So Tempting

by Jean Brashear

  Markos examined her for tell-tale signs. Did the pulse in her slender neck pound more quickly? "Do you care, my dear?"

  She continued her scrutiny. "It would be a social coup. He's been a recluse since he first arrived, and he—" Her head rose swiftly, a tiny line of displeasure between her brows. Placing one hand on his arm to mark her passage, she headed off to make her disfavor known.

  He noted her destination and smiled. Pity the poor waiter who caused a single ripple in Marcella's grand design.

  "I thought she'd never leave your side." The low, husky voice emerged from behind his shoulder.

  Markos shrugged. "She is my wife, you know."

  "That could be changed," Antonia Montoya observed, her own face neutral, unless one looked at her eyes. Some might say it was a dangerous game he played, having his attorney also his lover. But what was life without amusement?

  She was a superb creature, those she-cat claws sharp, her insatiable hunger invigorating. Right now, long dark hair captured in a severe French braid, her breasts loose under white silk and the heavy squash blossom necklace, she tempted him to do something foolish.

  But he was not a foolish man.

  "Isn't there somewhere we can go?" Her low, edgy whisper excited him.

  "Not tonight, Antonia."

  She cut a sideways glance at him, promising retribution.

  Delicious prospect.

  He smiled back, then redirected his attention. A young woman standing at the fringes caught his eye. Very young, likely not yet out of her teens, but her curves already ripe. Dressed in a short red sheath at odds with her virginal demeanor, she moved like a nun, he mused, though her looks were pure Lolita.

  "Don't even think about it," Antonia warned. "She's barely past jailbait."

  But fresh...lovely and dewy as a rose holding one perfect drop of moisture before the sun would burn it away.

  "Too young for me," he pronounced. "It's mere curiosity. I haven't seen her before."

  "Few have. She's been in a Swiss boarding school, kept safe and untouched. Her brother guards her like the crown jewels. I can't imagine why she's here tonight."

  Markos watched the girl's eyes shift nervously. "Perhaps he doesn't know."

  Antonia laughed. "You can bet Dante doesn't know or she wouldn't be here."

  Markos schooled his features carefully. "Dante Sabanne?" The girl's existence had been only rumored. Perhaps she was the key to all he wanted.

  "Her name's Cassandra. My mother is their housekeeper. Dante will have her hide if he finds out she's here."

  "We will have to make sure that doesn't happen, won't we?" He turned to face her. "If you'll excuse me, I'd better circulate. I'm sure you understand."

  Her eyes telegraphed her displeasure. Perhaps he should rethink their liaison. Antonia was a gifted attorney whose sharp mind had proven invaluable, but jealous mistresses could become tiresome.

  Stopping to greet guests along the way, he reined in his impatience to cross the room, never letting Cassandra Sabanne out of his sight.

  * * *

  Cassie kept to the wall, more and more certain she'd made a mistake in coming to this reception. When she'd seen the invitation addressed to Dante, she'd sneaked it up to her room, certain he'd never attend.

  She'd thought this would be a good place to find out about The Club. She'd heard that a lot of the rich, sophisticated crowd hung out there, and there was plenty of money in this group.

  Dante probably had more money than anyone here, but he seldom went anywhere interesting. He spent much of his time, when he wasn't conducting business on the phone or traveling to visit his companies, in his study poring over musty old texts.

  And preventing her from having any fun herself.

  Sometimes she could barely remember the Dante who laughed and had tea parties with her, so big and out of place with her dolls but so patient. He'd been the one to teach her to swim, who'd often carried her high on his shoulders and urged her to touch the sky.

  But not anymore. Not since their mother had died and left her in Dante's care.

  Thank goodness he was out of town now; she'd never have pulled this off, otherwise. If Mrs. Montoya checked her bed too closely, she'd be in trouble. Mrs. Montoya slept deeply, however, and though Melinda had been too chicken to come, she'd promised to cover for her.

  Anyway, Cassie would be home long before Mrs. Montoya woke up, none the wiser. She could actually leave right now. These people were all stuffy and boring, as far as she could tell. Her idea was a bust.

  Uh-oh. Cassie ducked into a corner.

  Melinda's Aunt Antonia. What was she doing here? She knew Dante. Cassie searched for the best way to escape without being seen.

  Ms. Montoya's eyes scanned the room, and for a second, Cassie thought she was busted. Then the crowd between them shifted, and Cassie turned to make her escape. As she threaded her way around the edges, suddenly someone stepped squarely into her path.

  Cassie looked up and barely contained a gasp. It was the older man who'd been with Ms. Montoya. Sharp brown eyes shaded by bushy dark brows studied her, while amusement curved thin lips that looked as if they rarely smiled.

  "Leaving us so soon?"

  "I..." Cassie peered past him, attempting to spot Antonia. He was not as tall as Dante, but he still topped her by several inches.

  "Looking for someone?" One dark eyebrow arched, his voice amused.

  "I—no, I just..." She glanced up. "I, uh, wanted a drink."

  His eyes narrowed for a second, then he crooked a finger, and a waiter instantly appeared. The dark man lifted a flute of champagne from the tray and presented it to her.

  Awesome. He couldn't tell she was underage.

  "Americans are so provincial in their attitudes, wouldn't you agree?"

  Okay, so he could tell...but he was cool about it. Cassie nodded cautiously and sipped her drink. The little bubbles tickled her throat. Maybe this party wouldn't be so bad, after all—if she could escape Antonia Montoya. She craned to look behind him again.

  "If you are not careful, you will hurt my feelings. After all, the host should be able to claim a guest's attention for a little while, don't you think?"

  Host? She choked a little on her champagne, then could have groaned. How juvenile. "You—you're Markos Petrakis?"

  An elegant nod and faint bow. "At your service, Ms—?"

  She chewed her lip for an instant. If she told him her name, he might know Dante. "Cassie. Just...Cassie." Better to be safe.

  "Beauteous Cassie, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance." Taking her free hand, he pressed his lips to her fingers. "Please call me Markos."

  Her tummy felt a little odd and feathery. He was very charming.

  "So what do you think of our little gathering?" He studied her closely as though he truly wanted to know.

  "It's all right."

  "All right? You wound me," he said, hand clutched to his chest.

  "I didn't mean..." Just like a dumb little kid, she'd blown it. She should have said something witty, but what?

  "Markos, darling, you're neglecting our other guests." The slender, almost bony woman who appeared at his side looked down her nose at Cassie as though she had some disease.

  The dislike was instant and mutual. The woman might be dressed to the nines in her black sequins and diamonds, but she was mean to the core, Cassie could tell. Just like Sister Agatha, her Latin teacher.

  "My dear, I'd like you to meet Cassie." He winked at her, and Cassie had to suppress a grin. "This is my wife, Marcella."

  "How do you do?" A cool nod, no offered hand. Turning back to her husband, she touched his arm, the demand clear. "There's someone you need to meet, Markos." She walked away, seeming confident that he'd follow.

  He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically at Cassie. "Duty calls, I'm afraid." Reaching for her hand again, he pressed warm lips to her fingers like she'd seen in old movies. "I'll make it around this way again. Enjoy yourself, Cassie."

 
She watched him go and sipped again, the warm glow of champagne combining with Markos's welcome to make her reconsider her opinion of the gathering.

  Then she spotted Antonia Montoya headed her way, though she didn't think the older woman had seen her yet.

  Cassie set her glass down on a nearby table and aimed for the door. She'd better not tempt fate anymore. Except for Markos, they were all losers anyway. She'd have to come up with another way to find out where The Club was going to be held next.

  * * *

  Jace drove by downtown on her way to the station, her gaze sweeping doorways and alleys for Jimmy. When she saw the lights on inside Myra's shop, she parked and went to the door, knocking to alert her landlady and friend that she had a visitor.

  Myra looked up from the table where she pored over a Tarot deck and grinned, then rose to unlock the door and usher Jace inside. A blast of incense and potpourri assaulted Jace's nose while her eyes contended with a shower of rainbows spilling from the crystals in Myra's front window.

  "Well, stranger, just the person I wanted to see." Myra's delight brought a reluctant smile to Jace's face. Bottle-blonde and blowsy, truly one of the kindest souls on earth, Myra True Heart nèe Daniels could drag a smile from a dead man.

  "Don't tell me. You saw me in your crystal ball."

  Myra shook her head, blonde curls frothing over the colorful scarf that banded her head, concentric circle dangles tinkling at each ear. "Such a cynic, Jace. You know I use the cards."

  Jace grinned. Their banter was of long standing. Hearts Speak True was the name of Myra's New Age shop, and somewhere in the clutter, all of Santa Fe's metaphysical needs could be met, from séance to crystal cleansing, herbal baths to Swedish massage to reiki. The rich aroma of incense permeated everything, and the store reflected Myra's own eclectic tastes—in clothing, in men and, lucky for Jace, in friends. The older woman was accepting of everyone; she'd champion a bum just as easily as a cop.

  Sam Sunshine and Myra had once been lovers, in their salad days, as Myra called them.

  Jace got down to business. "I'd like to plane off the bottom of the front door, Myra, just enough to keep it from dragging."

  "Sure, sugar, whatever you want. Do you need some help?"

  Jace shuddered at the thought. The months she'd spent in the cabin had been devoted to reversing her landlady's previous repairs. "No, thanks. I can handle it. I'll borrow a plane from Earl."

  "Get that good-looking Gabriel to help you take off the heavy door, sugar."

  "Stop matchmaking, Myra."

  "You get to be my age, and you wish you'd concentrated on one good man instead of playing around. All that freedom and time don't keep you warm at night."

  Here was Jace's opening. "Was that what happened with Sam?"

  Myra's eyes glistened. She dabbed unashamedly at the tears. "Sam was...well, I don't know if he and I could ever have made a go of a relationship."

  "Why not?"

  "Sam had a fire in him for saving the world from itself. That mission was more important to him than any one person."

  "So how did Sam become—" She stopped, noting the pain that made effervescent Myra look suddenly old.

  "An addict? Homeless?" She stared into a past Jace couldn't see. "I think the world didn't want saving, and it broke Sam's heart."

  "We don't have the autopsy results back yet, but do you know who he hung out with, who might have seen him last?"

  "He came around here sometimes, but I don't think he had that many friends."

  "Where did he sleep?"

  "Wherever he could."

  "In the winter?"

  "He..." Her voice was barely a whisper now. "Sometimes, when he could still—when he could understand it was me, he would..." Myra's head rose, her eyes blazed defiance. "He stayed with me when he was able to tolerate being inside a house."

  "And when he couldn't?"

  "Sometimes he'd sleep in my storage area. I left it unlocked for him every night."

  "Left the back of your store unlocked? Good grief, don't you know better than that?"

  "Don't lecture me. I'm old enough to be your mother. My spirit guides told me it would be fine, and it was." Her eyes appealed. "Don't you see, Jace? I couldn't let him stay out in the cold. He didn't always take drugs. There was just something wrong inside his head. He was desperately lonely. I had to help."

  Jace rubbed her arm in sympathy. "You're a good friend, Myra."

  She shrugged. "Yes, well, that and a nickel..." She studied Jace. "You look tired. Weary from more than lack of sleep. What's wrong?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Is it Gabriel?"

  "I don't want to talk about him right now."

  "Why not? I thought you two were getting close."

  "It's just sex. We're fine."

  "You're both wasting valuable time." But she dropped the subject. "Heard from Jimmy?"

  Jace's gaze shifted. "Have you seen him?"

  "He's back?"

  Jace sagged. "In a manner of speaking."

  "Oh, hon." Compassion filled Myra's voice. She was the only person to whom Jace had ever admitted how disturbing she found her brother's inability to cope, his restlessness. Gabriel urged her to cut the ties, but she just couldn't. Jimmy was her brother, no matter how he screwed up.

  She shrugged. "He's in town but he's not with me. We had a big fight. He's gotten involved with some cult."

  "Cult?"

  "Yeah, some savior who's going to lead them all into the light, going to make their lives meaningful." What had he said? "Something about the ancient gods speaking to mankind or some bullshit like that."

  "He needs a center, Jace."

  "He has me!" Jace's voice went shrill. As quickly, she fell silent. Through all the anger at being the sole support, she'd never realized that she'd counted on being needed.

  "He's looking for his way. You can't do that for him. Especially when you refuse to acknowledge your own abilities." Myra had it in her head that Jace had some kind of bullshit woo-woo skills she wasn't using.

  "Don't start on me." When Jace was young, her mother had sometimes prattled on about a grandmother with mystical gifts Jace might have, too. Back then she'd thought it romantic and exciting, but that was before her world had collapsed and she'd wised up to reality. That was not and never would be any part of who Jace had made herself.

  Badly, she wanted to pace but forced herself to stand still. "He says he's required to leave his past behind, go through some ritual. It sounds like some kind of Satanic thing. You heard about this one?"

  "A whisper here and there, but nothing substantial. We could look, though, if you'd work with me to help focus my sight."

  Jace narrowed her eyes. "I'm serious, Myra."

  "So am I, hon." But it was said gently because Myra was not one for confrontation.

  Jace knew how miserable hard feelings made her friend. She was too soft for this world. So Jace forced herself to be gentle, too, in the only way she knew, by keeping it light. "Well, sooner or later, every nutcase in Santa Fe comes through this shop. Will you let me know if you hear anything?"

  Myra rewarded her with a smile. "I'll take that as a compliment to the popularity of my wares."

  Jace grinned. "Always the optimist." She turned to leave. "Gotta go."

  "Be well, Jace."

  "Yeah. You, too." She didn't look back, but she was sure Myra was already reading cards over her fate.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Jace walked into the station. "Where's Earl?"

  "Captain's office," the duty officer said. "Stiff in an industrial park."

  Jace's heart skipped. Jimmy. "Male or female?"

  "Female."

  Jace breathed again.

  But another death? So soon? Santa Fe, for all its tourist traffic, was essentially a quiet town.

  Just then Earl emerged and gestured for Jace to join him in the captain's office. Stomach jumping, she followed. The captain was old-school and had a rep for being a
stickler for procedure and sparkling clean records. Though no one ever said it out loud, he was also not a fan of women on the force, though he had never, to her knowledge, been guilty of overt sexism. Every female on the force, however, knew the bar was set higher for them.

  Earl closed the door behind her. Capt. Gonzales smoothed one palm across his thinning dark hair, frowning. "Have a seat, Detective."

  "Yes, sir." She cast a glance over at an impassive Earl, seeking clues.

  Gonzales spoke. "You've worked undercover before."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Prostitution sting."

  "Yes, sir."

  "This will be different, Detective."

  Yes! An undercover assignment. She had no choice but to wait, but her heartbeat skipped.

  His pause was a long one.

  "Ramsey investigated a homicide this morning. A young woman. Looks like rape was involved."

  Jace stared at him. "You think it's related to Cardozo's cases? The Club?"

  Gonzales frowned again.

  Shut up, Jace. The man was all about slow, methodical steps.

  Earl spoke up. "We'll know more when we get the autopsy reports. I've asked the M.E. to pay special attention to the tox screens to see if there's anything there that would interfere with memory."

  "Narcotics has been hearing about this club for a while now, but they're stretched thin with the new pipeline pouring in from across the border. Up to now, it's seemed like a bunch of bored rich guys playing around." Gonzales leaned forward. "The Club is invitation only, moving from place to place, held on an irregular basis. There's some kind of elaborate system to notify the interested parties that we haven't cracked yet. They can set up and tear down in a few hours, and they don't leave anything behind."

  Interesting. Jace's foot jiggled as she forced herself to wait.

  "There's something else. We don't know its significance yet, but you need to keep your eyes peeled. The victim was found with an object in her hand."

  "What kind of object?"

  Earl spoke up. "Here." He drew photographs out of the breast pocket of his suit.

  Jace studied them. The victim was young, and she couldn't help thinking of Valerie Turner. The Club was taking on nastier overtones all the time. "What kind of symbol is this? It doesn't seem Native American."