Compact with the Devil: A Novel (22 page)

“Oh, and here is your phone.” She produced a phone from her pocket; it was plastic-wrapped and sealed. “We were told we could not retrieve your phone messages. Apparently, your phone is in repair? We gave you an unassigned Carrie Mae phone as a loaner. Just mail it back to us when you’re done. We also included a manual for airbrush makeup techniques.” Svenka paused, a frown wrinkling her brow. “Did you really mean to have the actual makeup manual?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to do a bit of body-painting on some devil girls,” said Nikki.

“Oh.” Svenka’s forehead furrowed even further. Devil girls were apparently not on the list of common problems for a Paris Carrie Mae agent. “They must give you the really difficult assignments,” she said at last. “To tell the truth, I thought you’d be taller.”

“I get that a lot,” said Nikki.

“Hey, Nikki,” said Kit, making a beeline toward her from the front counter. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Svenka’s jaw drop. “You’re rooming with Holly; she said that would be cool. Here’s your key. Can you come up to my room as soon as you’re settled in? I think Brandt has some plan about reporters and studios and I might need reinforcements.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Nikki. “Kit, I’d like you to meet my company rep, Svenka. She’s dropping off some clothes for me. Svenka, this
is Kit Masters.” Svenka closed her mouth and mustered her composure.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Masters. Welcome to Paris.”

“Thanks,” said Kit, shaking hands. “I guess Carrie Mae really takes care of their people.”

“Indeed,” replied Svenka breathlessly. “We certainly try. Nikki is one of our top consultants.”

“Oh,” said Kit, clearly unsure of what that meant. “Well, she’s certainly gone above and beyond for us.” Kit added one of the brilliant smiles that made people fall in love with him, and Nikki watched in disgust as Svenka beamed back at him. “See you upstairs, Nikki?” he asked.

Nikki nodded. “Be up in a minute.”

“Oh my,” said Svenka, fanning herself and dropping back into her chair as Kit walked away. “He is so handsome! I thought I was going to faint! And so nice!”

“He has his moments,” said Nikki.

“Wait until I tell the girls! They are never going to believe me. Did you know he’s the son of one of our very own agents?”

“Yes,” said Nikki dryly. “I’m aware.”

“You are so lucky!” said Svenka. “If you need anything else from us just call the number programmed into your phone.”

“That’s me. Ms. Lucky.” Nikki sighed. She was being grumpy. And worse than grumpy, she was feeling a wave of sniffly, self-pitying wanna-stay-home-and-snuggle-with-the-boyfriend-she-didn’t-have-anymore wash over her. She had been doing so well. This was not the time to succumb to the breakup blues.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Astriz?” she asked. If Valerie Robinson had been saddled with a partner she didn’t request who then subsequently disappeared, Val would have continued on without a second thought and certainly without stopping to
collect Nikki. Nikki suspected that Astriz was not going to be any different. She was going to be on her own when it came to catching up with Astriz and Cano.

“Not yet,” said Svenka. “But we programmed your current caseload alerts onto the phone. If she checks in, you’ll get a text. And if we hear anything about Cano, we’ll immediately contact you.”

“What about Camille?” asked Nikki, feeling another wave of fatigue sweep over her. Dealing with rogue Carrie Mae agents seemed to be half her life. Shouldn’t she just be dealing with the bad guys?

“Camille Masters?” asked Svenka, her head cocking to one side like a bird. “I did not know that she was in Europe. Is she visiting her son?”

“Not sure,” said Nikki, hedging, “but she is in Europe, and I need to find her before she does something stupid.”

“I could add her to your watch list, I suppose,” she said.

“Thanks, Svenka,” Nikki said, making an effort. “I really appreciate your helping me out.”

“Of course,” Svenka answered with chipper confidence. “We are Carrie Mae. What else would we do but help you help the world!”

“Yes,” said a Teutonic voice laconically, “what else would we do?”

Astriz dropped into the seat between Nikki and Svenka. Nikki smiled in surprise.

“Welcome to Paris, Nicole. I see that you have managed to get reequipped.”

“The Paris branch is being friendly,” said Nikki. “Svenka, meet Astriz. Astriz, Svenka.”

“I like friendly,” said Astriz, giving Svenka a once-over. “Do they have any leads on Camille?”

“They didn’t realize she was in Europe,” said Nikki. “Do you have any leads on Cano?”

“One,” said Astriz. “I nearly had him in Reims, but Camille ran me off the road. It was a … what does your military say? A cluster-screw?”

“Not quite, but same meaning,” said Nikki.

“Camille is a highly respected agent,” said Svenka, looking uncertainly from Astriz to Nikki. “She’s friends with our director. Why would she run you off the road?”

“She’s not thinking clearly,” said Nikki. “We need to find her.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Svenka doubtfully.

“Speaking of the Masters family,” said Astriz, “what have you found about Herr Masters?”

“Well, apparently most of the accidents were an attempt to make Kit reconsider his career choice. Show him that stardom isn’t so great and maybe get him to take a break from it all,” said Nikki, choosing to leave out the person who caused the accidents. “It was for his ‘own good.’” Nikki made air quotes around the last phrase. “No connection to Cano.”

“Very strange,” said Svenka.

“However, the most recent incident—a truck deliberately crashing the tour bus—wasn’t connected to the other accidents. So I have to assume it’s connected to Cano. And we’re back at square one in terms of figuring out who on the tour is in cahoots with Cano.”

“Cahoots?” repeated Svenka, and belatedly Nikki remembered that they were both non-native English speakers.

“Collusion, alliance, in league with,” said Nikki, waiting for the lightbulb moment.

“Ah!” said Astriz at last. “Well, it would have to be someone
who could alert Cano or the truck driver to the tour bus’s exact location.”

Nikki nodded. “Someone with an ax to grind, who doesn’t want Kit to succeed.”

“You have someone in mind?” asked Svenka.

“I have two top suspects. Angela—the tour manager—has been leaving alcohol in Kit’s greenrooms. Or there’s Duncan, Kit’s bodyguard, who has a picture of Camille and her husband from the IRA days and was covering up the accidents.”

“But what does either of them gain from killing Herr Masters?”

“I’m not sure,” said Nikki. “Angela seems bitter and angry now that Kit’s sober and making his own decisions. And I know Duncan is hiding something. I just don’t know what.”

“Kit doesn’t have very much family,” said Svenka helpfully. “Just his grandmother and Camille. Maybe he left either Duncan or Angela money in his will?”

“Pulled his file, did you?” asked Astriz.

“
Maxim
magazine interview,” muttered Svenka, blushing.

“So … just Camille and his grandmother,” repeated Nikki, staring off into space.

“Who would presumably inherit,” murmured Astriz. Nikki shared a look with her.

“Well, thank you, Svenka,” said Nikki, standing up and holding out her hand. “You have been very helpful.” Svenka looked confused but stood also.

“Of course,” she said, “I am happy to help.” Svenka shook hands with Nikki and Astriz and walked out of the lobby, pausing to wave at the door. Astriz watched her all the way.

“Cute ass,” said Astriz as the revolving door spun back around empty. “Too bad that she’s not so”—she tapped her forefinger against her temple—“smart.”

“I think she’s just young,” said Nikki, sitting back down and putting her feet up on the coffee table. “You don’t think Camille would really hurt Kit, do you?”

“It seems implausible,” said Astriz, “but you had the same thought or you wouldn’t have sent our little friend packing.”

“The person who was creating the accidents was the retired Carrie Mae agent Camille had watching Kit—Trista Elliot. Trista’s been following Camille’s orders to scare Kit into leaving the rock star life.”

“So maybe Camille wants to kill Kit for money, but going to Cano … I don’t think even Camille…”

“I don’t buy it,” agreed Nikki. “She’s terrified someone will hurt Kit. I’m not saying her decisions are rational, or even smart, but I do think she’s trying to protect Kit the best way she knows how. I don’t think she gives a damn about money.”

“Back at the beginning then,” said Astriz glumly.

Nikki laced her fingers behind her head and stared at the ceiling. “Svenka’s right. I need to look at Kit’s will. Cano wants to kill because of his history, but whoever’s working with Cano wouldn’t have that history. It has to be something basic, something simple, like money.”

“What about Camille?” asked Astriz.

“She may be off her rocker, but we have to proceed like she’s on our side.”

“She wrecked my car,” said Astriz. “She is not on my side.”

“Point taken,” said Nikki. “But you can’t shoot her.”

“Punch her in the face?” asked Astriz.

“Sure, sounds great,” said Nikki. “But we need to get her and Cano under control.”

“We have word that one of his associates may be at a club later tonight,” said Astriz. “I was planning to either follow him or capture
him and force him to tell us where Cano is. I can pick you up when we go.”

Nikki nodded. “That will give me some time to question Kit about his will.”

“Then we have a plan,” said Astriz, standing. “I will call for you at ten.” Nikki nodded and Astriz strode off with the briefest of waves.

“Val-like and yet not,” said Nikki thoughtfully to herself.

Nikki waited in the lobby for Astriz with a feeling of self-satisfaction. True, she hadn’t been able to get the details of Kit’s will, but she had managed to lend a little anti-Brandt support and talk Kit into having dinner with the band. And more important, Kit had endured the entire hour of dinner with drinkers without even breaking a sweat. Seeing the occasional glass of wine on the table had not sent Kit reaching for the nearest bottle, and the band had been glad to see him. Even Duncan had cracked a smile when Hammond told a story about an Amsterdam lounge singer, dueling pianos, and Kit parked on top of a piano like Michelle Pfeiffer in
The Fabulous Baker Boys
.

Which was a far different mood than Duncan had been in when she’d first arrived in Kit’s room. Brandt had been pushing Kit to let the press follow him around.

“So they can, what? Snap pics of me napping? No bloody thanks!” exclaimed Kit as Duncan let Nikki into the room, his face grimmer than usual.

“Well, then let them come with you to the AA meeting tonight,” said Brandt.

“Absolutely not.” Brandt appeared caught off guard by the stark refusal in Kit’s voice, and Angela lifted her head in surprise. “Meetings are private for a reason. The people there give me support and understanding, and I am not about to exploit them just to give myself good press. Being who I am already makes it hard enough for people to open up. My meetings stay anonymous, do you hear me?”

“Yeah, sure, Kit, we can do it your way,” said Brandt coolly.

“It’s the second A, for Christ’s sake!” shouted Kit, as if just realizing what AA stood for.

“Fine!” snapped Brandt. “I said we wouldn’t do it, already.” It was Kit’s turn to look surprised at Brandt’s outburst. “But we have to do something.” Brandt ran his hand over his hair, feeling the gelled ridges but not disturbing his coif. “If you’re not going to do it tonight, then it’ll have to be New Year’s Eve, the day of the concert—maybe you can take some press to the studio.”

“I really don’t want to,” said Kit distinctly, his jaw clenched. “I’m not ready to take anything into the studio, let alone complete strangers. You need to stop pushing me.”

“Look, if you say you don’t want to do it, then you don’t do it. Simple as that.” Brandt snapped his fingers in emphasis, but Nikki frowned. Brandt was giving in too easily. Had he had a change of heart? Or did he just have some other plan up his sleeve? “So the schedule is: meeting for you tonight, press junket tomorrow, take it easy day of the thirty-first. Just some sound checks and runthroughs on the day of.”

“Yeah, no problem,” said Kit with a dismissive wave.

Brandt and Angela had left then, Angela shooting her a look of poisonous dislike. Kit had looked up at her as if he couldn’t
remember why she was there and Nikki felt ready to sink into the floor. The one time she actually answered his call, and now he didn’t want her.

“Hey,” said Nikki, feeling a blush starting around her collarbone. “I was going to dinner with the gang. Thought you might want to come along.”

Kit hesitated. “I have to go to this thing tonight.”

“Yeah, I heard. No biggie.”

“But wait, wait.” He glanced nervously at Duncan as if for reassurance. “Maybe I can stop by for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“OK, let me get my jacket.” Kit grinned and dashed into the bedroom.

“What do you think you’re doing?” hissed Duncan as soon as Kit was out of the room.

“I’m inviting him to dinner.”

“You can’t just treat him like he’s a normal person! He’s an alcoholic and a rock star. You can’t just invite him to things.”

“He’s going to have to see people drinking eventually,” Nikki retorted. “And besides, he’s going to a meeting right afterward. Seems like this would be the perfect opportunity to test the waters.”

“Ta-da!” said Kit, jumping out of the bedroom and posing. “Don’t I look smashing?” He flipped up the collar of a suit jacket he’d put on over his blue hoodie. “Brandt left it here. I think it looks rather good on me.” He did a spin and threw his hands up in a rock star pose.

Nikki laughed. “Absolutely smashing! Can we go?”

“But of course, darling, but of course.” He had offered her his arm, and Nikki had taken it, suppressing the urge to make a face at Duncan.

Nikki was still reveling in her triumph over Duncan when
Astriz pulled up in a beat-up Yugo, looking miserable. Laughing, Nikki stepped out to the curb.