her and her pretty freckles and those mismatched blue eyes, idly wondering if she’d let me fuck her on top of Nico’s wardrobe.
My guess is yes.
“Thank you,” I say. Then, very softly, I touch my lips to hers. Against her mouth, I whisper, “I think you’re sexy, too.”
When I pull away, she’s got her eyes closed. She’s leaning into me, breathing hard, practically swooning.
In a normal tone, I say, “But I’m in a relationship.”
Her lids flutter open. She starts to blink like a baby bird, all helpless and innocent. “W-what?”
“I said I’m in a relationship.”
She takes a breath, shakes her head, moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her look of helplessness clears, and for a fleeting moment I see the strong, fearless woman she’ll someday become.
She says, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a shitty liar?”
I release her wrist and smile at her. “Listen to me. You’re a beautiful girl. And I’m very flattered. But this isn’t happening.”
She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not underage, if that’s what you think. I can show you my driver’s license.”
I touch her cheek, thumbing over her cheekbone. Her skin is flawless, like satin. It’s a pity I don’t have a thing for girls with daddy issues, because she’s incredibly sweet.
“I believe you.”
She pouts, looking me up and down, then gets a little snippy. “So you’re into guys, is that it?”
She watches my mouth with widening eyes as my smile comes on slow and carnal. I say softly, “You know I’m not.”
Her breathing goes arrhythmic. She manages to squeak, “So you’re just not into me.”
I have to say I’m impressed with her determination. She’s not gonna let this go until she gets to the core of the problem. I’ve gotta give her something, so I do.
“I’m moving to New York tomorrow. Literally tomorrow. So.”
She narrows her eyes, searching my face. Seemingly satisfied I’m telling the truth this time, she says, “Oh.”
Then, just as I think we’re about done, she whispers, “But you’re still here tonight.” Then she bats her lashes at me like a silent movie star. It’s all I can do not to break out into gales of laughter.
I take her face in my hands, press a firm, close-mouthed kiss to her lips, and say, “You’re amazing, but I’m incredibly stupid, because I’m not into one-night stands or girls who aren’t age appropriate.”
When she looks at me like I’m nuts, I shrug. “Everybody has their thing.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I pause for a beat. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll probably jerk off to the memory of this moment for months. Maybe years, even.”
She starts to laugh and can’t stop. “Oh my God,” she says, gasping, “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”
Wow. I guess guys her age aren’t exactly gallant.
A squeal of feedback echoes through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of an electric guitar chord, struck hard.
“What’s that?”
asks Celine, looking around.
“Sound check, sounds like.”
When she frowns at me, I clarify. “Bad Habit’s gonna do an impromptu set.”
She produces an ear-piercing screech that would give Kenji a run for his money. “No way! Omigod, I LOVE Bad Habit! They’re totally my favorite band! I was so stoked to get this job tonight just to see the guys up close, but never in a million years did I think I’d get to hear them play!”
She hops up and down, adorably excited. She’s morphed from sophisticated seductress to squealing teenage groupie in two seconds flat.
“Better hit the front yard, then,” I say, chuckling.
Whooping, she spins around and runs out. Not five seconds later, she runs back in. She stops in front of me, goes up on her toes, and flattens her hands on my chest.
Then she kisses me on the cheek.
“You’re so fucking hot, and I’m so mad at you for turning me down, and also I think I’ll probably jerk off to the memory of this for years, too. So there.”
We grin at each other.
She turns on her heel and is gone.
7
I find a pair of Nico’s black drawstring sweats in another drawer and a pair of his flip flops that I’m ridiculously satisfied to discover when I put them on are a size too small. Then, going commando because there’s no way in hell I’m wearing his underwear, I take my wet clothes down to the laundry room and toss everything into the dryer except my wallet and boots.
By the time I make my way to the front yard, Nico’s on top of one of the fire trucks, playing his guitar and singing. He doesn’t have a mic, but the amps for his guitar are hooked up, and the familiar melody of one of Bad Habit’s most popular hits fills the night.
The crowd gathered around the truck doesn’t need to hear the lyrics, anyway. Everyone knows them by heart, and sings right along.
There’s no telling how long he’ll be, so I decide to make a trip to his office in the meantime. Connor’s passcode will expire at eight o’clock in the morning. If things keep going the way they are, I’ll still be here then. I don’t want to take the chance of missing my window.
I sit down behind Nico’s big glass desk and fire up his computer. His password is “NicoNKat” and their wedding anniversary, which I keep telling him is the stupidest thing in the world because it’s so easily crackable. Might as well use “Password” or “12345.” Or nothing at all, for that matter.
He always replies that I worry too much, and I always shoot back that that’s why he’s still alive.
I get a tight chest thinking that it’s gonna be someone else’s job to worry about him now.
Then I put it out of my mind because I’m in my email and clicking on the secure link Connor sent. It brings up a passcode window. Into it I enter “Swift, Silent, Deadly” which is the motto of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Marine Recon Battalions stationed at Camps Lejeune, Pendleton, and Schwab, and the slogan on the picture on the wall behind Connor’s desk.
Their motto pretty much sums up who they are and what they do.
A series of folders populates the window. Scanning their titles, I click on the one marked “The Take.” Upon opening, it appears to contain all the information about Evalina Ivanov, my debut assignment with Metrix Security.
The first thing my eyes focus on is a photograph of her.
My heart stops dead in my chest.
“So this is the Russian billionaire’s wife,” I murmur, zooming in on the snap. My heart reboots and decides it would be fun to take off at a thundering gallop.
She’s breathtaking, but I’ve seen a million beautiful women. In Los Angeles, models and starlets are practically falling off trees like ripe fruit. I don’t know what it is about this one that should have such a physical affect on me, but it’s not the temperature of the room that suddenly has me sweating.
A willowy brunette with pale skin, she was in motion when the picture was taken, turning to look over her shoulder at whoever was behind the camera. She’s got cheekbones to die for and the kind of bee stung lips poets go into rhapsodies over. A red dress flares out around long slender legs. Glossy hair tumbles over creamy shoulders. A triple strand of pearls nestles at the base of a swan-like neck.
Most compelling of all, though, are her eyes. Dark and heavily lashed, they’re piercing, seeming to jump right off the screen.
Her gaze is shadowed, somehow both serious and secretive, as if perhaps she was just caught in a lie.
It’s mesmerizing, that gaze. I linger in it, speculating.
Then I shake it off and move on.
It doesn’t take long to review the remainder of the file. There are more photographs of Evalina from various angles, a short bio, and background notes on the case. The other folders contain information about my flight to Cozumel, instructions about the reporting the client has requested, and the exceedingly large amount the client is paying Metrix to handle the job.
He also specifically stipulated a sum for expenses to be paid weekly to whichever one of Metrix’s personnel was selected for the actual work.
Looking at the number, I slowly sit back in the chair.
Nobody needs that much money a week for expenses. It’s double my actual salary, which is already substantial.
I go over everything twice, then close out of the files, log off of the network, and shut down the computer. Realizing I left my cell on one of the lounge chairs by the pool before I fished Kenji out, I decide to send Connor a text with some questions while my mind is still fresh.
I take the elevator down. Sure enough, my phone is right where I left it. I dash off a text, then start to head back inside, but haven’t taken three steps before my phone rings.
It’s Connor.
Hitting the Answer button, I forego the preliminaries and say, “Don’t you sleep?”
“It’s past four in the morning here. I’m always up at this hour.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“You have questions,” he replies, getting right to the point.
“Well, for starters, it appears I’m gonna be less of a bodyguard and more of a spy.”
“The client was adamant that we not have any contact with his wife. He doesn’t want her to know she’s being followed, he just wants to make sure she’s safe. This is an observe and report mission only.”
“So basically I’ll be doing surveillance.”
“Correct.”
“Curious as to why he wouldn’t send one of his own guys for that kind of a thing. He’s a billionaire. Doesn’t he have security staff?”
“Sure. But not ones who’re expert at recon and tailing marks without getting made. Plus, you gotta find her first. That’s right up your alley.”
“Find her? He already knows where she is.”
“He knows approximately where she is. Which island off the coast of Mexico. He has no idea where on that island she might be. How long you figure it’ll take you to get eyes on her once you’ve got boots on the ground?”
I do a swift mental calculation of what I know of the island’s population, its airports and main tourist areas. “Unless she’s already gone by the time I get there, most likely less than a week.”
“If she moves, we’ll know it. She’s using a fake passport. That’s how her husband traced her when she flew out of Russia. Passenger manifest on the airline.”
I look up at the night sky. This high up in the hills, we’re far enough away from the city lights that I can see actual stars. “Which prompts my next question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why would a rich dude’s wife use a fake passport to go on vacation?”
“Because the wives of billionaires have a tendency to get kidnapped in places like Mexico. It’s safer to be a nobody.”
“Good point.”
“He says she’s always doing shit like this. Jetting off on a whim to Cannes. Taking their yacht to the Caribbean with a bunch of friends without telling him where she’s going. Sounds like he’s
got his hands full. She’s a real party girl type. Flaky as hell.”
I think of those mysterious eyes of hers. They sure didn’t look flaky to me.
“Any idea why he’s being so generous with the expense stipend?”
Connor snorts. “What, you don’t like money?”
“I have what I’d call a healthy respect for it, but I also have a healthy suspicion if it comes too easy. Seems too good to be true, usually is.”
“Yeah. Except when you’ve been hired by a billionaire—that’s with a B—to babysit his pretty, airheaded wife. If she belonged to you, how much money would you think is too much to make sure she was safe?”
“Another good point.”
“Oh, I’m full of ’em. My final one being: Don’t sweat the reasons why rich folks do anything. You got a job to do, that’s it. You copy?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Glad to hear it. Any other questions?”
I think for a moment. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
“See you when you get here, then. And good eyes, by the way.”
Spotting the motto on the picture, he means. “Thank you.”
After a moment, he says, “Brownie points for not calling me sir.” Then he hangs up.
Drifting over the roof from the front of the house, the sounds of more guitars join Nico’s. A shout goes up from the crowd, and I know at least a few of the other members of Bad Habit have assembled on top of the fire truck.
I take a good, long look around the yard. Then I turn and gaze at the lights shimmering in the L.A. basin below. I inhale a deep breath of warm evening air, smelling wet grass, night-blooming jasmine, the charred remains of the tent, and the faintest hint of the Pacific, miles away, carried in by the breeze. Somewhere nearby, someone has lit up a joint. Off in the distance, the wail of sirens underscores the guitars. A colorful flock of wild parrots flies by overhead, squawking.
Just another hot summer night in L.A.
Walking slowly toward the house, my heart is heavy, but my head is clear. I go into the laundry room and check on my clothes, but they’re not dry yet. So I shove my feet into my damp boots, leave Nico’s flip flops, and go out front, skirting the hedges in the darkness.
Hot As Sin: A Bad Habit Novella (Bad Habit Book 4) Page 6
