Rake: Wolfes of Manhattan Four

by HELEN HARDT

  “Good thing you came in,” one of the seamstresses said to me. “This needs to be taken in anyway. You’ve lost an inch around the waist.”

  “I have?”

  “Yeah. Have you been eating?”

  Hmm. Had I? No, I hadn’t. Not really. Only the barest sustenance since that PI for the Wolfe family had found me.

  “Well,” I said, instead of answering her question, “I don’t think any woman alive worries about taking off a few pounds.”

  “You should,” she said. “You dancers are all muscle. If you lose weight, you lose muscle.”

  Not in the mood for a lecture, thanks. I didn’t reply.

  I sat at my dressing table—not mine, actually, the dressing table I shared with several others, though none of them were in yet—while the tailor finished working on my costume, checking my phone, when the star of our show, Candice Hall, whisked by, cigarette in hand, leaving a mixture of smoke and Chanel hovering in the air.

  “I need a seamstress, stat!” she yelled in her raspy voice.

  Candice was known as a diva, but she was always nice to us dancers. She’d started as a showgirl on the line herself. But she talked terribly to the tailors and makeup artists.

  “Be with you in a minute, Ms. Hall,” the woman working on my outfit said.

  “That can wait,” Candice said. “This ribbon on my sash is nearly threadbare. I want it replaced before the seven o’clock show.” Then she turned to me. “Hello…”

  “Zee,” I said. “Zara Jones.”

  “Yes, of course. How are you doing today?”

  Loaded question, for sure, but she didn’t know it. “Fine. How are you?”

  “Ugh. I’m so sick of these costumes. They may as well be second-hand. Have you ever seen anything so ridiculous?” She nodded to the garment she’d thrown at the seamstress.

  What was I supposed to say? My costume was fine. But then, I wasn’t the star of the show, either. Candice was gorgeous—auburn-haired and tall with amazing hazel eyes—and talented to boot. And though I’d never been sexually attracted to women, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed. She had the most gorgeous pair of breasts in the show. More importantly, she was an amazingly talented dancer and singer. She deserved her stardom, and I respected her, especially since she’d worked her way up from the chorus line.

  “I need a bottle of Evian, please!” she called to anyone listening.

  “I have some water.” I offered her my bottle.

  “Thank you, but I only drink Evian.” She smiled. Then her lips curved slightly downward. “Are you all right? You seem a little…distracted.”

  “I’m fine.” I forced a smile.

  Like I said, Candice was always nice to us, but we knew she really didn’t want to hear our life stories. Not like I’d tell her mine, anyway. No one knew. Except, of course, the Wolfes.

  “Ready for you, Miss Hall,” another tailor finally said.

  She huffed. “It’s about time. Nice seeing you, Sara.”

  “Zara,” I said, “but everyone calls me Zee.”

  “Zee. That’s cute!” She waved and was on her way.

  Back to my phone. Except I didn’t have any messages or emails. Not overly surprising, since I basically had no friends other than Mo and my other roommates, and we were more friends by circumstance.

  Except I’d been hoping…

  In the back of my mind…

  That I’d have a message from Reid Wolfe.

  12

  Reid

  Nieves ordered the Dover sole Beaujolais, the most expensive item on the menu.

  Not surprising. I didn’t really care, as long as she gave me something useful. I feared, though, that the “thing she found” at Rock’s place was his gun, which wasn’t going to help me at all.

  Still, it was worth a grand and an order of Dover sole to find out.

  I slid an envelope containing ten crisp Benjamins toward her. She opened it and pulled out the bills.

  “Really?” I said. “You’re going to count the money at the table?”

  “You gotta know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em.” She winked.

  “That makes no sense at all.” I shook my head. “This isn’t a game.”

  “Everything’s a game.” She quickly counted out the bills and stuffed them back in the envelope. Then she stuffed the envelope into her bra.

  Nice touch, though I no longer found her as attractive as I had when I’d fucked her in New York. Sure, I was going to bed her last night, but now? I was just as glad I hadn’t. She was hot, no doubt, but I had someone else on my mind.

  I took a drink of my water to soothe the dryness in my mouth. Too much drinking last night. Then I lifted my eyebrows, saying nothing.

  “You have to ask,” she said.

  “I don’t have to do anything.”

  “If you want to know what I know, you have to ask.”

  “I just paid you.”

  “Pretty please?”

  “Fuck it all.” I raked my hand through my hair. “Tell me, Nieves. What did you find at Rock’s place that you never told him about?”

  She smiled. “You think I’m going to say his gun, don’t you?”

  “I think I don’t have a clue what you’re going to say, and I wish you’d end the suspense.”

  “I did see his gun,” she said, “but I didn’t take it.”

  “Fine. What did you take, then?”

  “So, it wasn’t so much that I took something as much as it was that I erased something.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Rock was kind of old-school,” she said. “He still had an answering machine and insisted on using it instead of the voicemail on his phone.”

  Somehow, that didn’t surprise me. My oldest brother had done everything he could to escape his upbringing. Going old-school fit right into that mold. “So you heard a message and erased it.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did the message say?”

  “You should already know.”

  I let out a heavy sigh and rubbed my forehead. “You’re giving me a migraine, Nieves. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” she said, “that the message I intercepted was from you.”

  “And…?”

  “And what?”

  “What the hell did the message say?”

  “You can probably tell me.”

  “No, I can’t. I hardly ever called my brother, and when I did, it was usually just to check in. I was the only one who communicated with him with any kind of regularity.”

  “Except for that one time.”

  I seriously thought about pulling my hair out, strand by strand. She was making me that crazy. “What one time?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “It was a few weeks before your father died. Sure you don’t remember?”

  Seriously, I wanted to tear my hair out chunk by chunk. Scratch that. I wanted to tear her hair out.

  “At the risk of repeating myself”—clenched teeth again—“I do not remember, Nieves.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Good thing I transcribed it, then.” She fished a small piece of paper out of her purse. “Here you go.”

  I snatched the paper from her with more force than necessary and unfolded it.

  Hey, Rock, it’s Reid. A hit’s been put out on Dad. We’re looking into it. Thought you might want to know. Call me.

  My eyes popped into circles. The hell?

  “You fucking made this up, didn’t you?” I darted knives at Nieves with my eyes.

  “No, I didn’t. I swear to God. Look.” She pointed to the paper. “I even wrote down the date and time.”

  She had. It was a little over three weeks before the murder.

  “Interesting. Except I swear to God I never said any of this, and I’ll be able to prove it easily.”

  “Oh? How do you think you’ll do that?”

  “Ever heard of phone records? I’ll be able to prove I didn’t call Rock’s lan
dline on that date and time.”

  Her lips curved downward slightly, but I wasn’t buying. Nieves Romero wasn’t stupid. Any good mercenary was never stupid. She knew about phone records, so she didn’t invent this little scenario. She actually intercepted the message, which meant someone had impersonated me.

  “Too bad you didn’t save the message,” I said. “Then we could easily prove it wasn’t me with voice identification.”

  “I’ve heard your voice. It sure sounded like you.”

  “You hadn’t heard my voice three weeks ago,” I said. “It’s doubtful you’d recognize the difference between a recorded message that you heard three weeks ago and talking to me in person now.”

  She didn’t reply. I was right, and she knew it.

  “Why didn’t you tell Rock?” I demanded. “Don’t you think he had the right to know about the message?”

  “I was going to tell him,” she said, “but then…”

  “Then what?”

  “I talked to Leta. And we decided that…”

  “For fuck’s sake. You decided to try to make some money off the deal. Am I right?”

  She looked down at her place setting. Yeah, I was right.

  One thing about a mercenary, you always knew where to find him.

  Just follow the money.

  “Time to ’fess up,” I said to her. “We know you received a phone call about the murder an hour before it actually happened, so there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  She sighed. “How much more is this information worth to you?”

  I stood and pulled out my wallet. “You’re seriously trying to get more than the extra nine grand? This meeting is over.”

  She gasped and darted her gaze around the room. “Reid, sit. Please.”

  Good. I sat. “Get to the point, Ms. Romero. You’ve admitted to breaking into and entering my brother’s home. You’ve admitted to stealing.”

  “I didn’t steal anything!”

  “You stole a message from his answering machine. Trust me. My lawyers will make it stick.”

  She looked down again.

  “I can have you and your sister arrested and thrown in jail, and I will do it if you don’t start leveling with me.”

  “All right. All right.” She sighed. “Leta and I developed a plan. I know about phone records, of course. I’m not an idiot.”

  I rolled my eyes. I agreed she wasn’t an idiot, but I couldn’t help myself. I was that pissed off.

  She opened her mouth, but her phone chose that second to vibrate against the white table covering. She looked down. “Sorry.”

  “Go ahead.” Heck, I’d waited this long. I could wait a little longer.

  She picked up her phone and answered it. “Hello.”

  Pause.

  She widened her eyes and gasped. “Oh my God! What hap— I mean— Oh my God!”

  Pause.

  Tears formed in her eyes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you. Oh my God…” She ended the call and stood. “I have to go.”

  “What’s going on now?” I didn’t even try to disguise the impatience in my voice.

  “It’s Leta. She’s in the hospital in Helena.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “She was beaten to within an inch of her life.” Nieves closed her eyes and two tears squeezed down her cheeks. “This is… It’s all my fault.”

  “What the hell is going on, Nieves?”

  “I can’t. I can’t do this. Look what it’s already cost my sister!”

  “Wait, wait, wait… You think Leta was beaten up because you’re talking to me?”

  “Of course I do! And because she talked to you. We had a whole plan. We did. We thought every detail out. We…” She crumpled back into her chair and laid her head on the table, tears falling slowly onto the covering.

  I wasn’t an unfeeling person. Not at my core. But this? I had no sympathy for her. I didn’t wish pain on Nieves or her sister, but they’d fucked with dangerous people, and this was the result.

  “Nieves,” I said, “there’s only one way out of this mess.”

  She lifted her head far enough to meet my gaze. “What’s that?”

  “You need to level with me.”

  13

  Zee

  My costume, now sized correctly and with no loose beads, hugged my body. My tits stuck out like two cereal bowls thanks to invisible strapping tape. Unlike some of the other girls, I hadn’t done any enhancements. First, I couldn’t afford any, and second, I had a pretty good pair of breasts thanks to nature. But as any woman would tell you, with nature’s bounty comes nature’s gravity. Breasts aged, and they weren’t as perky as they were when I was eighteen. Enter tape.

  I’d gotten used to it. My skin no longer reddened from the adhesive. No more tape rash. Just another day’s work.

  An hour until showtime.

  This was my least favorite time of the day. We had to be fully costumed and ready to go so the tailors and makeup people could tend to Candice and her understudies. So here we stood, decked out and uncomfortable with nothing to do. We didn’t dare sit down. Our costumes might tear. We didn’t dare eat, as even the slightest amount of food could cause our waistlines to expand…and our costumes might tear. We couldn’t even take off our uncomfortable stilettos, because we’d have to bend down to put them back on and—you guessed it—our costumes might tear.

  Like I said, my least favorite time. The hour ticked along like a month. Once we got on stage, things got better.

  Between the seven o’clock show and the ten, we were in the same situation. No sitting, no food, no taking our shoes off, but at least Candice and the understudies weren’t hogging the dressing area and staff. They had to be available for everyone, because costume problems happened during every show. Some girls pulled a ribbon off just to be able to sit down during this time. I’d done it more than once. The trick was not to do it too often. Just enough so they thought it was a true issue that had occurred during our numbers.

  At the moment, though, Mo and I stood together, not talking much. She was topless tonight too, and she looked great. Unlike me, Mo’d had an augmentation a few years ago, and it was one of the best jobs I’d seen. Not all the girls were so lucky.

  “Zee…” Mo finally said.

  “Hmm?”

  She sighed. “You sure it’s okay if I come to your dinner date tonight?”

  “I’ve told you. It’s not a date. And yes, I really want you to come.” Really, really. Because if she didn’t come, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to resist Reid Wolfe’s charms.

  And I needed to resist them. I couldn’t tell my story to the police. I just couldn’t.

  She smiled. “If you’re sure.”

  “I wouldn’t have invited you otherwise.”

  “Ten minutes to showtime, girls!” the director’s assistant yelled.

  We heard him easily, as we weren’t allowed to talk above a whisper during this time.

  Mo smiled and walked swiftly toward her place. I followed. I was in the back line because of my height, and that was fine with me. We weren’t supposed to stand out, and we didn’t, but being in back meant I didn’t stand out even more.

  Good, good, good.

  I never wanted to stand out again.

  I was pretty sure my modeling days had led to…

  Yeah, and never would that happen again.

  I took my place and listened as the band tuned up.

  Then I pasted a smile on my face as the curtain rose.

  How many shows had I done? I’d counted once, but that was over a year ago. I didn’t even have to think. My feet knew exactly what to do, my legs how high to kick. Our line was so in sync that we’d been compared to the Rockettes on more than one occasion. In fact, the famed chorus line had stolen one of our girls within the last two months.

  I had no Rockette aspirations myself. They were too well known. I didn’t want anyone looking that closely at me.

  Kick! Then shuffle
ball change. Kick again, other leg this time.

  I was on autopilot, and I never missed.

  The show went off without a hitch, and when intermission came, I was allowed a few sips of water. Just enough to stave off dehydration. Too much, and we’d bloat, which wasn’t good for the costume. Wasn’t good for how it made us feel either, but the director was only concerned with how we looked, of course. Not how we felt.

  My ankle was still a little sore from my ordeal with the grate last night, but I’d danced on much worse. This was nothing.

  Our twenty-minute intermission always flew by quickly, unlike the hour pre-show and the hour and a half between shows.

  In a seeming instant, I was back on stage, smile pasted on, executing high kicks once more.

  Second show of the night. For some strange reason, I always had more energy for the ten o’clock show. Adrenaline, the director said. The adrenaline stayed with me until about two a.m. on show nights. Just as well, since I had dinner plans afterward tonight.

  Thank goodness Mo was coming along.

  Right now, Reid Wolfe was somewhere in the audience. Once more I was thankful for the bright lighting that kept us from seeing anything other than shadows in the theater. I had no doubt that if I could see faces, Reid’s would stand out.

  His image was seared into my mind.

  He was easily the best looking of his brothers. Rock was rugged and sexy, and Roy had that boho look you’d expect from an artist. Plus, he was almost too pretty to be real.

  But Reid…

  Suave and debonair to the max. He looked like he’d walked straight off the pages of GQ. Always dressed to the nines, hair perfectly swept across his forehead, full lips and perfect white teeth.

  And those blue eyes.

  He reminded me of the model David Gandy, only better. I’d never known anyone who could surpass David Gandy.

  Until now.

  Funny. I hadn’t memorized any man’s looks in ages. Well before…that horrible time. Sure, I noticed good-looking men, but I wasn’t moved by them.

  Until now.

  Reid Wolfe scared me.

  He made me want to bare my soul. Indeed, he asked me to tell my story publicly.