by Robyn Nyx
As Madison thumbed through the glossy photos once, twice, and a third time, she pondered her decision to acquiesce to her agent’s request for her to interview Elodie. Perhaps Madison’s credentials made Elodie’s people think an interview by her would lend veracity to Elodie’s acting career. If that proved to be true, it would irk her a little. Madison would make sure this interview was purely about Elodie’s humanitarian work, and she’d be steering well clear of any discussion of her movies. She wouldn’t be used to promote Elodie’s career. She was only interested in her work outside the studio.
“It’s a shame you don’t need a photographer for this interview.” Geva motioned to a particularly stunning shot of Elodie relaxing in a chaise longue by a deep sapphire pool.
“Is Elodie Fontaine your type?”
“Isn’t she everyone’s type?”
Madison tilted her head to acknowledge Geva’s point. “You’re probably right. I think they’ve already got a photographer, but she won’t be your standard.” Geva smiled at the compliment. “I haven’t spoken to Dom in any depth about it yet, but I don’t expect it to take too much time.”
“And then you’ll be investigating the human trafficking lead? What happened to your downtime?”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I did stop working. Anyway, I go where the story is, when the story’s there. You’re exactly the same.”
“So I guess the next time we’ll meet will be on your next foray into world affairs?”
“You’re more than welcome to drop in on me in L.A.” For a brief moment, she wondered if Geva needed more than Madison was offering. More than Madison could offer any woman. She began to ponder her past relationships. She and Geva had hooked up when they were working together intensely. It was like the process got more than creative juices flowing. Being in such close proximity to another inspiring, talented woman was incontrovertibly erotic. But her longer-term relationships had been far less successful.
She’d sought therapy after a series of disastrous codependent relationships, and it had predictably pointed to her childhood. The past she’d never shared with anyone for fear of being seen as an attention-seeking victim. She threw herself into her work instead, and that was an easy excuse as to why they never went the distance. It wasn’t that she wasn’t open to a life partner, but she didn’t think she could find someone who’d accept her for all she was, all the brokenness, rather than the Madison she projected in her work.
She almost always felt love of some kind, but she was never really in love. She didn’t feel capable of it. Inevitably, something would ruin it, and it would probably be her. The romantic ideal of perfection, the “getting everything from one person,” a soul mate, was the stuff of fairy tales she’d never really believed in. Her parents saw to that. Geva was a pleasant distraction from that reality.
“I’ll see how my schedule opens up. National Geographic wants me in China next, photographing pandas. Should be a nice change of pace as long as I don’t piss the Chinese off like we did the Russians.”
Madison laughed. “That’s our mission, Gee. If we’re not doing it, who will?” And if I’m not doing it, I might actually have to address the emptiness.
Chapter Six
It was the steel briefcase that made Therese smile. It wasn’t a smile of mock sympathy for the predicament of the man in front of her. It was a smile accompanying the knowledge that the briefcase contained five hundred thousand dollars. As Nat exchanged pleasantries with him, settling him down in the Italian leather sofa she’d handpicked after their first successful heart sale, Therese thought only of that money and the next identical installment she’d receive when this man’s wife turned up for the cadaveric allograft. Her smile broadened.
She’d dragged herself out of the gutter her “adoptive parents” had forced her into and got herself an education. Not a formal one, granted, but an education nonetheless. As she watched them slowly suffocate on gas fumes in their own car in a “suicide,” she’d glanced at a newspaper on their dashboard. The headline proclaimed there was a growing epidemic in something called “transplant tourism.”
When she was watching their last moments of death, she’d wondered if she’d let them have it too easy. After all they’d put her and the other kids through, maybe she should have made them suffer a whole lot more. Maybe she should have taken a knife to them and cut off the source of their evil—chopped his cock off, torn off her breasts. But she knew this would be better. This would be clean and easy. The cops wouldn’t be looking for anyone, not once they searched their house and found all the photos, the videos, and the “entertainment room.” She still got to enjoy the terror in their eyes as they asphyxiated, as they realized this was the end for them, and that one of the kids they’d sold shamelessly was responsible for their impending death. Until then, Therese hadn’t killed anyone, but she was instantly addicted to the feelings of power and absolute control that night. Looking into someone’s eyes as they took their last breath was exhilarating, and she’d been enjoying it ever since.
When she was sure they were dead, she took the paper and sat on the hood of the car to read the article. She’d learned the term “cadaveric allograft” then, which meant organ transplants from dead bodies. She’d quickly decided on a new career path away from the sex industry she’d been peddled in during her youth and away from the drug gang she’d slowly been climbing the ladder of ever since. She decided that being in this “commodification of human bodies” business would suit her. It seemed to be a trade far less dangerous than her current occupation and far more lucrative.
“These are your options again, Mr. Lucas. As I said before, we’ve taken your wife’s blood type and body size and matched her to these five choices.”
Therese watched Nat lay out the five information sheets of potential heart “donors” as casually as if she were offering him swatches of paint colors for his study. Mr. Lucas, if that was even his name, studied them, carefully read the details, and took in the photographs. She and Nat exchanged a weary look as he examined each one, despite the fact that he’d seen them before. She couldn’t fathom what he was looking for, and she didn’t really care. Glad-handing the client had grown to be one of the most tedious parts of the job. She’d heard too many sob stories to give a shit anymore, not that they ever bothered her when she’d just started out. None of them matched her history or even came close. Most of these people were just rich assholes who believed their lives were more important than the people Therese killed to order. She was the eBay of human organs.
“Could I take these to show my wife? I think she’d like to make the decision on this.”
“No.” This was the kind of vacillation Therese simply couldn’t tolerate. Nat had already couriered the documents a week before this, their first and final meeting. He should already know whose life he was happy to end. “If your wife wanted to have the final say, you should’ve brought her to this meeting. I think that given her One-A status, she’s far too ill for that, so you should just make the choice for her. They’re all excellent quality donors, and there’s not much difference between them. It’s simply a case of which one takes your fancy.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“That’s because it is simple. You’ve got the money to end your wife’s suffering. She’s got less than a month left if you don’t do something about it, and that’s why you’re here. We are making it simple for you. All you have to do is pay and choose a donor.” Therese trotted out the sales pitch on autopilot. “After that, we’ll look after everything. You’re paying for an all-inclusive transplant package, Mr. Lucas. Natasha mentioned you had concerns about why we were more expensive than our competitors, and this is it. Other organizations don’t show you where your product is coming from. Our aftercare facilities are second to none, and for the rest of your wife’s life, she’ll have annual checkups and access to a dedicated doctor and all the medication she’ll need—no questions asked.”
He looked d
own at the donor sheets again and pushed one toward Nat.
“That one…please.”
Therese smiled, thinking that he clearly wasn’t a man used to saying please. That in itself was satisfying. These people were almost as bad as the people her adoptive parents used to sell her to. Does that make me as bad as my “parents”? She dismissed the thought as quickly as it had intruded. She didn’t have to justify anything she did to anyone. Nat picked up the donor sheet and nodded.
“Good choice, Mr. Lucas.”
“I wonder, though, what happens to the rest of her organs?”
Nat gathered the rest of the donor sheets and looked to Therese to answer his question.
“That’s not your concern.” Her abruptness clearly unsettled him, and she smiled. “Unless you’re in the market for lungs too? Are you thinking you could preempt a future problem?”
She could see Nat’s body shake a little with suppressed laughter. Mr. Lucas pursed his lips. Not only was he averse to saying please, Therese could see he wasn’t a fan of being made to look like a fool.
“This is a serious situation. I’m not sure I appreciate your humor, Ms. Hunt.”
“You don’t have to, Mr. Lucas. You just have to appreciate that I know what I’m doing and know that your wife doesn’t have to have the heart of an executed Chinese prisoner.” This time, Nat didn’t manage to hold her laugh, and Lucas glared at her. Therese decided the meeting was over. “Natasha will courier the remaining details to you. You’ll have to make your own travel arrangements to Cuba, but after that, we’ll take care of everything. After the procedure, you and your wife will be back home in D.C. within two months.”
Nat opened the door to further signify it was time for him to leave. He went to shake Therese’s hand.
“She doesn’t shake hands, Mr. Lucas.” Nat intervened before Therese responded.
Her jaw had already clenched as his arm stretched toward her. Every time someone offered their hand, no matter how innocently, Therese could only recall that each time her parents sold her for another debauched night of pain and forced sex, they greeted the buyers with a practical handshake, like the business they were doing could have been conducted on Wall Street. She’d broken every finger in each of her parents’ hands after she’d paralyzed them with succinylcholine chloride, the same stuff they’d used on her for the buyers who didn’t like it when she fought back. She never did decide which was worse—the ones like that, or the ones who enjoyed it when she fought back, so they could hurt her even more.
By the time Therese had pulled herself from that train of thought, Lucas was gone and Nat was in front of her, her hands gently holding Therese’s face. She knocked them away dismissively. As she pushed Nat back, the look that flashed briefly across her dark brown eyes was a familiar one. It was accompanied by feelings Therese had neither the time nor the inclination for. Sentimentality was a dangerous thing in her business, and emotional intimacy was something Therese failed to understand the relevance of.
“While I was showing Mr. Lucas out, I took a call from Reed. He thinks Gillian sent out a second package.”
“She did what, now?” Therese felt her anger begin to rise. It didn’t take much to rile her, but any threat to her business made her even quicker to temper. Nat took another step back.
“He’s been looking into where she couriered his package from. It turns out she mailed two packages at the same time, on the same account. He’s hoping it might be something else, but he wanted to let you know before…before you did anything rash.”
“Rash? RASH?” Therese heard herself shout and reined her tone back to the guttural menace she knew Nat loved and hated in equal measure. When she used it this way, Nat wasn’t a fan. “Does he mean rash, as in killing someone who might still be withholding some vital information? Does he mean that kind of rash?” Therese took a step closer to Nat, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her forward. She stumbled into Therese, who caught a handful of her long brown hair in her fist. “Who the fuck would she have sent another package to, Natasha?” Therese pulled her close and snarled into her ear. “You knew her better than I did. You even fucked her once. How did she think?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe to her family or a close friend.”
Therese could hear the fear in Nat’s voice. As a teenager, she’d trained hard to disguise her own, and it was something she heard in the voice of every single person she’d ever killed. It disgusted her. But professionally and sexually, Nat had proven her worth time and again. Therese didn’t want to kill her if it could be avoided.
She released Nat and seized the suitcase as she walked away.
“Make sure Reed finds out. Or tell him he’ll be joining her.”
Chapter Seven
Madison set her Zoom H6 in the center of the perfectly dressed table in the fancy restaurant Paige had chosen and sat facing the door to await the arrival of her interviewee, Elodie Fontaine. She’d been unsettled since returning from Russia, as she often was when she came home after a challenging assignment. When she’d experienced it early on, she’d wanted to believe it was just the disparity between the chaos of the worlds she briefly inhabited and the relative calm of her apartment. She soon came to realize it was the emotional strain getting to her. She’d cultivated a hard, ice maiden reputation and worked hard to maintain it. In a profession where women were outnumbered by men two to one, Madison didn’t want to be seen as weak or emotional, and so she never let it show. As far as everyone around her knew, she was detached from the horrors they reported on, and it made her a better journalist because of it.
Almost subconsciously, she touched her fingers on the scar just below her right collarbone. The pain of a gunshot wound had been intense, but she hadn’t wept or screamed. Her father had impressed upon her that, no matter the physical or emotional agony, crying was a weakness. And he gave her plenty of opportunity to perfect his ethos.
Madison took a deep breath and tried to push the unpleasant train of thought away. Her therapist kept telling her to be present and available in the moment, rather than residing in her head where her demons were disturbingly willing companions. The principle was solid. The follow through was thus far proving impossible, but for the most part, people were too self-involved to realize. Except partners. They noticed, which was why Madison had taken a giant step back from relationships.
“Focus.” She didn’t want to get caught up in the black tar today. She was meeting Elodie Fontaine, and she was looking forward to it. Madison had followed her career since her Oscar-winning performance in Night Deeds, her debut movie. And not only was she a great actress, she was gay too. While acceptance of alternative sexualities was growing, it was always buoying when a high-profile celebrity or professional came out. It didn’t hurt that she was absolutely gorgeous either.
On cue, an ostentatious sports car pulled up outside the restaurant. Madison had no idea what make or model since cars didn’t concern her. It was matte black and probably cost more to insure than her own car cost to buy. A sturdy pickup truck came in close behind. What Madison assumed to be Elodie’s bodyguards were out and by her car before she’d even taken off her seat belt. She stepped out of the car, tipped down her sunglasses, and looked into the restaurant. She didn’t disappoint. She was just as beautiful in the flesh as she was on screen. Madison smiled. A few days ago, she’d been interviewing some of the ugliest people in the world, albeit on the inside. Today, she was interviewing the sexiest woman on the planet. On days like this, the emotional strain was negligible.
Madison tentatively raised her hand to wave and catch Elodie’s attention, but saw the host sidle up to her and the two striking female bodyguards. He showed them to Madison’s table, and she started to rise from her seat to greet her.
“Don’t stand on my behalf. I’m not royalty.”
Elodie smiled, and Madison could see how hundreds of women had fallen into her bed. Her smile was open and engaging, sexy and inviting.
“You are royalty to
us, Ms. Fontaine.”
Madison tried not to visually react to the host’s toadying remark. One of her bodyguards was less subtle, and she curled her lip and raised her eyebrows almost high enough to touch the bangs of her hair. They waited until Elodie was seated before they moved to the table behind and ordered drinks from a nearby waitress.
Elodie ordered an iced chai latte and waited for him to go before she offered her hand to Madison. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’m a big fan of your words.”
Madison was impressed by her firm handshake and flattered by the compliment. “Thank you. Unsurprisingly, I like your work too.”
“I’m glad to hear that. All interviewers say it, but your pedigree means I actually believe you.”
Elodie laughed gently, and Madison noted how her green eyes sparkled mischievously. She shifted the mics on her digital recorder so that one pointed toward each of them. “I’ll press record, and we’ll talk as if we were having a regular conversation. I’ll make some notes too, so please ignore that. Does that sound okay?”
“Of course, that’s fine.”
A waiter returned and placed Elodie’s drink on the table. Madison saw him try to catch Elodie’s eye, but she simply offered him an empty trademark smile. The difference between that one and the one she’d given to Madison was glaring.
“What I’d really like to do with this interview is show the world the Elodie Fontaine that’s not quite as well…publicized as your movie persona.”
Elodie laughed, and Madison acknowledged she was beginning to find it infectious. She had an easy humor and smiled like a woman who didn’t care about wrinkles and laughter lines.