“Lucille Robinson,” Vayl drawled, introducing alias-me to Assan, “and I am her”—he paused, allowing our host to jump to any nasty conclusion he wished—“associate, Jeremy Bhane. We are, of course, staunch supporters of New Start and delighted to finally meet its famous founder.”
Assan shook Vayl’s hand. “So good of you to come,” he said. He reached back and pulled a Jessica Simpson clone to his side. I’d been so distracted I hadn’t noticed her join us. She stood at least three inches taller than me, which gave her a good half foot on her husband. “This is my wife,” he said, “Amanda.”
I held out my hand with some difficulty. My little brownout had taken the oomph from my muscles and deposited the whole seething mass in my stomach. If she shook too hard I’d puke all over her Vera Wang. But Amanda wasn’t up to heavy lifting either. She squeezed my hand as if it were made of porcelain, did the same for Vayl, then dropped her arm like concrete encased it as she murmured, “Pleased to meet you.”
One thing about feeling miserable, you instantly recognize it in others. Amanda Abn-Assan, I knew, was giving almost everything she had to the task of just staying upright. I looked at Vayl quickly, to see if he’d noticed the puffiness under her eyes. The look he gave me said he had. Now why would the wife of a brilliantly successful surgeon have been crying recently? Several reasons came to mind, but none that totally satisfied my gut feeling about her. It was a mystery worth solving. Later.
Assan excused himself and Amanda, leaving Vayl and I to stand around trying to look natural. Vayl snagged a couple of champagne flutes off a passing waiter’s tray and we toasted each other. My face started to hurt from all the smiling. Vayl bent down to lay a pretend kiss just below my ear. Even though it didn’t land, I still felt it clear to my toes. Okay, Jaz, don’t hyperventilate now. We’re just faking out the party guests, that’s all. The fact that your knees feel a little weak is probably just an estrogen spike. Yeah, that’s it. He whispered, “Let us begin.”
I nodded, relieved to be done with the standing around. Ready, in fact, to sprint from my current position if it would distance me from these highly inappropriate feelings. I would concentrate all my efforts on identifying the security measures and memorizing the layout of the place. Then, after all the guests had left, we’d return for Assan. That was the job, and God help me, I loved it.
My whole body buzzed with anticipation. I lived for this. This was what chased away the looping thoughts and the nerves and the nightmares. Only the work allowed me to manage a conversational tone as I said, “I’ll be right back, darling. Make sure you miss me!”
“I have already begun,” said Vayl, giving me a look so mushy anybody who weighed more than a marshmallow would sink up to their knees in it. What a load of bull. And yet it was reassuring to know if Pete ever dumped us we could always write dialogue for Days of Our Lives.
I gave him my biggest, phoniest smile and turned toward the grandest staircase I’d ever seen that wasn’t plastered across a movie screen. Red plush carpeted the steps, which would hide the blood nicely if anyone ever got shot on them. They split halfway up at a landing that held an ornate golden bench on which to rest should the hike have left you winded. Since I needed to scope out the second floor, I made like Scarlett O’Hara in reverse and swept up the first flight.
A discreet little sign with a Southern belle printed on it encouraged me to take the next flight to my left and another sign posted at the head of the stairs suggested I try the first door I came to. I reached down to adjust my sandal strap and get a good look around. At the top of the stairs a sitting area with couches draped in white silk and a matching oversized ottoman separated the ladies’ bathroom hall on my side from the men’s bathroom hall on the other side. The hall on my side narrowed, running past the bathroom and four other closed doors, two on each side, before turning the corner. A quick stroll to the other side as I pretended to enjoy the view showed the exact same layout.
I walked back to the ladies’ bathroom. As I opened the door I looked over my shoulder. I’d already identified which of the guests were actually Assan’s goons in disguise. None of them was looking, because Vayl had chosen that precise moment to drop his glass. So I moved down the hallway, trying each door as I passed, finding them all locked. At the end of the hall I turned right, because a left would’ve taken me downstairs and, from the sound of it, into the kitchen.
This hall contained a long bench on one side and a bank of windows on the other. The view must’ve been spectacular during the day as, I supposed, it looked out on several acres of lawn. The wall behind the bench held a rectangular, spotlighted painting of a whole passel of naked Egyptian serving girls bringing gifts of gold, food, and wild, caged animals to the pharaoh, who looked ecstatic to see them all.
There were no stairs at the other end of this hall, just a huge oval mirror with a fancy gold frame. I shared a troubled look with myself as I recalled the brownout I’d just experienced. The thought made me nauseous, so I tossed it away, forced myself to concentrate on the job.
“The job, the job, the job, the job,” I whispered, until I realized what I was doing and bit the inside of my cheek. I turned right at the mirror and, as expected, found myself in the men’s bathroom hallway. Again I encountered two sets of locked doors. At the men’s room I made as if to go in, pretended to realize it wasn’t the room I wanted and feigned embarrassment as I hurried past the front sitting area to the women’s bathroom.
This time I went in. The room consisted of a small lounge decorated with diamond-patterned wallpaper, a red velvet chaise, and a massive potted fern. The commode sat in its own little claustrophobic’s nightmare of a closet, and the claw-footed tub and floor-to-ceiling shower shared another room with an entire wall of four sinks.
Looking to waste the expected amount of time, I washed my hands and fiddled with my hair. Someone else came in, so I turned to leave, a polite smile fixed on my face. It must’ve fallen right off in my shock at finding I was sharing the bathroom with a man, who looked as shaken as I felt.
“Sorry,” he said, raking his fingers through his thick, blond mop of hair. “I know the guys are supposed to use the toilet across the way, but I was sure they’d find me there.”
“Well, they’ll probably find you here too as soon as the rumor gets around that a guy is hiding in the ladies’ room.” I studied his face as I spoke and immediately liked what I saw. He had that fresh-out-of-college look that makes you think maybe the world’s not such a pit after all. He wore a black tux with a red bow tie, red cummerbund, and matching red canvas high-tops. And he was chewing bubblegum.
I’d seen smiles like his a few times before. The message was clear—if you don’t love me yet, you will soon. But such honest humor accompanied it that no way could it offend me. “Aw, come on,” he said. “I can tell you’re not a gossip. Help me out here. I’m not a pervert, just a party crasher.” I almost believed him. But his eyes darted away from mine at just the wrong time. He hadn’t been lying nearly as long as I’d been catching liars.
“So what’s the deal? Do you fill up on olives and cheese cubes and then run?”
“Something like that.”
“Bullshit.” The shock on his face was comical. Apparently he’d never heard a grown woman swear. “Tell me why you’re really here before I bypass the guards and call the police.”
He took a moment to ponder the wisdom of telling a total stranger, no less one with a potty mouth, the truth. “You know, most people buy my shtick.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No doubt.” The look he gave me combined equal parts respect and flirtation. Yeah, I was flattered, but I didn’t let it show. I was too busy hiding a bemused smile as he blew a perfect purple bubble, popped, and retrieved it. He gave me an apologetic grin. “My last girlfriend was a smoker who thought it would be fun to corrupt me. The gum helps kill the nicotine cravings.”
“Good idea. Now quit trying to distract me and fess up.”
&nb
sp; “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m a private investigator. Mostly I look into insurance fraud. But I know Amanda Assan from way back. We were friends when she still had a gap between her front teeth and permanently scraped knees. That was before her mom decided she’d never be happy until Amanda had won every Little Miss Beautiful pageant from here to Tallahassee.” His disgust for Amanda’s mother made me see her clearly. A bitter, middle-aged divorcée with more chins than sense. Poor Amanda, she’d probably thought she was breaking free when she married Assan.
He went on. “Anyway, Amanda called and asked me to investigate the secret doings of her hubby. That is, who he’s doing secretly.”
“Isn’t this kind of a public forum for a private investigation?” I asked, mostly to cover my disappointment in him for trying to put one by me and in me for thinking anyone over the age of ten could survive this world with any part of their innocence intact.
“Yeah, but you can learn a lot about a guy by watching him at an event like this. People who have stuff to hide never think they’re giving themselves away, but it’s often obvious to anyone who pays attention.”
“And I take it someone’s been paying too much attention to you?” I couldn’t help but laugh at the face he made. It belonged on a five-year-old who’s just been caught drinking Mountain Dew for breakfast.
“I screwed up royally,” he admitted. “Assan noticed me having a conversation with his wife a few minutes ago, and now his goons are chasing me all over the house to find out why.”
“It must’ve been a pretty intense conversation.”
“She was crying.”
Amateurs. “All right,” I said. “Let’s get you out of the house, shall we?”
His eyes lit up like I’d just promised to buy him a pony for his birthday. “You’re going to help me? That’s great! Oh man, I can’t thank you enough!” The grin resurfaced. “You like me, don’t you?”
Good Lord, he must have more first-date sex than George Clooney! “Yeah, that’s why I’m helping. I find you absolutely irresistible.” That, and some instinct is telling me to get you the hell out of here. “What’s your name?”
“Cole Bemont.” He held out his hand, so I shook it. At least his grip was firm.
“Lucille Robinson,” I said. “Now, here’s what we do. You and I will find a back way out of this place. If we come across someone else, we make like a couple of lovesick teenagers. People generally hurry past heavy breathers. I get you to the parking lot, you vanish. Got it?”
He nodded. “There’s just one thing I’ve got to do before we go,” he said. Before I could inquire, he grabbed me and planted a kiss square on my mouth. It was short but fiery, despite the grape flavoring, and when he let me go I was panting.
“Holy crap!”
He smiled, not at all apologetically, and said, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw my first Bond movie.”
I nodded. “Well, you have excellent timing. Now, shall we go?”
He gave me a courtly bow. “After you, Madame.”
I opened the door, scanned the area, and closed it again. “Goon at the bottom of the stairs making his way up,” I told Cole. “Change of plan. You wait here while I divert him. As soon as his back is turned, go down this hall, take a left. Go straight down the stairs to the kitchen and outside. Got it?”
To Cole’s credit he stayed nice and calm. “Got it.”
I wrenched the door open and stepped into the hall. Cole’s goon was at the landing. I started toward the stairs, timing it so he’d be two steps below me when I tripped into him. Will Ferrell couldn’t have done it any better. I squealed to get his attention, my hands flew up, though I made sure to keep a tight grip on my bag, and I fell right into his arms, turning him as he caught me so his back was to the bathroom. I gasped and babbled long enough for Cole to sneak out of the bathroom and down the hall.
“Oh, thank you so much,” I told the guard, straightening his jacket and dusting him off as if I’d dumped a bowl of baby powder on his shoulders. Though I kept my focus on the guard, pouring on the charm so thick you’d need a foghorn to navigate it, I still kept a peripheral eye on Cole. He’d nearly made it to his first turn when a door opened beside him. Cole paused, said something, and the door closed immediately. He shrugged, went on his way, and I blessed the guard’s heart one last time before heading down the rest of the stairs.
I found Vayl in the room adjacent to the front hall. It might’ve been called a parlor in another century. He held my drink with one hand while he nibbled off an appetizer buffet with the other.
“Darling,” he said, “you must try this pâté. I think it is the best I have ever tasted.”
I smiled, took my glass from him, and headed toward the end of the cloth-covered table. Vayl followed closely. Too closely. I stopped short and he nearly mowed me over. Turning to face him, I laughed lightly, but under my breath I said, “Are you sniffing me?”
His expression could’ve been chipped from granite for all it gave away, but his eyes had gone a stormy grayish blue. “I cannot scent vampires,” he said icily.
What a weird thing to say. “I know.” I turned to get a plate, fork, and napkin, then walked to the opposite end of the buffet, forcing Vayl to dodge several couples and a white-coated caterer to keep up with me.
“But humans are an entirely different matter. I can smell them so clearly at times it is like driving down a newly tarred country road.” He stood so still that when he didn’t speak I could swear I was shoulder to shoulder with Madame Tussauds’s reproduction of the world’s deadliest good guy. Only he didn’t seem so good right now.
“What’s your point?”
“Two distinct scents cover your own,” Vayl said as I spooned minisausages onto my plate. “Both of them are male. And what is left of your lipstick is smudged. Would you care to explain?”
I smiled coldly as I wiped my lips clean with my napkin. “It’s a long story,” I said, “and we have a job to do.” I added more snacks to my dish while Vayl waited for a couple of B-movie stars to clear out. He piled on more stuff as he continued our murmured conversation. He kept his voice even, but his eyes, the only windows I’d ever found to his true feelings, began to change again. Uh-oh.
“Yes, as I recall we did agree to some sort of plan earlier this evening.” Vayl and sarcasm went too well together. The mix made me want to punch something. I settled for stabbing a bowl of caviar repeatedly with a serving spoon. Vayl watched me beat the fish eggs into submission as he continued. “The security system will be easily compromised. We will have to watch the guards longer to get a sense of their movements even though the party will take them somewhat out of their normal routine. That is, unless you would prefer to pull out an Uzi and mow them all down right here?”
I glared at him. But I was madder at myself. I did seem to be developing a tendency to jump first and hope for a parachute later.
“Tell me you have not compromised this mission,” he demanded.
“You know me better than that!” I retreated to a corner beside a tall, potted ficus and stuffed sautéed mushrooms down my throat while I tried to figure out how to make what I’d just done sound remotely logical. I shook my head. Once I’d been a sensible person. Now, well, there’s just no explaining me. At least not without using words like “insane,” “stupid,” or “Nighttime NyQuil.” But I’d hidden that me so well. Until now.
Vayl came in close, towering over me like a grade-school principal. I looked up at him and swallowed a grape in one guilty gulp. “Can we have this conversation never?”
“What. Happened.”
So I told him everything, start to finish. And damned if it didn’t come out sounding like an episode of Nancy Drew.
“So, do you make a habit of kissing strange men in bathrooms?” Vayl’s eyes had darkened to jade with swirling gold flecks that made me slightly dizzy. When I didn’t immediately reply he added, “Because it certainly was not mentioned in your file.”
What is it abou
t the people who know you best? You never reveal to them the secret location of your make-me-crazy buttons and yet, like toddlers at preschool, they root them out and push them repeatedly. Mine are directly connected to hand grenades. So as soon as Vayl finished speaking I heard the telltale clatter of a pin rattling to the floor. My file? I wish it was in my hands right now. I’d smack you over the head with it so hard your bell would still be ringing for church next Saturday night!
Then I’d clonk myself, bang on the frontal lobe. Maybe that would cure me, and I would never again have to be embarrassed by what we in the CIA like to call my PDD (Previous Dumbass Decision). However I was not done digging my grave.
“I don’t make a habit of kissing anybody, thanks to you!” Realizing Freud would have a field day with that statement, I rushed on. “It was a spontaneous action, something I’m sure you have no experience with, and though as my boss I can see how you might be upset that I helped him considering what we’re here for, you might also congratulate me for defusing a situation that might’ve interfered with our plan.” And truly, part of me wasn’t sorry. Cole safe was a good thing. For him and, though I couldn’t explain why, for us. As for the kiss, I hadn’t just allowed it. I’d participated. Enthusiastically. Because . . . why would I do such a thing? The answer came into my head like the soft wail of an old widow. Because for just a second Cole reminded you what it was like to be pretragedy Jaz. Remember how much you loved being her?
“Do you think these two men you encountered will recall you?” Vayl asked.
“I sure hope so!”
“So when the police investigate Assan’s disappearance and his eventual passing, and they question everyone whose invitation lies in that lacy little basket and cannot find Lucille Robinson, these men will be able to describe you quite easily?”
My stomach clenched and all the food I’d just wolfed down spontaneously combusted. “Hey, when you’re done lecturing me, could you speak to my ulcers? They seem to be misbehaving as well.”
Once Bitten, Twice Shy Page 4
