Double Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  “Wanna tell me about it?”

  “I just did.”

  A young waiter came over, handed them both menus, and took their drink orders.

  “What exactly do the notes say?” Alex asked, after ordering a Bloody Mary.

  “That’s it,” Lucky said. “Short and simple—‘Drop Dead Beautiful.’”

  “Sounds like a movie. In fact, I think there was a movie with that title.”

  “The thing that’s a bit odd is that the notes are hand-delivered to my house,” Lucky said, picking up a glass of water and taking a sip.

  “What does your security guard say?”

  “I gave up guards a couple of years ago. Didn’t want to live like that, nor do I want my children thinking they have to be protected.”

  “No?”

  “Definitely no. I’ve hired security for Gino’s party, but other than that I want to be able to get in my car and go places without being followed and watched.”

  “Y’know, Lucky,” Alex said thoughtfully, “you have a big reputation and a ton of money. You should have security.”

  “Don’t need it, Alex.”

  “Okay,” he said, picking up the menu. “Let’s talk pizza. What you got in mind?”

  “I’m thinking smoked salmon,” she said, relieved he was dropping it.

  “I’m thinking I’ll join you,” he said, snapping his fingers for their waiter.

  After they’d ordered, Lucky sat back and took a long look at Alex. He was aging well—in fact, he looked better now in his late fifties than ever. He was super smart, very attractive, and extraordinarily talented. She wondered why no woman had been able to lure him into marriage.

  “Where’s Ling?” she asked casually.

  “Ling doesn’t fly well,” he responded.

  “You know, Alex,” she said, fingering the rim of her water glass, “you should get married. You need a woman to look after you.”

  “Yeah,” he answered, giving her a look. “And who do you think that woman should be?”

  “Haven’t given it any thought,” she said offhandedly.

  “Apparently you have.”

  “No.”

  “No?” he said disbelievingly.

  “I do have a few things on my mind other than your marital status,” she said, fishing her sunglasses out of her purse and putting them on.

  “Yeah,” Alex drawled sarcastically. “It’s bright in here, isn’t it?”

  “Fuck you,” Lucky responded, trying not to smile, because she had to admit that Alex knew her so well. He even knew that whenever she felt uncomfortable she hid behind her shades.

  “Anytime,” he said, half smiling. “All you have to do is name a time and a place.”

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, finally laughing.

  “And she finds me an object of amusement,” he said dryly.

  The waiter delivered their drinks to the table—a Bloody Mary for Alex, Perrier for Lucky.

  “This is nice,” Alex said, picking up his drink.

  “What’s nice?”

  “You and me sitting here enjoying some time together, just the two of us.”

  “This is hardly a date,” Lucky pointed out. “So don’t try making it into one. We’re good friends who happened to run into each other.”

  “Good friends who are never alone anymore.”

  “Anymore, Alex?” Lucky said, raising an eyebrow.

  “When we were making Seduction we had plenty of alone time,” Alex reminded her. “I remember it well.”

  “Sure,” Lucky said lightly. “Us and a crew of hundreds.”

  “I guess you’re choosing to forget all the time we spent in the editing rooms?”

  “Why do you think I wasn’t prepared to make another movie with you?” she said flippantly.

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you don’t feel that there’s anything between us.”

  “Alex,” Lucky said impatiently. “I’ve told you this before, there can’t be anything between us.”

  “Because of Lennie?”

  “I love Lennie, you know that. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  He sighed. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to say to you.”

  “Please don’t,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I’m going to.”

  “No, Alex, you’re not,” she said firmly.

  Before he could reply, Bobby and Brigette strolled into view.

  Lucky immediately waved them over to the table, delighted to create a distraction.

  “Alex,” Brigette exclaimed, flushed from her recent win. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “It’s been a long time,” Alex agreed, standing up. “And look at you, Bobby, I hear you’re running the hottest club in New York.”

  “Tell my mom,” Bobby said wryly. “I’m not sure she believes me.”

  “Sit down, join us,” Lucky said quickly. “We’re about to have smoked salmon pizza.”

  “Delicious!” Brigette exclaimed. “I’m starving!”

  “Then we shall order two more,” Lucky said, signaling their waiter.

  Alex threw her a look. “Of all the joints in Vegas they had to pick this one,” he murmured ruefully. “Timing’s everything, huh?”

  Lucky nodded. “It sure is.”

  And once again they exchanged an oh-so-intimate smile.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  When Internet Freak returned later that day with a tray of food and a bottle of water, Max was ready for him. She’d had all afternoon to think about what she was going to say.

  “You should know that I’m only sixteen,” she announced, making a desperate attempt to let the creep know how young she was. Maybe, just maybe, it might convince him to release her. “When I told you I was eighteen,” she continued, “I was lying. And another thing, I never mentioned to my mom that I was meeting some strange guy, and when she finds out I’m missing, she’ll major freak!”

  “But you’re not missing,” Henry said patiently. “You’re here with me. You’re perfectly safe.”

  Unexpected tears filled her eyes. This dude was a looney and she couldn’t take much more of this insane situation. “I’m not safe,” she shouted, forcing her tears to go away. “I’m your fucking prisoner. You’ve kept me locked up here since last night. YOU’VE GOT TO LET ME GO!”

  “Eventually,” Henry said, quite composed.

  Eventually. What did that mean?

  Gotta stay strong, she told herself. It’s not smart to show weakness. Ever since she was a little girl, Lucky had drilled into her that girls can do anything. Lucky’s mantras: Be strong. Kick ass when necessary. Never give in.

  Well, there was no way she was giving in to this creepo loser with his weaselly face and psycho lifeless eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, she glared angrily at her captor. “Where’s Ace?” she demanded. “Why are you keeping us apart?”

  “That is not your concern,” he said.

  “Yes it is,” she argued, still glaring at him. “Where is he?”

  “I sent him away.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “Yes I did.”

  It suddenly occurred to her that Ace and Internet Freak might be in cahoots. It was very possible that Ace was part of the plan and that’s why he wasn’t around. Of course. It was all so obvious. He’d sent Ace to soften her up and then pounced. How stupid was she to fall for it?

  She shivered uncontrollably.

  “Are you cold?” Henry asked, sounding concerned.

  “I’m uncomfortable,” she complained. “You’d better undo this thing on my ankle ’cause it really hurts.”

  “If I do, you’ll try to run. But I should warn you that there is nowhere to run to. We are in an isolated spot surrounded by woods, and you would be very foolish to attempt to leave.”

  “I won’t run,” she lied.

  “Can I trust you?”r />
  “Do I look like an idiot?”

  He produced the key and undid the shackle.

  She rubbed her ankle, which was blistered and red. “I need disinfectant,” she said. “I can barely walk.”

  “I’ll see what I have,” he said, leaving the room, locking the sturdy door behind him.

  Immediately after he was gone, she jumped off the bed and made it to the window. It was boarded up with strips of plywood on the outside. A quick exploration of the room did not give up anything that looked even remotely useful.

  Crap! She’d been hoping for something—anything that she could use as a weapon when he returned. Smash him over the head and run. He wasn’t holding his gun, and he looked like a weakling with his gimpy leg and scrawny build. She was sure she could take him.

  Yes. She didn’t need a weapon. She was strong, she’d taken self-defense classes.

  Her plan was to catch him off guard, kick him hard in the balls—and run like hell.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The villa in Acapulco was Anthony’s favorite home. He’d designed every detail of the three-story waterfront villa himself, from the Italian marble bathrooms (six) to the sunken black-bottomed infinity swimming pool overlooking Acapulco Bay.

  The grounds consisted of a magnificent landscape of coconut trees, giant palms, and fragrant walls of many different colors of bougainvillea. There were several areas for dining alfresco. Anthony’s favorite part of the outdoor design was an all-glass elevator that descended from the top floor of the house to the lower-level entertainment area. He’d been inspired by the movie Scarface.

  Another feature Anthony was particularly pleased with was his own personal boat dock and heliport, where a select few of his business acquaintances could come and go without the outside world checking on their activities. It was a very convenient way of conducting business.

  Anthony kept a full staff in residence, including Manuel and Rosa Sousa, a married couple who ran the estate when he was not there. Rosa was a magnificent cook, while Manuel oversaw everything else. They had worked for Anthony since he’d built the villa ten years previously.

  One day Emmanuelle had seen pictures of the villa and begged him to take her there. “It’s so beautiful,” she’d sighed longingly. “And very sexy. We could make love in every room.” A seductive pause. “Maybe even in the elevator. What do you think, honeybun? Will you take me there?”

  He’d thought it was quite an appealing idea, but he had yet to invite her. It was one thing entertaining his mistresses in other cities, but to bring them into one of his homes … maybe not. Even Anthony observed some boundaries.

  Irma had been startled to see him, even more startled when he’d informed her they were flying to Acapulco the following morning.

  “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” she’d asked. “Nobody is prepared.”

  “What? You don’t like surprises?” he’d responded, fondling his two large dogs, and deciding that his wife looked as if she’d lost weight. Not that Irma was ever fat—quite the contrary—but she was looking particularly sleek and attractive. Hardly Emmanuelle-style attractive, nor Carlita, but for the mother of two children, she wasn’t bad.

  That night he’d given her the pleasure of blowing him, and the next morning they were on their way to Acapulco, accompanied by two other couples he didn’t mind spending time with. Fanta and Emilio Guerra were rich Mexicans in the clothing business. And Innes and Ralph Masters were Americans who lived in Mexico City. The two men greatly admired Anthony, while their wives lusted after him. It amused Anthony the way the two couples glorified him. They laughed at his jokes, took full advantage of his generous hospitality, and clapped at his singing prowess.

  All in all they were an adoring entourage, and who didn’t enjoy being adored?

  * * *

  Irma shuddered when she realized how close she’d come to getting caught. God! What if Anthony had walked in on her and Luis? It was scary and unthinkable. She’d had a narrow escape, and it had shaken her, made her think about the risks she was taking.

  Anthony turning up unannounced was most unusual—in fact, she could not recall it ever happening before. There were always the calls to warn her of his imminent arrival, and then much activity would take place in the house as everything was cleaned and scrubbed to a spotless finish, the dogs were groomed, the friends were alerted, and by the time Anthony arrived, everything was in place.

  This time not only had he arrived home unexpectedly, but he’d announced that they were leaving for Acapulco the next day. Irma had no wish to go to Acapulco with her husband, but she could hardly say no, especially when he informed her that the children were meeting them there. At least that was some kind of consolation.

  Later that night, lying in bed, he’d started pawing her for a few seconds before pushing her head down until it was on a level with his penis. She knew what he wanted, and she was forced to oblige, for the consequences of not doing what Anthony wanted were not pretty. So she’d shut her eyes and pretended it was Luis she was servicing, and somehow or other she’d managed to get through it.

  In the morning they’d boarded the plane with his friends in tow.

  Under different circumstances she might have quite liked Fanta and Innes—they seemed to be pleasant enough women. But circumstances were such that all they did was buzz around Anthony, hanging on to his every word.

  Ralph Masters was a lecherous creep. Whenever Anthony’s attention was elsewhere, Ralph managed to make suggestive remarks toward Irma—remarks she would never dare repeat to Anthony. Emilio Guerra, on the other hand, chose to totally ignore her, treating her as if she didn’t exist. As far as Emilio was concerned, she was just a wife, and therefore hardly worth his attention.

  The plane ride was excruciating. Champagne and caviar flowed, while Anthony’s sycophants agreed with everything he said.

  It wasn’t where Irma wanted to be. She’d allowed her thoughts to drift, wondering how Luis would feel when he came to work and found she wasn’t there. Someone would probably mention that the master of the house had arrived home, and Señora and Señor Bonar had left for the Acapulco house.

  She’d asked Anthony how long they would be staying in Acapulco. “What does it matter?” he’d said. “We stay as long as I wanna stay.”

  That was Anthony Bonar. He never told anyone what he was doing from one day to the next.

  Anthony’s two large Dobermans traveled on the plane with them. The dogs always made Irma nervous, so much so that when Anthony was not in residence she insisted that they stay outside with the guards. When he was home, Anthony allowed them to sleep on the bed, and it terrified her, but when she complained, her husband simply laughed at her fears.

  The Acapulco villa was Anthony’s domain. The couple who worked for him, Manuel and Rosa, kissed his ass big-time.

  Upon their arrival Anthony picked Rosa up and swung her around for the benefit of his friends. She was a short woman, and quite plump. Placing a fake smile on her face she tolerated the manhandling, but Irma sensed she loathed the way Anthony treated her.

  “How’s my Rosa, huh?” he’d crowed, pinching her cheek with a not-too-gentle touch. “Rosa’s worked for me ten years, but I could fire her tomorrow, huh, Rosa? Would I do that? No, ’cause you’re the best little cook in the whole of Acapulco.”

  Anthony was showing off in front of his friends, flexing his control.

  “Okay, Manuel,” he’d said. “Get your lazy ass to the airport, go meet my kids. They’re coming. It’s good, huh?”

  Yes, Irma thought, it’s very good. At least she would get to see her children.

  * * *

  And back in Las Vegas, an investigation was about to take place concerning Tasmin Garland’s disappearance. Her babysitter reported to the police that Tasmin had not returned home on Friday night. Her ex-husband, a croupier at one of the hotels, followed the babysitter’s concerns by filing a missing-persons report. He was about to get remarried, a
nd much as he loved his son, he did not plan on having the boy live with him.

  Where was Tasmin Garland? Forty-eight hours had passed since she was last seen; it was question time. Diane Franklin, a tenacious, twice-divorced black detective in her mid-forties, was assigned the case.

  After talking to the babysitter and the ex-husband, the next person she had on her list to question was Renee Falcon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Playing with Billy on his home turf was a revelation for Venus. Instead of staying in her fortresslike mansion, where she felt safe away from the adulation of her rabid fans, she and Billy were out and about. First the ride on his motorcycle, which she’d never done before, then the delightful lunch at Geoffrey’s, and after that they’d stopped at the Cross Creek shopping center in Malibu, where she’d purchased a shady sun hat, a pair of blackout sunglasses, and a nondescript track suit.

  “Disguise time,” he’d informed her.

  “I have plenty of disguises at home,” she’d assured him.

  “I know, but you’re not at home, are you?”

  “We’ll never fool the paparazzi, they’re out in droves.”

  “Trust me,” Billy had said, grinning. “I got a plan.”

  Carrying her purchases, she’d hopped on the back of his bike and they’d taken off again.

  There was something very sexy about riding on the back of a motorcycle. It had to do with contact—the way her breasts felt pressed up against his back, the wind in her face, the warmth of his body. She’d held on tightly as they’d sped down the Pacific Coast Highway, several paparazzi still in hot pursuit.

  “Why can’t they leave us alone?” she’d breathed in his ear.

  “’Cause they got a job to do, an’ my job is losing ’em,” he’d answered, before making an illegal U-turn and roaring off in the opposite direction.

  Venus couldn’t help laughing. It was highly dangerous but unbelievably exciting—it made her realize just how much she’d been missing out on the fun side of life.

  Being married to Cooper could do that to a girl. Cooper Turner, legendary movie star, legendary cocksman, and very boring when one was married to him. That’s why their marriage had failed, because Cooper had forgotten how to have fun. He’d turned into the reformed playboy. Marriage had changed him, but it hadn’t changed her. She’d always had a rebellious streak, and just because she was a few years older than Billy, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t bring it out in her.