by Kyra Davis
I turned and started to walk along the side of the house. My cell phone beeped. It was Mary Ann again.
He’s done with his meeting. I think he’s going back to his office. I’ll tell you if he takes off.
Again I thanked her and continued my exploration of the perimeter. Everything was enclosed within a tall iron fence but against the fence at one spot was a bench and on my side of the fence there was a large rock. I could climb up on the rock pull myself over the top and then, if I was really careful, I could drop right down on the bench so it wouldn’t be such a big fall.
I hesitated a moment. The consequences of breaking into the home of a possible gangster were pretty big and I didn’t even know what I was looking for. But it seemed that no matter what I did my life was in danger. One look inside the windows might give me a sense of who I was dealing with and if there was anyone else living there...or even an ambush being set up. These were good things to know before walking into a private meeting.
I leaned my MacBook against the iron bars. If I got over I could easily pull it through. Then I took my shoes off and slipped the straps over my wrists. I climbed up on the rock, which didn’t quite give me as much leverage as I had hoped. The rock’s ridges pressed into my feet, not enough to cut them but certainly enough to cause considerable discomfort. I stretched my arms over my head and grabbed the iron bars. They were slick. But if I could just somehow pull myself to the top…
I crouched slightly and then leaped up, grabbing the bars with both hands, my whole body banging against the gate.
I missed grasping the top of the gate by about a foot. I tried to move my hands up the bars. My hands did move, as did the rest of me. I was sliding slowly down, back to the rock.
So that didn’t work.
But giving up just wasn’t an option. I leaped again, grabbing onto the bars.
And I slipped again.
This went on for about five minutes. I was so bruised up you would have thought I was a battered wife. My phone rang in my handbag and in utter frustration I sat down on the rock and answered it despite the unknown number.
“What ?” I snapped.
“Why don’t you just announce yourself at the front gate?” Alex asked.
I fell silent.
Seriously?
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m at work but I have a security feed. I also have a panicked housekeeper who is damn near ready to call the cops. She’s waiting for you at the front gate. Go there, tell her you’re not a murderer and she’ll let you in and make you a cup of tea. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Is this a trick?”
“Look, if you’d rather throw yourself against the fence for the next hour be my guest. All I’m suggesting is that there are easier ways to do this.”
“Just so you know, I have mace,” I lied.
“Don’t mace the housekeeper. Other than that, mi casa su casa. See you in a bit.”
Reluctantly I got off of the stupid rock and went to the front gate where a very irritated and very, very beautiful woman was waiting for me.
“Mr. Kinsky says I should let you in,” she said. Her Mexican accent was subtle but recognizable.
Mr. Kinsky can shove it, I thought, but out loud I said. “That would be great, thanks.”
Hesitantly she pressed the button that operated the automatic gate. “You want something warm to drink? Mr. Kinsky has very good hot chocolate.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
She nodded and led me to the front door. She reached into her oversized pocket and handed me a small ice pack. Embarrassed I took the pack and held it to my right elbow.
“I’ll draw up an Epsom Salt bath.”
“That’s really not necessary—”
“Mr. Kinsky insisted.” She shot me a withering look as she opened the front door. “He’s very kind to his guests. Even one’s who try to break in.”
“I wasn’t trying to—” but one more glare told me that there would be no convincing her of my innocence. Chastened and in not a small amount of pain, I followed her into a foyer that was every bit as opulent as the lobby of my four star hotel.
“Don’t touch anything.”
I nodded as she disappeared through a door. She was speaking in what sounded like stilted English but she pronounced each word perfectly. It was almost as if she was playing a part that she hadn’t quite perfected.
Maybe she was.
She was only gone long enough for me to glance around the room and take in the original artwork and dark hardwood floor…the kind of floor that would gleam if it had been properly cleaned and cared for which it clearly hadn’t…which once again made me wonder about this housekeeper.
She returned with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. It smelled heavenly and if I hadn’t been worried about being drugged again I would have downed half of it instantly. As it was I just used it to warm my hands as she led me up a curving staircase then through the master bedroom and finally to a bathroom that was slightly larger than my hotel suite.
I stood awkwardly in the corner as the woman drew up the Jacuzzi bath, pouring a huge amount of Epsom Salts into the stream. I desperately wanted to go back and take another peek at the bedroom that we had so quickly strode through.
“You don’t like hot chocolate?” the woman asked.
“I was going to drink it in the bath,” I explained.
She stood and walked over to me. “Mr. Kinsky said that if you didn’t drink the hot chocolate I should do this.” She took the cup from my hand and took a long sip, smiled and handed it back.
Okay, that was unexpected. “You’re proving to me it’s not poisoned?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Mr. Kinsky just told me to do that.” She returned to the bath and turned off the water.
Tentatively, I took a sip of the chocolate and almost choked. “Rum?” I squawked when I was able to speak again.
“He said you would need a drink.”
I nodded and glanced past her to the tub. “Look, I really don’t need a bath...I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“I see you banging against the gate!” she snapped ignoring my question. “Over and over again. You need Epsom salts.”
There it was again, the stilted English with polished pronunciation. Weird.
“When will Mr. Kinsky be home?”
The housekeeper looked up at the wall clock. “In a little over an hour I think. You have time for your drink and bath. There’s a robe behind the door,” she said, gesturing to a pink terrycloth robe as she walked out. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. I really was a mess. My clothes were dirty and there was a new hole in my pant leg. My cell beeped and I read the text from Mary Ann telling me Alex Kinsky had just left the hotel. No surprise there but I texted back another thanks.
I placed my MacBook carefully on the floor, far away from the bath, and took some time to explore. On the counter were an electric razor, cologne and a single Sonicare toothbrush. I opened the top drawer next to the sink gingerly. Shaving cream, men’s antiperspirant, a nail clipper but no nail polish or any other evidence of a woman living here. More drawers revealed mouthwash, aspirin, a comb and some hair gel, nothing all that interesting. Not even a bottle of prescription medication.
Which made the robe the housekeeper lent me a bit more interesting. If it belonged to a wife or live-in girlfriend she certainly wasn’t using this bathroom, which implied she wasn’t using the room attached to it either.
I took another sip of my drink, savoring the warm and pleasing effects of the rum and chocolate. It was expected that I would immediately get in the bath. That wasn’t going to happen, at least not yet. For one thing I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a security camera in here. I couldn’t see one but that didn’t mean much. It seemed to me the best way of ensuring that I was unwatched was to do things I wasn’t supposed to do and then wait and see if this broom-wielding-super-model came back in to stop me.
With
that in mind I went into the bedroom. It was well appointed and very masculine with its dark earthy color tone and mahogany furniture. On his nightstand was a copy of Simon Singh’s latest book about the universe and on his desk a half finished New York Times crossword puzzle. Mounted on the wall was a shotgun. I didn’t know much about guns but this one looked old…from an entirely different era. I stepped up to it and let my fingers touch the steel of the trigger. It was a collector’s item…but people who collected old guns usually had new guns too. I went over to the nightstand and there it was, a small handgun. I picked it up. A quick check told me that it was still loaded. If there were a security camera this would be the time someone should be coming up to deal with me. But no one did.
Holding the gun in my hand I went back to the bathroom. I placed the weapon and my drink by the side of the tub and, gingerly, took off my clothes. With each piece I removed I found a new bruise or tender spot. I sank into the heavenly bath and closed my eyes.
But I kept my fingers on the handle of the gun…just in case.
CHAPTER 12
“It’s insulting that men think I’m going home with them just because they bought me an expensive meal. If they really want to get me over there they should invest their money in cocktails.”
--Death Of the Party
I only stayed in the bath for ten minutes. As good as it felt I hadn’t come here for a spa day. I put my bra and panties back on but hesitated before putting on my clothes. They were such an unholy mess. I glanced at the robe and then, with only a moment of hesitation, slipped it on. It was plush, warm and perfect…and it had pockets big enough to hide the handgun in. I went back into the bedroom and was considering looking through a few more drawers when the housekeeper walked in. “You finished the bath?” she asked sounding slightly surprised.
“I’m not really a bath person,” I lied. I looked down at a Marc Jacobs shopping bag in her hand. “What’s that?”
“Mr. Kinsky’s home. He’s waiting for you in the study but he got this for you.” She held the bag out for me but I took a step back.
“He’s buying me gifts?” I asked suspiciously. “Why?”
“Your clothes are all torn up.”
“So he bought me Marc Jacobs?”
“He bought you Marc by Marc Jacobs.”
See, right there, what kind of housekeeper puts emphasis on that kind of distinction? Who was this woman?
I took the bag from her and tried to force my lips into a smile. “Thanks for lending me your robe,” I said as casually as possible.
She broke out laughing. “It is not mine. Mr. Kinsky likes to have a spare robe around just in case.”
“Just in case?” I repeated. “Wait…are you telling me he keeps a woman’s robe on hand just in case he happens to get lucky?”
“Each girl gets to keep her robe, he always gets a new one.”
“A new robe or a new girl?” I asked dryly.
“Both. I’ll wait in here while you change in the bathroom.”
“You don’t need to wait for me while I change.”
The housekeeper simply stood there. It looked like I wasn’t going to have the chance to do any more snooping. With a sigh I went back in the bathroom.
I put on the clothes Alex had selected for me. I really hated to admit this, but they were cute. The tank was made from an incredibly soft cotton and it had four little buttons at the neckline that I made sure were buttoned right up to the top. The shorts were elegant and the silk felt luxurious against my skin. He had even gotten me a skinny leather belt to go with them. The only problem was that he hadn’t gotten me a bra and the black lace number I was wearing did show through, but not by much. He might not notice. Of course there was no way I could carry a gun in the pocket of these shorts without it being noticed so I put it in the shopping bag and my ripped clothes on top of that. Then, after slipping the strap for my MacBook case over my shoulder, I stepped back out and the housekeeper nodded her approval. She adjusted the collar of her shirt and for the first time I noticed the pendant around her neck. It was made up of very clear diamonds arranged to form three linked circles. It was an impressive piece…particularly since it was hanging from the neck of a woman who supposedly cleaned toilets for a living.
“I like your necklace.”
She fingered it gently. “It’s very special to me. Three circles of six diamonds.”
Three circles of six…so 666? How very Dante-esque.
“Mr. Kinsky is waiting.”
We found him in a room that could have been ripped from the pages of Architectural Digest; dark brown leather furniture and an expensive oriental rug over a Brazilian cherry hardwood floor. In one corner was a piano and in the other a bar. Quick inspection revealed it was fully loaded with expensive bourbon, scotch, gin, cognac and a mini fridge. Alex was sitting in a leather armchair, one ankle slung over his knee.
When our eyes met his lips curled into a bemused smile. “So did you enjoy going through my stuff in the bathroom and bedroom?”
My breath caught in my throat. Had there been a security camera after all? If so the gun was going to come in handy. I would definitely have to kill him. “What makes you think I was snooping?” I asked carefully.
“I’m pretty sure it’s what anyone with an ounce of curiosity would have done.” He shifted his eyes to the housekeeper who nodded curtly at her employer before turning around and leaving the room, closing the door behind her. “Besides, the way you tried to get in,” Alex continued once we were alone, “it doesn’t imply that you have a lot of respect for my privacy.”
I felt my shoulders relax. He had a point.
“Margarita tells me you took an Epsom Salt bath?”
“Her name is Margarita?”
“She didn’t tell you? She probably kept it to herself because she knew you would make fun of it.”
“I would never have done that!” I snapped.
“I see,” Alex said sagely. “So breaking into my home, that’s okay, but making fun of someone’s name is beneath you.”
“I wasn’t breaking into your home! I was just going to sneak into your backyard and peek inside your windows.”
Alex’s smile broadened and he got up and walked over to the fireplace. The flames behind him gave him a devilish aura. “Why did you want to peek in my windows?”
“I wanted to see if anyone else lived here.”
“They don’t.”
“Well that’s not exactly true, is it? Margarita lives here.”
“No, she just works here. She’ll be going home soon.”
I hesitated for a moment as that sank in. “We’re going to be alone in the house?”
“Does that frighten you?”
“No,” I lied. “If you’re the GM of the Hotel Noir why did you agree to follow Anatoly up to his room?”
“You gave me a check.”
“It doesn’t look like you need the money.”
“Ah, but I didn’t want your money, I wanted your check.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Should I be worried about that? Is there some kind of identity theft scheme going on?”
“No. You know you have a nasty bruise on your forearm. Would you like another ice pack for that?”
“Oddly enough, this bruise isn’t ranking all that high on my list of worries. Someone broke into my house, went through my underwear drawer, stole all my computer equipment, brought a bunch of my stuff to some hotel room in Vegas that was registered under my name and then killed someone in there…with my underwear in the dresser.”
“You seem particularly concerned about your underwear.”
“No one goes through my underwear drawer, not even my boyfriend.”
“Would that be the boyfriend who cheated on you?”
“Why was the room registered under my name?
Alex held my gaze for a moment and then took several steps toward me. As he got closer I had to fight the urge to take several steps back but I was determined not to allo
w him to intimidate me. When there was less than a foot between us I had to crane my neck up to meet his eyes. He was studying me. Examining my expression, my features, my hair…what exactly was he up to?
That question was answered a second later when he unexpectedly grabbed the Marc Jacobs bag from my hand. I tried to take it back but he immediately moved away from me, while reaching his hand inside the shopping bag. I stood there panicked as he pulled out his gun.
“Listen--”
Alex put up his hand to stop me. “I would have been surprised if you hadn’t taken it,” he said. “You don’t have a lot of reasons to trust me and you’re in my house, in an unfamiliar city and we’re alone.” He held up the gun with the barrel pointing toward the ceiling. “You wanted to protect yourself. The good news is that I didn’t ask you here to harm you.” He unloaded the gun and put it on his desk, tossing the bullets in a drawer. “Do you know why I told Margarita to draw you a bath?”
I shook my head although I barely heard the question. He had unloaded the bullets to calm my fears but what if he had another gun on him?
“I asked her to pour you a bath because you can’t take a bath if you’re wearing a wire. I picked out those shorts because you can’t hide a wire under silk without it bunching and I chose that tank because you can’t hide anything under it…not even a black lace bra.”
I was actually too surprised to be offended. “You thought I was going to come here wearing a wire?”
“And you thought I was planning on hurting you. You tried to protect yourself by taking my gun and I protected myself by buying you new clothes. My way is nicer.”
I glanced down at my outfit. “How did you know my size?”
“I saw the clothes that were brought to the Hotel Noir. You’re a size four. And before you ask, I didn’t look through your underwear.” He smiled mischievously.
There was a knock at the door and Margarita entered without waiting to be asked in. I glanced at Alex to see if that irritated him, but it didn’t seem to.