Dressed to Kill (COBRA Securities Book 22)

by Velvet Vaughn

  Dressed to Kill

  Velvet Vaughn

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2021 VELVET VAUGHN LLC

  ISBN: 978-1-7357807-6-4

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Visit Velvet’s website at www.velvetvaughn.com and her Facebook Fanpage HERE.

  Dedication

  This is the hardest dedication I’ll ever make. This book, and every other one I write, is dedicated to my beloved mom, Lana, who unexpectedly passed away. She was my best friend, my confidant, my everything. She taught me all I needed to know in life, except how to live without her.

  Acknowledgments

  A writer is nothing without readers. I want to sincerely thank all of you who purchase my books. You are the reason I do this, and I’m so grateful. A special thanks to those who reach out to me—I love hearing from you.

  I would also like to thank my original Street Team members and those of you who leave reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, and other platforms. They are so crucial to a writer, and I appreciate you taking the time to do so for my books.

  A special thanks to my editor Megan. And would be overwhelmed without my social media guru, Kristy. Thank you so much!

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Notes

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Renee Stickler was done with Brooklyn Fontana getting the best outfits and the top placement in runway shows. Renee had been in the industry longer, and while she might not be as popular or in demand as Brooklyn, she had a unique look that designers loved.

  Yes, maybe her mahogany hair tended to split and frizz, and perhaps her eyes were too far apart, and her face might sport more freckles than the average person. Still, she could rock a picture like no one’s business. She’d been featured in publications worldwide with her unique looks and signature quirky style. The cameras loved her.

  She’d earned her coveted spot among the top supermodels in the world with blood, sweat, and thousands of buckets of tears. She’d lost count of the foot ailments she’d suffered from wearing high heels for years on end. Her shins and lower back hurt constantly, and she couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t been on a strict diet. She lived and breathed modeling. It was all she knew.

  It was her life.

  With those thoughts in mind, she didn’t feel the least bit guilty for grabbing Night Glory, the pièce de résistance of the Galindo collection from Brooklyn’s rack. After a quick look around to make sure no one paid her any attention—behind the scenes at a runway show was notoriously chaotic—she snatched the hanger from Brooklyn’s stand, replaced it with the dress she was supposed to wear, and hurried to her station. The organized madness provided the perfect cover. No one noticed her thievery.

  Her dresser, Martina, gave her a strange look but said nothing as she helped her into the gown. Good. Martina’s job was to make Renee look amazing, not stick her beak-like nose into anything that wasn’t her business. She spoke little English, so they mainly communicated through hand gestures. Martina might be cursing her for her daring stunt, but Renee didn’t care.

  Renee and Brooklyn were approximately the same size, so she was sure it would fit with a bit of tweaking. Galindo had the garment specially tailored to fit Brooklyn. Nothing a few pins or popped stitches couldn’t fix. She would claim she put it on because it was at her station—after the show. She’d swear it was an honest mistake. What was the saying about it being better to ask for forgiveness than permission?

  The silky material slid down her body like a second skin. Damn, the gown was exquisite. A plethora of hand-sewn crystals made it sparkle like a thousand stars in the sky. With Martina’s help, she adjusted the fit. Twisting this way and that in the mirror, she looked spectacular, if she did say so herself.

  She hurried to her place in line for the last walk of the evening. All the models would showcase one final design before Galindo was announced to the crowd.

  Brooklyn didn’t even glance at her as she left the stage and dashed to change. Renee smiled wickedly. Tonight was her night, and she was killing it.

  #

  “Let’s move it, ladies. Faster. Faster. Faster. It’s the finale,” Antonio, the backstage manager, barked in his Italian-accented English. “Three minutes, Brooklyn.”

  Brooklyn Fontana nodded to let him know she heard and hurried to her rack for the last outfit of the night—Galindo’s showpiece. It was a stunning gown in midnight blue that fit her perfectly. Galindo designed it specifically for her to commemorate the last runway show of her long career. She’d spent hours at his shop in Rome having the dress tailored to her exact proportions. Fitted with hand-sewn Swarovski crystals, it twinkled like the evening sky. Galindo had named it Night Glory, and it was spectacular.

  Beatriz Pace met her as she descended the steps. Like the other dressers, Beatriz wore all black, making it easier to spot her among the throng of people rushing about backstage. Brooklyn had worked with her several times, so she knew her talents and was confident in her abilities. Strapped around one of Beatriz’s wrists was a kit that held pins, tape, an emergency sewing kit, and a tiny pair of scissors. She always prepared for anything, and she’d stitched Brooklyn up more times than she could count.

  “Let’s get Night Glory on you.” Beatriz reached for the straps on Brooklyn’s top. She was already stripping off the garment she’d just showcased. Models learned to change quickly, and things like inhibitions or shyness were overcome after the first runway show.

  Beatriz grabbed the top from her as she worked on the pants. As she approached her rack, her steps faltered. The dress hanging on her bar, while beautiful, was not Night Glory. The gown had been there during her last outfit change, but now it was missing. Even the shoes that had been resting beneath were absent.

  Beatriz noticed and gasped. “It’s gone,” she screeched. Her head swiveled, searching for the missing garment. She grabbed one of the fashion show coordinators. “Have you seen Night Glory?”

  “Yes, Renee Stickler is wearing it,” the woman told her.

  Beatriz cursed. “She just went on stage!” She stomped over to Renee’s dresser, Martina. “Why is
Renee wearing Brooklyn’s gown?”

  Martina held up her hands and spoke in broken English. “She said Galindo changed his mind and wanted her to wear it.”

  Brooklyn was pretty sure steam poured from her ears. “We don’t have time to worry about it, Beatriz. I’ll have to wear her outfit.”

  Beatriz gave Martina a cross look as she ripped the hanger from the rack and swiped the shoes. It took less than a minute to shimmy into the blue-green sheath. Renee’s bust was fuller, but Beatriz didn’t have time to work her pinning magic. Brooklyn hoped her boobs didn’t pop out unexpectantly. She stepped into the heels that were a size too big as Antonio, the backstage manager, shouted her name.

  “Thanks,” she told Beatriz as she headed to the stage.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She stopped and turned to the woman. “It’s not your fault. Renee stole it.”

  Beatriz nodded, but Brooklyn could tell she didn’t believe the words. She didn’t have time to placate her as she rushed forward and climbed the steps leading to the stage.

  A hand shot out in front of her. “What the hell, Brooklyn?” Antonio boomed. “Where’s Night Glory? It’s Galindo’s showpiece.”

  “Renee stole it and walked right past you.”

  Antonio’s jaw dropped, and his head swiveled to the stage. “Damn, I missed it.”

  “Too late now. We need to finish strong.”

  She moved past him and waited for the model in front of her to go before she followed. She passed Renee, and it took every bit of restraint to keep from tripping her. Renee had the audacity to wink saucily at her. Oh no, she didn’t get to be flippant. There would be hell to pay when this was over.

  Pushing all thoughts of Renee and Night Glory from her mind, Brooklyn squared her shoulders and started down the runway with her signature walk. She matched her steps to the music from the popular band Galindo hired to play for the show. Cameras flashed continuously, and she soaked it all in. This had been her life for the last fourteen years. She’d started when she was fifteen and had worked consistently since. Though she’d continue to do editorial and print ads occasionally, this would be her last runway show. She was eager to move on to bigger and better things. She was about to debut her signature line of dresses, and she was executive producing a show to discover the next supermodel. Her plate was so full it overflowed.

  She reached the end and paused to allow the photographers time to snap pictures of the dress. With a hand on her hip, she shifted her weight and struck another pose and then one more before turning with a flip of her hair to start the trip back.

  Clapping, she took her spot with the other models as they lined up in a row when Galindo was announced. He came out to raucous applause. Waving his arms in the air, he took in the crowd and then turned to acknowledge the models. His eyes narrowed thunderously when he noticed Renee wearing his unique creation.

  The show had been scripted for Brooklyn to accompany Galindo down the runway wearing Night Glory as the finale. Since Renee stole the dress, Brooklyn assumed she would be the one to end the show. Galindo surprised her—and Renee—when he took Brooklyn’s hand and led her instead.

  “What happened?” he whispered with a thick Italian accent, his grin firmly in place. “I created that gown specifically for you, Tesoro.”

  “Renee stole the dress while I was on stage,” she answered as she smiled at the cameras. “She was gone before anyone could stop her.”

  “Cagna,” he muttered, and she chuckled. She’d learned enough Italian over the years to know he’d called her a bitch. She agreed.

  They paused at the end while Galindo took his bows. She clapped along with the audience. He turned and swept his hands at her. She graciously curtsied to the roaring crowd. Sliding her arm through his, they headed back. Brooklyn eyed Renee as they approached. Her face had drained of color. Good. She should be worried. Galindo would never hire her again, and news would spread through the modeling world. She’d be lucky to book another show in the foreseeable future.

  As Brooklyn watched, Renee swayed, her eyes rolled back in her head, and then she plummeted face-first to the floor. The onlookers gasped in horror as the stage manager hastily pulled the curtains to shield her from view.

  No one else reacted. It wasn’t uncommon for a model to faint from food deprivation, dehydration, stress, or heat from the harsh overhead lighting. In fact, it happened at many shows, mostly backstage but sometimes out in the open. She recalled asking one model why her knees were bruised so often. She shrugged it off, saying that she lost consciousness daily, sometimes more than once. She thought it was no big deal.

  Renee had probably passed out from a guilty conscience.

  The other models moved off the stage, leaving Renee where she lay. Some even carelessly stepped over her prone body in their haste to depart. A reporter snagged Galindo, and he went to give interviews.

  As upset as Brooklyn was with Renee, she couldn’t stand back and do nothing. She took a step forward just as two paramédicos jogged onto the stage.

  Standing back, she watched as they rolled Renee over. The overhead lights caught the crystals on Night Glory, making it sparkle brilliantly. It was a gorgeous dress, and Galindo was gifting it to her as a thank you for her years modeling his designs. She planned on adding it to her collection.

  After a few frantic minutes, the medics stopped working and stuffed their supplies back into their bags, but Renee still hadn’t moved or woken up. Brooklyn stepped forward.

  She tapped one of the men on the shoulder. “Why aren’t you helping her?” she asked, with a hand gesture indicating to Renee.

  The other medic turned to her and shook his head. “There is nothing we can do for her now. She is dead.”

  Chapter One

  Gage Monahan stepped out of the shower after a grueling workout and grabbed a towel. He was back to one hundred percent after getting caught up in a bomb blast on his last assignment. He’d suffered no significant damage, just a mild concussion along with bumps and bruises, but those went along with the job. Besides, he’d endured worse injuries as a United States Navy SEAL and never complained.

  Pulling a fresh T-shirt and shorts from his locker, he slid them on before stepping into his shoes. Tossing the towel in a bin, he exited the bathroom. Dante Costa motioned him over.

  “What are you doing here on a Sunday?” Gage asked.

  Dante was in charge of training and conditioning the athletes, and he was a beast. He demanded the best out of everyone and got it. If you didn’t pass Dante’s grueling tests, you didn’t become an agent. Simple as that. He usually spent the weekends with his gorgeous wife and their three children.

  Dante indicated to his son. “Kai challenged me on the obstacle course.”

  “I almost beat him, too,” Kai boasted.

  “He did,” Dante said with a shake of his head. “The kid’s got mad skills.”

  Kai flexed his muscles proudly.

  Gage grinned fondly. Kai was the toughest, sweetest kid he’d ever met. He’d single-handedly saved the life of his stepsister, as well as two other girls. Gracie Costa had been abducted by her psychotic father. If Kai hadn’t jumped unnoticed into the back of the truck at the last minute, there was no telling what would have happened to the young girl. Kai did the same thing when he witnessed another girl being kidnapped, leading to the discovery of a second victim. Brave was too weak of a word to use to describe him. Heroic was more like it.

  “The bosses called and wanted to see you in the main conference room ASAP,” Dante informed him.

  On a Sunday? That was strange. They usually spent time with their families on the weekend, too.

  “You’re in trouble,” Kai mocked. He danced around Gage, his small fists boxing the air in front of him. “Need me to come along and knock some sense into Luke and Logan? I can, you know.”

  Gage smiled at the pint-sized warrior. He didn’t doubt Kai could take on the world—and win. He already had several times in his young life.
“Thanks, but I’ve got this.” He tossed his water bottle into the recycling bin.

  “Just let me know,” Kai offered. “I’m small, but I’m fierce.”

  Gage waved. “I know you are, Little C.”

  He jumped into a golf cart and motored to the office building located inside the COBRA Securities compound. He passed the gigantic aquarium in the lobby and bypassed the elevator for the stairs. Despite it being the weekend, a few people were milling about inside. Logan Bradley and Luke Colton, his bosses and the founders of COBRA Securities, were big on making sure their staff balanced work and leisure. They encouraged time off, vacation days, and spending time with family. Since Gage was single, he’d prefer to keep busy, but they insisted he took breaks between assignments.

  Gage entered the meeting room on the top floor set up with videoconferencing equipment. Luke and Logan were seated at the table in T-shirts and shorts. He felt at ease in his tee and cut-off sweats.

  “Hey, Gage. Have a seat,” Luke said. “Sorry to summon you in on a Sunday, but we had a call from a potential high-profile client that couldn’t wait.”

  “Not a problem,” he assured them as he took a seat across the table.

  “We have a conference call in a few minutes with Ginny Hurst of Hurst Entertainment,” Logan informed him. “We’ve spoken to her once today. She wants to hire us to protect her daughter. We’ll let her explain the situation to you.”

  Luke punched buttons on the phone, and a few seconds later, a picture appeared on the screen of an attractive woman in her late forties, if Gage had to guess. Her platinum hair was artfully styled, and intelligent blue eyes stared at him.

  “Ms. Hurst, thank you for joining us,” Luke said. “With us is Gage Monahan, one of our finest agents.”

  The words warmed Gage, even though he knew the bosses felt that way about all the women and men they hired. They selected the best of the best, and he was honored to be on their staff.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen, and hello, Mr. Monahan. A little background on me. I’m the CEO of Hurst Entertainment. I started the company twenty-five years ago as a boutique agency. We’ve grown to have offices in New York, Los Angeles, Toronto, Paris, London, and Sydney. Have you heard of the supermodel Brooklyn Fontana?”