by Dawn Atkins
“I’d love to help, Bianca, but Misty’s waiting for me.”
“Is she in the fairy-tale room?”
Samantha nodded.
“Great, because we need the exotic studio. You just go on and finish up with Misty.” Bianca waved her away with diamond-heavy fingers. “I know exactly what we want and I’ll set up for you.” Bianca had helped with several friends’ shoots, so this wasn’t unusual behavior.
“I don’t know…” Samantha said.
“I can help her.” Rick said. “So you can finish.”
“I can’t ask you to do that, Rick.”
“Sure you can,” he said, low and steady, coaxing her.
“Perfect!” Bianca sang out. “Rick, is it? You’re a lifesaver.”
“Anything I can do,” Rick said, keeping his eyes on Samantha, still angling for the job.
He could save her time. Plus, moving props on Bianca’s command would undoubtedly prove to him he didn’t want the job.
Now dessert…that might still be on the table. She’d have to wait and see.
2
MAYBE JUST DESSERT? Damn. Rick followed the hot photographer deeper into her studio, figuring his next move. He’d meant to be friendly and helpful—a Boy Scout, not a horn dog—but his attraction to her obviously showed.
Now the woman didn’t want to hire him; she wanted to screw his brains out. He’d been close to saying, How about dinner and dessert? As if he regularly traded sex for a W-4.
He was rusty at this.
Granted, the old Rick would have been happy to share dinner, dessert, a midnight snack and breakfast in bed with a woman like her. Not the new Rick and certainly not the Rick who was on duty.
He hated undercover work, despite the prestige. He hated wearing a different persona, keeping his lies in order, cozying up to suspects and scumbags. He liked things clean and straight and honest and simple. But his photography background made him ideal for the assignment, so here he was.
And he’d struck gold already, whether or not Sawyer hired him. He was about to question the wife of the mobster they were after. Darien Sylvestri owned this building and had set up Sawyer and her friends in business.
Exactly what kind of business the organized-crime task force hadn’t yet pinned down. Money laundering, stolen goods or bookmaking, if Sylvestri stuck to his Chicago specialties. Pornography? Possible, considering Darien’s in-town associates and all the strippers and hookers prancing through the Mirror, Mirror Beauty Center, the complex that housed the studio, salon, lingerie shop and massage place.
Something was definitely happening in Bedroom Eyes, they knew. Just before Sawyer had opened shop, the task force had triangulated a juicy call between Sylvestri and an associate. The photo studio’s prime, he’d said. We’re all set with the tenant…. God bless Bianca. The caller had said something garbled about a shop and some deliveries, then they’d lapsed into small talk. That was enough to move on the building.
Whatever was going on, Rick’s job was to expose it from the inside as an employee. Which meant he had to get the damn job. Say whatever he had to say to get Sawyer to hire him.
He’d have to work the attraction angle. Just enough to get the connection going. Keep a tight rein on his reactions, of course. Go by the book, but he could be friendly, couldn’t he?
She’d caught him off guard with that offer. Very direct. She almost seemed to have surprised herself.
She was hotter close up than she’d seemed from the surveillance. Smarter, too. And more intense.
Interesting.
He followed her down the hall, scanning every detail of the place in case this was his only chance to check it out.
Sawyer stuck her head into the first room. “Go ahead and pick out a CD to play, Misty, and I’ll be right back.”
Misty Simone, Rick knew. He and his partner Mark had watched her enter the studio earlier. Her husband Tony was small potatoes compared to Sylvestri. So was Joey Balistero, Sylvestri’s son-in-law, whose shoot Rick was about to help with, but the more they knew about everyone who frequented the center, the tighter the case would be.
He wondered how deep in Sawyer was with Sylvestri, who’d relocated from Chicago a year ago, supposedly to retire, making a few quiet property purchases—a big house in Paradise Valley, a small commercial lot in Scottsdale, some horse acres outside Cave Creek and this two-story office building in a faded Phoenix strip mall.
Sawyer’s help-wanted sign had been the first solid way onto the scene. Infiltrating the cleaning crew had failed—Sylvestri’s people handled that—and trying for a lease or posing as shop customers was too short-term. Once he got hired, he could freely search the building, get to know the players, locate the action.
In a few minutes, he was about to see Balistero stripped to Skivvies. Not a pleasant prospect, but if it helped with the case, he’d hold the guy’s, uh, belt for him.
Glancing into the first studio as he passed, Rick caught sight of a medium-format camera on a tripod pointed at a castle backdrop, a couple of lights on stands, a three-panel reflector, and Misty, who gave him a shaky smile.
Dressed in a pink nightie and a party hat, the woman was obviously not there for a porn shot. Probably didn’t even know her husband was dirty. The wives were always the last to know.
Farther down the hall, Rick noted another studio to the right, followed by a service door to the parking lot, then a tiny office, which he was staring into when Sawyer stopped short.
He bumped into her full on, enjoying her firm backside, and got a blast of flowers. Her thick red-brown hair snagged in his chin stubble.
She turned and looked up at him, her burned-in blue eyes wide with surprise. “Well, hello there,” she breathed, trying to act cool, but flustered. Very flustered.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be.” Her eyes gave him a once-over, her pink tongue peeking out. “It was nice.” She dragged a medallion on a chain, which drew his gaze to her spectacular set of nature’s own.
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Yeah. Very nice.”
For just a second, case or no case, he wished he’d met her before he’d decided to settle down, start a family, back when he was content with an occasional night with a warm and willing female.
“Here’s Bianca,” she said, waving him into the next studio, where Sylvestri’s wife was rummaging around in the fake fur, pillows and vases on shelves. The room looked like backstage at a strip club, with elaborate furniture in animal prints and a black metal arch, along with photo equipment and three rolled backdrops.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Samantha asked him, her eyes twinkling. “It’s nothing like snapping a sunlit vista, you know.”
“I’m up for anything,” he said, letting the sexual undertow tug at the sand beneath their feet. He would have to tactfully backpedal if she went for what he was hinting at, but for now he had to keep her interested.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Set up two reflectors and the tungsten. I’ll bring in the Hasselblad when I’m finished with Misty.”
“You got it, boss.”
She held his gaze for a second, turned away, then glanced back at him, biting her lip, as if she was in over her head. Pretty charming and he found himself smiling at her back as she walked away.
Maybe that was what had happened with Sylvestri. She just got in too deep. Wanted a studio and closed her eyes to the crimes that made it possible. It was a shame when bright people turned their talents to bad ends. Genetics, upbringing or something big went south in their lives. It wasn’t his job to feel sorry for the perps, though. It was his job to stop them.
“Grab that chaise, Rick, will you?” Bianca said, calling him back to the task at hand. Right now, he’d learn what he could from Sylvestri’s wife. He moved the chaise to where she wanted it, then two plaster columns, which were so heavy he felt like Samson in that old movie tearing down the pillars he was chained to.
Bianca tossed two velvet pillows at him. �
��Fluff those up and arrange them, please. See if you can wrap that red silk around the arch like a curtain, hanging down, but swept back.”
Good Lord. If Mark and his squad could see him now—fluffing pillows and draping curtains. He wanted to laugh.
When he’d finished, Bianca surveyed the results. “Not bad.” Then her gaze landed on him and stuck. “So, Rick, you’re a friend of Samantha’s?” She looked him up and down, like she was checking out a daughter’s prom date.
“Actually, I applied to be her assistant. This is kind of an audition, I guess.”
“So you need me to put in a good word.” She tapped her lip. “I’m glad she’s so busy she needs an employee. I’ve sent in all my friends and family to get their pictures taken.”
So the mobster’s wives and mistresses trotting in for photos over the last few weeks had been referrals from Bianca. The task force had assumed they were doing business for Darien out of the studio. Maybe not. Hmm.
“Samantha took a photo of me that saved my marriage.”
“A photo can do that?”
“When Sammi takes it, you bet. That woman knows how to yank out your beating heart and wave it under your nose.” She smiled. “That sounded positively Aztec, I know, but what she does is a pure miracle.” She sighed, adjusting a pillow.
“I can imagine,” he said, thinking she had to be exaggerating. It was just film, angle and light, after all.
“We still need something,” Bianca said, eyeing the set. “I know. Put the fat candles around that table, which should go there.” She pointed at each item in turn and Rick moved things as indicated.
As they worked, Rick asked questions and Bianca was happy to explain that she and Darien had come from Chicago to retire and that the “dear, darling man” was setting her up in the knit shop she’d always wanted.
Before long, Rick knew about the horse property they’d purchased and the electronics store Darien wanted to open on the second floor of this building. He memorized everything as best he could, wishing he’d requisitioned a mini recorder. First chance he got, he’d slip away to take some notes.
Mark ribbed him about how scrupulous he was about notes and reports, but being thorough and organized kept his head straight when he was undercover, helped him remember who he was, kept the lies in order.
Again, Bianca stepped back and examined the set, then beamed at him. “Nice work, Rick. I’ll definitely tell Samantha how helpful you were. And so easy to talk to. I’ve blabbed on and on….” She pondered him, speculating. Wondering why he asked so many questions? He braced himself to deflect her suspicion.
“Would you do me a favor, Rick?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Convince our Sammi not to work so hard. She needs to get out more. My Darien has a nephew who would be perfect for her—handsome and successful…he’s in vending machines and concessions, I believe. There was a tiny misunderstanding with the authorities, but that’s been straightened out.”
“Sounds interesting.” And criminal, actually. The mob was all over the vending world. He wondered if Bianca even knew she was surrounded by wise guys. She seemed completely guileless. People were always harder to read close up, when you saw things from their side, heard their rationalizations, their hopes and dreams and plans to change, to go straight….
“So, with you taking over some of the work, maybe Sammi can go out with him. I’m not thinking marriage necessarily, but…you understand.”
“You bet. But first I have to get the job. If you could help her see I’m the guy she needs…” That hadn’t come out quite right.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” she said, another speculative look on her face, as if she’d read a little too much into what he’d said. “For now, we need to light the candles.”
He patted his pockets. Pointless, since smoking was a habit he’d quit along with so many others when his brother Brian had died.
The door buzzer sounded.
“That’ll be the happy couple,” Bianca said. “You get matches from Samantha and I’ll get them in here. Hurry back. I might need you to convince Joey to cooperate.”
God, would he have to hold the guy down and strip him? Samantha was right. This was nothing like snapping sunlit vistas. Wildlife didn’t primp and preen and prance around in costumes. Getting a load of Joey in his undies sounded like a bad breakfast.
He headed for the studio where Samantha was photographing Misty Simone. The woman’s breathy gasp made Rick wonder if they were shooting porn after all, but once he stepped inside, he saw that she was watching a slide show on a computer monitor.
Each image appeared, then faded, accompanied by music. In the shots, Misty lay on her side on satin sheets, her robe slightly open, looking remarkably hot. Not shy or silly or even overweight, and the goofy hat looked like it belonged on her head.
“How did you do that?” Misty asked Samantha, her voice faint with amazement. “I look sweet and sexy…not even fat.”
“Lights and angle and you. That’s all there is to it.”
“Tony won’t believe it’s me.”
“Sure he will. He’ll see you clearly again. He’ll remember why he fell in love with you.”
Sawyer was so damned earnest, Rick was ready to believe that Tony Simone, as sensitive as the longshoreman he’d been in Jersey, would drop to his knees at his wife’s feet and beg her forgiveness for being a neglectful prick.
The last photo faded, the music stopped and the screen went black.
“Bianca was right,” Misty said. “You do make miracles.”
“I just capture what’s there.” Samantha caught sight of him. “Yes, Rick?”
“Uh…oh, I—” He realized he was standing there like a dick-dragging idiot. Why had he come again? “Matches. We need some.”
“There’s a lighter on that shelf.” Sawyer nodded at the spot. “Everything ready in there?”
“Lights and set anyway. Bianca went after Angela and Joey.”
“They won’t know what hit them.”
“No kidding. She’s something else.” They shared a smile that felt comfortable, so he pushed a little. “She thinks you should hire me to give you more free time.”
“She does, does she?” She tilted her head at him.
“I think she’s right.”
“You do?”
“I’ll make your life easier, I swear.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, searching him out, prying, asking him about the heat simmering between them. He knew what she meant, but he had a job to do. He had to keep her guessing for a while, at least.
“Hire me,” he said with a wink. “You know we both want it.”
He watched a tremor pass through her and felt an answering quiver in his own limbs. Get a grip. He felt so rusty at this flirting thing. He’d been kind of isolated lately. His wife hunt had been going way, way slow.
Or maybe it was something about Samantha.
Probably being undercover. He hated undercover.
Samantha watched Rick go back to Bianca, admiring his muscular behind in well-worn jeans. He’d flirted with her. At least that. But he also wanted the job. How about the job and dessert?
She could hardly date an employee. Assistant by day, fantasy man by night? Too weird, even for Samantha the Bold. Rick was either her assistant or her date, not both, and the next two hours would tell her which.
She said goodbye to Misty and sent her off to change, warmed by her parting words: This means more than you know, Samantha. Even if Tony doesn’t change, I’ll never see myself the same again. Mission accomplished. Samantha was thrilled.
In studio two, however, things weren’t going so well. The newlyweds, sitting on opposite ends of the chaise, looked miserable. Joey slumped, fully clothed, hanging his head like he awaited a prostate check. Angela sulked in a red lace teddy, arms folded, legs crossed, foot wagging angrily.
Bianca flung up her arms. “I give up, Sammi!”
“Joey’s ruin
ing everything,” Angela cried.
“I’m not taking off my pants,” Joey said. “I am no fag.”
“Don’t say fag,” Angela said. “Being gay is perfectly okay. Have some respect.”
“You have some respect and don’t make me into a fool.”
Angela bickered back, but Rick cut through her words in a take-charge voice. “Just do it, man.”
Everyone stared.
“Look, if your lady wants a shot of you in a bird suit with feathers sticking out your ass, put on the damned suit. Hell, if it makes her happy, cluck a little.”
There was a pause, then Bianca spoke into the stunned silence. “Well said, Rick. Wasn’t that well said, Sammi?”
“I’ve seen her work,” Rick continued. “You’ll look good.”
She could almost read Joey’s mind. If this guy thinks it’s not gay… “Okay…but just the shirt.”
“But I like those boxers,” Angela whined.
“The shirt’s enough,” Samantha said, deciding to go with a simple clinch and just two positions, not her usual six. She’d use the digital, which hung from her neck, and move the camera, not the couple, to maintain Joey’s tentative goodwill. “Angela and Joey, find a comfortable position lying down. Bianca, you’ve done all you can. How about you wait in the lobby for us?”
“Whatever you say, hon,” Bianca said. “Smile nice, you two.”
While Joey uneasily unbuttoned his shirt, Samantha hit the CD player’s remote, filling the room with soft music. “Grab that stepladder,” she said to Rick, winking at him as a thank-you for getting Joey’s cooperation.
“Whatever you need,” he said, winking back. There was that snap of heat between them again, that tug of man-woman connection and her embarrassment from earlier was completely erased.
Rick braced the ladder while she climbed. She felt his eyes on her body, was aware of the strength and warmth of his arms almost touching her thighs. It was a good thing he held the ladder or she’d have wobbled right off the rung.
To steady herself, she focused in on her subjects, lying hopelessly tense on the chaise beneath her.
