Yours in Black Lace

by Mia Zachary

  Now he understood why Stevie thought he’d lied to her. Anyone looking at that picture would have known how much he cared for her. Except that Emelio hadn’t realized it himself, not until Naples. He’d had no idea his feelings were worn so blatantly on his sleeve. That was all his nemesis would have needed in order to plot revenge.

  He leaped to his feet, raking his fingers through the tangles in his hair. In his mind’s eye he saw Lina, covered in blood and reaching out to him, her eyes shimmering with pain just before the light faded away, etching her forever-accusing stare onto his memory.

  He had to find Stevie. Now.

  He figured she was trying to get the videotape from the client. After that, he had no idea where to look for her. He checked his front pockets for quarters and hiked down the steps to use the pay phone in the bodega. He needed to call Alex to break the news about the Jeep and to get a lift to the office.

  Back upstairs, he went into the kitchenette and heated up the last of the café Cubano in hopes the caffeine would jump-start his brain. Stevie was smart enough not to return to her apartment, but she was also relentless. It would be just like her to ignore everything he’d said and go after Weston. His mind leaped from one possibility to the next, careening his emotions from anger to the kind of anxiety that rippled down his spine and left his whole body chilled. He closed his eyes, thinking hard…

  The news!

  The coffee turned to acid in his stomach as he set the mug down with a bang. She’d been watching that segment about the charity ball. There must be a connection between Braga and the White Orchid Affair. She had remembered something but chose to punish him instead of revealing what she knew. Damn that woman’s stubbornness.

  Stevie was walking into a viper’s nest in a bid to prove something to him. And, more importantly, to herself. Her fierce need to be in control, to not be seen as a victim, could very well get her killed. Since he didn’t know exactly what she had planned, he’d have to make some plans of his own.

  For more than three years the SOD team had been united in their quest to bring down the Ramos cartel. These people had put everything, sometimes their careers and often their lives, on the line because they wanted justice and they wanted revenge.

  Now, Emelio was going to ask them to do it again, but outside of channels. For a chance at Braga, he was sure they’d help him protect Stevie at the White Orchid Affair.

  Madre de Dios, just let him find her in time.

  FIVE MILES FROM downtown Miami, across the Rickenbacker Causeway, the Smith-Carlyle Key Biscayne rose majestically from twelve acres of tropical gardens bordered by oceanfront vistas. The barrier-island resort, built to rival the finest European hotels, was discreetly pleased to count both royalty and rock stars among their return guests.

  Stevie parked the Jeep between a stretch limousine and a vintage Bentley under the port-coche. After meeting the valet’s smirk with a disdainfully raised eyebrow, she swept past him to the entrance. Admiring the West Indies colonial decor in passing, she sauntered through the lobby with nothing more than her purse and an attitude.

  “Hi. Stephanie Madison.”

  The desk clerk greeted her with a sympathetic nod. “Of course, Ms. Madison. We have your reservation. I’m terribly sorry about the situation with the airline. I’ll have your luggage sent up as soon as it arrives.”

  “Thank you.” She slid a platinum credit card across the desk, grateful that her credit limit had never been reduced after the divorce. “In the meantime, can you arrange for someone at Neiman Marcus to bring over a selection of white evening gowns with matching footwear?”

  “Certainly. Size…?”

  “Ten. And size nine for the shoes.” Stevie gave the clerk a smile, fluttering her eyelashes. “Thank you very much.”

  Entering her executive-level suite, Stevie’s heels sank into the plush jade-green carpet. Framed lithographs decorated walls papered in pale mint-and-white pinstripe. Richly upholstered dark wood furniture graced the living room and ceramic pots of flowering jasmine scented the air.

  A set of ornate French doors led to a generously appointed bedroom. Luxurious cream-colored linens and goose-down pillows invited her to snuggle onto the king-size bed. Her thoughts turned to Emelio, imagining them bringing one of the black-lace letters to life in this gorgeous room.

  That was never going to happen, though, not now. If he was even awake yet, he would be furious. Stevie shook off the weight of her regret. She had work to do. After tipping the bellboy, she secured her copy of the Stockton videotape in the bedroom safe.

  Then she kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot to the wide glass sliders. The balcony view of Biscayne Bay ten stories below was spectacular. Seagulls wheeled through the air above cigarette boats slicing through the channel. She left the doors open, allowing a sultry breeze to billow through the floral draperies.

  Stevie walked over to the antique secretary and picked up the room-service menu. After perusing the many choices of gourmet cuisine, she dialed the kitchen to place an order for a very late lunch. “This is room 1017. I’d like a hamburger, medium rare, with Colby cheese, mustard, mushrooms, lettuce and tomato. And also a large order of fries.”

  She created a script in her head while she ate. Every good poker player knows that in order to bluff, you have to believe. Stevie wasn’t that great at cards but she figured she’d watched enough spy movies to pull off a decent con.

  She used the hotel phone to track down the Assistant State’s Attorney, finally interrupting his family barbecue. Her pulse leaped with apprehension when he came on the line. She swallowed hard and prepared to show her hand.

  “Jack Weston.” His voice was a little thick, probably from too much hot sun and cold beer.

  “Hello, Mr. Weston. You’re in one hell of a lot of trouble.” She kept her tone light and cheerful, the telemarketer of his nightmares.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  “Stevie Madison.”

  She sensed his recognition and alarm, but he tried to pretend otherwise. “Madison…? Madison…”

  Because of him, she’d been forced to run. She’d been in hiding all week. Seething resentment gave her voice an edge before she could control it. “You want to play games, or do you want me to tell you what I know?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

  She cut him off, suddenly impatient with his evasion. “I saw you with Braga at the Stockton’s holiday party.”

  A grave silence came over the phone line. She couldn’t even hear him breathing. When Weston finally spoke, his voice was devoid of inflection. “You’re crazy.”

  “You wish.” Stevie’s laugh was tainted with derision as she stared down at the late-afternoon sun glimmering on the blue waters of the Bay.

  “Are you recording this nonsense? Because I warn you—”

  “Relax, Jack, I’m on a cell phone. You’re pretty good with cell phones, aren’t you? Like I said, I saw you shake hands with Rogelio Braga. That’s not the kind of thing that will advance your career.”

  The slurring of his words betrayed Weston’s feeble attempt at disbelief. “I don’t recall exactly—”

  “I thought we weren’t going to play games?” Stevie turned away from the windows and paced across the room. “I’m prepared to go public unless we make a deal.”

  “How can I be sure you haven’t gone to anyone with these lies already?”

  “You can’t, Jack.”

  Weston’s chuckle was humorless. “How much do you want?”

  She hesitated, momentarily stunned by the twist in the conversation. Maybe she wasn’t the only one trying to bluff. “How do I know you’re not the one recording this?”

  “Ten thousand dollars.”

  Stevie snorted, as though he’d insulted her, but she had to be careful not to cross the line to extortion. She was already on shaky ground for the blackmail.

  Weston kept talking. “Yeah, you look like the high-maintenance type. Thirty.”


  Then again, he’s the one who brought up the money. “Come on, Jack. My information is worth more than that.”

  “Today’s Saturday. The banks are closed.”

  “Remind me to be sympathetic.”

  Weston sighed dramatically. “Fifty? Fifty thousand is a lot of money. It could take me a while.”

  Her reply dripped sarcasm. “I’m sure Braga can loan you some cash.”

  Another silence greeted her. It was time to give him a push in the direction she wanted him to go. “You don’t think your career is worth that much? How about your life?”

  “I guess we should meet to discuss this in person.” Weston sounded resigned.

  “Fine. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Tonight?” She’d surprised him at last. “But—”

  Stevie hung up the phone and exhaled in a slow whoosh. The stress eased from her shoulders even as another emotion swelled in her chest. Pride. This was going to work. She’d found a way to take Weston and Braga down. She felt empowered, completely in control for the first time in too long. She’d made her own decisions and handled things on her own terms.

  Wait until she told Emelio…

  Actually, it would have to wait. She hadn’t seen a telephone in the apartment in Little Havana and she didn’t know if Emelio still had his mobile. The only way to contact him would be through the agency, if anyone was even working in the office today. After digging out her cell phone, she pressed the send button to call the most recently dialed number.

  “STEVIE.”

  Emelio jerked his head up when his partner answered the phone. “Where is she?”

  Alex cupped his palm over the mouthpiece and whispered, “She’s at the Carlyle.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, relief washing over and through him at the knowledge she was still alive.

  “Why would you contact Weston?” Alex narrowed his eyes in a disgruntled expression. “No, explain it to me now. I’d like to know what the hell is going on.”

  Emelio’s reaction was a single vicious curse. Stevie had tipped their hand to the target. She’d taken a precarious situation, doused it in gasoline and lit the fuse so there was no way to avoid an explosive confrontation. And yet, beneath the surface, was a reluctant admiration. In her determination to take control of her life, Stevie had turned the hunter into the prey and altered all the rules of the game.

  “If you live through this, I’ll probably have to fire you.” Alex sighed heavily. “In the meantime, stay at the hotel. Don’t do anything else until I get there. What? Don’t even—”

  Emelio gave him a quizzical look, wondering what Stevie had said before she hung up on Alex.

  His best friend and partner gave him a wry glance. “She’s going shopping.”

  HIGH-TECH HARDWARE WAS deliberately hard to find, located in a nondescript building with reflective windows that were actually two-way mirrors. No signs were evident anywhere and Bernie Sevel took no pains to advertise. If you didn’t know where his business was, he wasn’t going to help you find him.

  Bernie sold “covert communications products” out of a storefront in North Miami. Stevie walked up to the front door, pressed the bell and waved at the security camera that whirred as it captured her image. A long beep sounded and the electronic locks disengaged to allow her to open the door.

  “Hey, little girl! How ya been?”

  “I’m doing good, Bernie.”

  The burly ex-New York City cop greeted her from the other side of a steel cage. The thick bars limited access to the gadgets and guns lining the shelves until Bernie determined whether he wanted a customer’s business. She braced for impact as he came from behind the counter to give her a bear hug.

  The black T-shirt stretched across his massive chest was emblazoned with the slogan, In God We Trust. Everybody Else Gets Monitored. Sevel Elite Security had trained her in Advanced Executive Protection and Bernie himself had taught her Martial Arts for Bodyguards class.

  “Great ta see you, Stevie. What ya up to these days?”

  “I’m still in the investigation business, working my first undercover assignment.”

  “Told ya.” A proud grin split his weathered features. “I told ya you’d do it someday. You were one of my best students.”

  “Thanks, Bernie.” Stevie looked around at row after row of items such as sniper rifles, infrared illumination, bomb detectors and telephonic voice changers. “I need to pick out some of your toys.”

  Bushy gray brows crinkled into a mock scowl. “This is high-quality, cutting-edge stuff, little girl. I don’t sell no toys.”

  Stevie smiled briefly. “Good thing, because I’m not playing. This case is as serious as it gets. The guy came after me personally, so I’ve got to take him down.”

  Bernie scratched his snowy buzz cut and eyed her dubiously. “You ain’t going after him alone, I hope?”

  She swallowed her instinctive resentment. It seemed as if blue-eyed blondes were never taken seriously and she was damned sick of being patted on the head. But she needed her former instructor’s guidance. “No, Bernie, of course not. The team just wants a few equalizers.”

  He nodded sagely. “Okay, doll. Tell me what ya need.”

  THE WHITE, LIQUID SATIN Armani gown had significantly increased Stevie’s credit card debt.

  However, the narrow straps and square bodice showcased her cleavage while the loose, flowing skirt with its off-center split allowed for unrestricted movement. Wide elastic garters held her sheer thigh-high stockings in place and matched the lace of her white panties.

  She wrestled her short hair into a riot of golden curls and swept shadow across her eyes the way she’d seen her mother do every day of her childhood. As she replaced the plain gold-hoop earrings with cascades of cubic zirconium, her vision clouded and she saw another woman in another mirror.

  “Stephanie! You’ll ruin Mommy’s face!”

  The little girl, sweetly dressed in pink and frills, bit her lip and her small fingers dropped away from her mother’s cheek. “I just wanted to give you a kiss.”

  “Not now, princess. I’m late as it is.” Frown lines cut between her perfectly arched brows, marring the beautifully remote expression.

  “Can you tuck me in first?”

  “Mrs. Singleton will put you to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The little girl fixed her gaze on their reflections, afraid to look directly at the grown woman she tried so hard to emulate, afraid to anger her with the tears trembling on her lashes. “I love you, Mama.”

  Her mother turned away, anxious to leave. “Be a good girl, Stephanie, and do as you’re told.”

  Stevie closed her eyes, blocking the memory and the rush of sorrow that lodged in her throat. She’d been a good girl, done everything her parents expected and look what it had gotten her.

  Not wanting to dwell on painful memories, she instead practiced the line of reasoning she planned to make to Alex. Studying her facial expressions in the mirror, she made certain her appearance remained neutral, not defensive nor desperate.

  Her future was in jeopardy. This was not only her first undercover mission, but also the chance to prove herself once and for all. In the back of her mind, however, she knew there was much more at stake than just her credibility.

  A knock at the front door startled her out of her reverie. Alex was here. Was he with her backup team or the guys who would take charge? It would depend on how well she presented her argument. Either way, she had no intention of sitting on the sidelines.

  She walked across the suite, each step increasing the nervous flutter in her belly. Taking a deep calming breath, she swung the door wide and came face to face with…

  “Emelio!”

  12

  A RUSH OF FEAR AND ADRENALINE hit Stevie’s system before she could control her reaction.

  Although Emelio looked gorgeous dressed in a jet-black business suit, the snowy linen of his shirt contrasting the golden hue of his skin, he also looked furio
us. His rich brown hair was combed back from his forehead, emphasizing amber-green eyes that once again held her at a distance.

  His accusing stare bored into hers, and she had to fight the urge to start babbling apologies and explanations. He wasn’t her ex-husband and she hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, maybe she could have handled things differently, but she stood by her decision to get the videotape. Still, she was at a complete loss for what to say in the face of his anger.

  Their standoff was broken by a wolf whistle. “Very nice.”

  Stevie’s gaze darted behind Emelio to see Alex, two guys from the agency and two other men she didn’t know. One of her colleagues, Jason Knight, wore a waiter’s outfit, with a small brass name tag falsely proclaiming him a member of hotel staff, and a huge grin.

  She stood back to let the men inside, sweeping her arm with a flourish and stifling the unwarranted hurt when Emelio brushed past her without a word. “Glad you like it, Jase. I’m going to bill the agency for reimbursement.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the suite, hot stuff.”

  Emelio turned his head and shot Jason a piercing glare. He seemed about to make some kind of remark when Alex clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Lighten up, hombre.”

  She followed the group into the living room, addressing Alex since he was the safer of her two choices. “You’re not planning to wear that downstairs, are you?”

  He affected an insulted expression as he glanced down at his purple, blue and yellow Hawaiian-print shirt. “What are you talking about? This is one of my fav—”

  “Can we get this party started?” Emelio’s interruption was terse, both a question and a command. He stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes looked everywhere but at her.

  Stevie clenched her fingers together behind her back to keep her hands from shaking as she filled the awkward silence with bright chatter. “So, the gang’s all here. I know Jason and Rick obviously. But who are the two mystery guests?”