"We do now. I told her we could be there in about an hour, give or take, depending on freeway traffic. We can meet Gillian and work out the details."
"Yeah, but—"
"Look, it's not like we have a ton of clients, okay? So Cora wants us to do this, and I said we would. She's paying well. And we could use the income."
Lex controlled the urge to point out that they wouldn't need to be taking jobs they weren't quite qualified for if Dante hadn't screwed up their latest assignment. "I suppose we can protect one lone woman, with two of us keeping an eye out. Who's after her?"
"The Mafia."
Lex almost ran a red light. In the nick of time he slammed on the brakes. "What?" Visions of severed horses' heads danced in his brain.
"Gillian was a witness to a murder. The Mob will probably want to eliminate her to protect its own."
Lex stared at him. "Do you hear yourself? Murder. Eliminating people. That's hardly in the same league with taking candid shots of a wayward spouse, now, is it?"
"Are you chicken?"
"Hell, yes! This is way bigger than we are." "Speak for yourself."
"I'm speaking for both of us, Dante. You're a very recent graduate of a crash course in private investigation procedures, which you barely passed, I might add, and I'm fresh from the exciting world of insurance fraud. We don't do gangsters. I love Cora as much as you do, but she needs to hire somebody else. Somebody who has a freaking idea what the hell they're doing."
"She wants us." Dante glanced at the intersection. "Green light. Go."
Lex checked traffic and pulled through the intersection. "You need to call her back and tell her we're not qualified."
"Not going to. We can do this. And we get a cruise out of the deal. When was the last time you went on a cruise?"
"Never. I've never been on a cruise." The idea made him shudder. "They make you play games like bingo and shuffleboard. I would hate a cruise."
"Too bad. You're going. Cora's arranging it. Gillian will be on the cruise, and when we get to Mexico, she'll jump ship and head off to South America, where she'll hide out until the coast is clear. Once she leaves the ship, our job will be over and we can party all the way home. In the meantime, we're supposed to keep her safe."
"On a cruise? There will be a gazillion people to worry about!"
"Did I mention Cora's paying really well?"
"How well?" Lex really didn't want to go back to Aetna on his hands and knees.
"We'll be able to cover our rent for six months. And I know how you hate doing business out of Starbucks."
"Okay, so maybe this isn't such a disaster." The prospect of financial stability eased Lex's panic. "The Mob might not even figure out Gillian's taking the cruise. I mean, there must be a shitload of Mexican cruises leaving from Long Beach these days."
"And we'll finally be on one! All expenses paid! Babes in bikinis, umbrella drinks, limbo contests, more babes in bikin—"
"We're supposed to be working, remember?" Lex sighed. "No drinking, and no babes. Especially no babes."
"What detective shows have you been watching? Magnum always had a babe."
"Is that why you wanted to be a private eye?" When Dante didn't answer, Lex groaned. "I should have known."
"I don't see a thing wrong with my motivations. And you need to watch more detective shows."
"I need to call Aetna and get my job back. I've gone into partnership with a nut job who thinks he's Magnum."
"You can't quit now. You promised Cora."
"No, you promised Cora. But you're right. We have to do this thing for her. After that. I'm calling Aetna."
Dante smiled. "No you won't."
"Watch me."
Two
neil had a bad feeling he'd been followed to the movie studio. When he'd come out the back door he'd spotted the black sedan parked next to his Porsche. His stepfather's goons always drove black sedans. It had killed him to leave the Porsche, but he'd had no choice.
Breaking into a ran, he'd hopped the first bus that had appeared. He'd been forced to transfer three times, but eventually he'd made it to Nancy's apartment and let himself in. A quick peek through the blinds had revealed a deserted street with no telltale black sedans cruising by. Excellent.
So far nobody, not even his stepfather's henchmen, had made the connection between Neil and Nancy Roth. Nancy's existence was his little secret, and he'd worked hard to keep it that way. She was a total turn-on, the most exciting thing in his life, and he wasn't about to lose her.
He glanced down at the purple stiletto he'd carried all the way here. Great shoe. Too bad he hadn't snagged the other one so Nancy could wear them. Probably too risky, but he would have loved the irony of that. Instead he had to destroy the shoe, which seemed like more of a crime than offing Theo.
Might as well get it over with. He had places to go and people to see. The night was young. Taking the shoe into the kitchen, he flipped on a light and pulled a medium-sized knife from the block sitting on the counter. Then he started hacking.
Ten minutes later, he'd nicked his thumb twice and all he had to show for it was a two-inch square of purple suede grinding away in the garbage disposal. This could take all night, and he still wasn't sure what to do with the metal heel once he'd destroyed the rest of the shoe.
Neil looked at the stiletto with a mixture of frustration and respect. "Damn you, Jimmy Choo! You make one hell of a pump!" Maybe he should try incinerating it, but he had no lighter fluid.
There was a bottle of rum in the liquor cabinet, though. That should work. Soaking the shoe thoroughly as it lay in the sink, he found some matches, struck one and held it over the shoe. The resulting flame was spectacular, so spectacular that he leaped back from the sink.
Was that smell from the shoe burning? Or was he ... on fire? Shit! A spark singed his scalp as he ran to the bathroom, threw on a light, and looked in the mirror. His hair was burning!
Spinning toward the shower stall, he turned on the spray and stock his head under at the same time the cell phone clipped to his belt played the tune he dreaded more than any other sound in the world. His stepfather was on the line.
He could let it go, of course. But ignoring a call from Phil Adamo could have serious consequences, both personal and financial. Mopping his hair with a towel, he put the phone to his ear.
Phil wasn't the kind to waste his breath on pleasantries. "You were seen."
"Seen where?" His heart pounded as he tried to think of how he'd get out of this one.
"You know damned well where." Phil's voice was icy with rage. "I should tell your mother, but I won't, because it would kill her. Now listen, and listen good. I'm ordering you to leave the country. There's no way I can smooth this over. You've gone too far."
Sweat trickled from his armpits down his ribs. "So, one of your guys saw me. What's the big deal?"
"Not one of my guys. One of the studio's makeup artists."
"How do they know that?"
"Enrique bumped into her coming out of Theo's dressing room after you left and she was carrying her makeup case. A couple of phone calls, and we had an ID. So I'm telling you, and I'm not going to tell you again, leave the country. Enrique and Hector are taking care of the body, so the cops won't have evidence right away, but we don't know what the witness will do."
"Who is she?"
"No dice. You get nothing on this." "Can't you take care of her?"
Phil's voice was calm but deadly. "I haven't decided yet. It would seem like the expedient thing, yet I keep telling myself that she doesn't deserve to die because you are a vindictive little creep. So there's no firm decision on that yet. I want you out of the country, Neil."
"What about Mom?"
"I'll tell her you landed a role in an Italian film and you had to leave immediately. She'll be fine. Give it a year and then get in touch with me. I'll let you know if it's safe."
Neil gulped. A year was like forever. No way was he staying out of the country for an entire
year. He had a life. He had friends. He had Nancy. And he liked L.A. just fine. No reason to give that up because some makeup artist happened to see him conk Theo over the head. "Okay," he said. "I'll hop a plane for Rio tonight."
"I mean it, Neil."
"Yeah, sure. I'll throw a few things in a suitcase and head out."
"See that you do." The phone went dead.
Neil controlled the urge to throw it. Instead he walked back to the kitchen and surveyed the smoldering mess in the sink. God, it smelled worse than his hair, but it wasn't recognizable anymore. Wrinkling his nose, he pulled the trashcan from under the sink and scooped the remains of the shoe into it. Then he tied the plastic ends of the garbage bag together. Garbage pickup was in the morning. He'd drop the bag in a Dumpster before he went to bed.
Returning to the bathroom, he switched on the makeup mirror and opened a drawer. Several of Nancy's friends at the club worked for the studio. A few drinks, a few laughs, and Nancy would have the information about which makeup artist might have been working late tonight.
Neil took his time shaving, although he'd never had much of a beard. Then he trimmed off the singed ends of his blond hair. Not a great job, but the wig would cover up the damage. Later tonight he'd give himself a buzz cut. After cleansing his face, he began putting on his favorite color of foundation.
Fifteen minutes later, a woman dressed in a slinky black dress that complemented her auburn hair strolled out of the apartment and climbed into a cab. Nancy Roth was ready to party.
maybe it was martinis on an empty stomach, or maybe it was because she wasn't wearing her glasses, but Gillian thought she looked a teensy bit like Marilyn Monroe, after all. Sitting in front of Cora's dressing-table mirror with a bath towel around her shoulders, she admired the platinum curls and the makeup Cora had expertly applied. Her image was a little fuzzy, as if the cinematographer had chosen a soft lens approach.
After years of putting makeup on other people, Gillian had enjoyed having Cora do the honors. But the longer she sat there, the heavier the makeup felt on her skin. Thank God she wasn't an actor who had to wear this stuff all the time.
"Darling, you're gorgeous. I knew you would be." Cora picked up her martini glass and took a sip as she surveyed her handiwork. "You could win a look-alike contest, hands down. Even that little mole of yours is in the right place."
"I have to admit, I look halfway decent." She took a drink from her tumbler. "But that could be the gin talking."
"Nonsense. You're fabulous. By the way, do you own a pair of contacts?"
"They're at home. I don't really like wearing them."
"Well, we can decide that later, I suppose. But I love your hair this way. You should have gone blond years ago."
Gillian shook her head. "Too much work. My hair grows fast. I'll have dark roots in no time. You know me. I'm all about low maintenance."
"Where's the fun in that?" Cora drained her glass and put it down on the glass-topped dressing table with a precise click. "It's like painting every wall in your house white."
"I like white walls." Gillian glanced around at the pink walls of Cora's bedroom and realized that might have sounded rude. "Not that other colors aren't nice. But with colors you have to bother with a different kind of touch-up paint for each room. With white, you're set for the whole house."
Cora waved a hand heavy with rings. "You're young. You don't have to worry about the ghastly effect of white walls on your skin tones. But I still can't see how you can live with all white. Don't you crave more excitement than that?"
"No." Her father had been the one who'd craved excitement—from climbing mountains to diving with Great Whites. His addiction to thrills had exhausted her mother with worry and frightened Gillian to death.
He'd made quite a name for himself as a daredevil. He'd tried wing-walking one sunny fall day, and the roller-coaster ride had been over, for all of them. "I like things calm," Gillian said.
Cora gazed at her in sympathy. "That's too bad. I don't foresee a lot of tranquility in your immediate future."
"Me, either." Gillian had tried not to think about what lay ahead, but everything about it frightened her. She didn't know the first thing about running off to a foreign country and creating a whole new identity. "Cora, I don't even speak much Spanish."
"You're a smart woman." Cora patted her arm. "You'll pick up what you need. Once you're settled somewhere, you can contact me."
"But won't they trace me through you?"
"Not if we use my lawyer's address. I'll keep you up-to-date on the case. As soon as I think it's safe for you to come home, I can let you know."
Gillian nodded. Cora expected her to be brave, so she'd be brave.
"Right now, we need to get your wardrobe together," Cora said.
"Should I try to go back to my apartment?"
"Absolutely not. You're staying with me until we sail. We'll get someone to sneak in and grab whatever you need, like your passport."
"I actually have that in my purse. I like carrying it as an extra piece of ID, just in case. I wouldn't mind having some of my other stuff, although I don't know who we can send over there. I don't want to risk asking one of my friends, in case someone's ... waiting." The idea gave her cold chills.
"I wouldn't ask any of your friends."
"Then who?"
"Oh, I have some ideas. Anyway, when I was talking about your wardrobe, I meant it's time for you to choose from what I have." She walked over to a closet and drew back the bifold doors to reveal a long rack of clothes arranged by color. "I don't have the figure for these anymore, but you do."
"I don't know, Cora. I'm not a skinny person."
"You are not a fat person, either. A size ten, right?"
"Yes, I am most definitely a size ten." The booze had loosened her tongue. "And every day I work on women who are a zero! Or if they've retained water weight, they might move all the way up to a two, perish the thought. And then they complain about being a balloon."
"Anorexic, the lot of them. Pay no attention to them, Gillian. Did you know that if Marilyn could waltz back in here today at the age she was when I knew her, she'd wear about a ten or maybe even a twelve?"
Gillian thought of Marilyn stretched out on that red drapery, the famous nude shot. She'd been perfect. "You're just trying to make me feel better."
"I am, but I'm also telling you the God's truth. And it's not speculation. I worked with her. We were friends. We wore the same size and we traded clothes sometimes."
"That's … amazing." To Gillian, Marilyn was some sort of mythical creature. She couldn't imagine her as a real woman who swapped clothes with friends. "Do you have something in there that belonged to her?"
Cora nodded. "One dress. After she died, and there was all the hullabaloo about her, I thought of selling it but I wasn't sure how to authenticate that she'd worn it. I didn't really want the hassle of trying to prove what I knew to be true."
"Which one?" Gillian shouldn't be feeling so starstruck. She worked with famous people all the time. But a dress that Marilyn had worn . . .
Walking to the closet, Cora took out a garment bag and unzipped it. Inside was a silver sheath studded with rhine-stones around the scooped neckline. "This one. I think you should wear it on the cruise."
"I couldn't do that." Gillian grabbed her glasses from the dressing table and put them on. Even blurry, the dress looked incredible, but once it came into focus, her mouth watered with dress lust. Mostly she didn't care about clothes, but this dress called to her.
"I'm not offering to let you take it to South America, but I would love to see you wearing it at the captain's dinner on the cruise."
"I don't think so, but it's amazing of you to offer."
Cora laid the dress, still in its garment bag, on her king-sized bed. "You have until tomorrow night to decide. In the meantime, let's move on to some of the other outfits. We'll start with the basics. I have several bathing suits. Let's see which one shows off your assets to best
advantage."
"Cora, in case you don't remember, I'm not trying to attract attention on this cruise. I'm trying to blend in."
"I don't think you understand my strategy. If you try to blend in, you'll look exactly like what you are, a timid makeup artist hoping to be inconspicuous."
"I'm not either timid! I'm conservative!"
Cora looked amused. "Semantics, darling. One person'… timid is another person's conservative. In any case, if Phil Adamo's men track you down, I want them to find someone who couldn't possibly be Gillian McCormick. You'll be too flamboyant, too blond, too out there to be the woman they're looking for."
"I may need a personality transplant."
"I'm not so sure about that." Cora smiled at her. "A few months ago, I researched your father, since you've been so adamant about not mentioning him. The Internet is a beautiful thing."
Gillian flushed, as she always did whenever someone connected her with Duke McCormick. He'd demonstrated to the world that he was both self-centered and foolish. -Well, I'm nothing like him!"
"You're too smart to believe that. You know there's a part of you that's very much like him, which is what you're so afraid of." Cora's voice softened. "Don't fight that part of you. It may be what keeps you alive."
Gillian didn't want to hear that. She'd tried so hard not to think about the fact that her life was in danger. She held out her glass. "I think I'll have another martini."
"Of course." Cora took the glass, but instead of leaving with it, she reached into the closet and unhooked three hangers. "While I'm gone, try these on."
Gillian had to admit the one-piece bathing suits in jewel tones—one red, one peacock blue, and one purple— had babe potential... on someone else. "Thanks, anyway, but I don't want to get into the whole bathing suit scene."
Shaking the hangers, Cora made the suits shimmer and dance. "You might not, darling, but the person you're going to be on the cruise definitely would. She'd prefer the red. Start with that one. I'll be right back with your drink."
Gillian accepted the trio of bathing suits. "Better make it a double."
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