Any Way You Want It (7 page)

Remy’s frown deepened at the idea of Zandra’s estranged father becoming the next mayor. Though Remy generally regarded politicians as scum-sucking bottom feeders, Landis Kennedy was particularly abhorrent. He was a cold, sadistic motherfucker who’d tormented his wife and daughter for years, robbing Zandra of her childhood and warping her perception of men. Some of Remy’s most violent fantasies involved him cornering Kennedy in a dark alley and dragging the blade of his KA-BAR knife across the man’s throat. Slowly, so the bastard would see the promise of his own death in Remy’s eyes before he took his last breath.

Yeah, he hated the guy
that
much.

Watching the play of emotions across his face, Keegan observed dryly, “I take it there’s no love lost between you and the alderman.”

“Let’s just say I’d sooner vote for Osama bin Laden than Landis Kennedy,” Remy muttered darkly.

“I see.” Keegan eyed him knowingly. “Your animosity wouldn’t have anything to do with your long-standing friendship with Kennedy’s daughter, would it?”

Remy regarded Keegan for a long moment, then leaned forward in his chair and asked in a very low voice, “What’s this about, Lieutenant?”

The air crackled between the two men as they stared at each other.

Keegan was the first to glance away, his lips pressed into a thin line. “The reason I came here today is to tell you that the mayor knows about Zandra Kennedy, and he’s planning to use her escort agency against her father.”

Remy scowled. “That’s ridiculous. Zandra has nothing to do with the old man. She hasn’t seen or spoken to him in ten years.”

Keegan gave a snort of grim laughter. “Since when has that ever mattered in politics? Look how they tried to crucify Obama over his illegal immigrant aunt. It didn’t matter that he really didn’t know that poor woman. She was fair game, and so is Zandra Kennedy.”

Remy clenched his jaw, his gut churning with dread. The last thing he wanted was Zandra’s good name and reputation being dragged through the mud of Chicago politics. She’d be savaged by her father’s campaign rivals and the media, who would cast her in the same sleazy tabloid light as Heidi Fleiss and the D.C. Madam.

“The mayor wants me to hire a private investigator to find out if Zandra’s escorts are engaging in prostitution,” Keegan explained. “He wants the smoking gun that will torpedo Kennedy’s candidacy. That’s why I came to you.”

Remy glared at him. “If you think I’m going to investigate Zandra’s agency behind her back,” he growled, “think again.”

Keegan gave him a level look. “If you turn me down, Norwood
will
hire another firm. Can you guarantee that no illegal behavior will be uncovered?”

Remy frowned, remembering how Roderick and Lena met. She’d been one of Zandra’s escorts, and she’d slept with Roderick on their first date. Though they wound up falling madly in love and getting married, their relationship demonstrated that it
was
possible for any of Zandra’s girls to break the rules on any given night.

“I’m giving you an opportunity to protect Zandra from potential scandal,” Keegan continued. “If you investigate her agency and uncover any wrongdoing, then you can warn her to get her house in order before it’s too late. But you have to do it by the book, Brand,” he added sternly. “You can’t tip her off about the investigation. You need to get legitimate results—good or bad. Covering up the truth will only hurt Zandra in the long run.”

The knot in Remy’s gut pulled tighter. He knew Keegan was right, but damn it, he
hated
the idea of going behind Zandra’s back to investigate her agency. It was the ultimate breach of trust, and she’d never forgive him if she found out.

“I can’t do it,” he said flatly.

Keegan frowned. “Brand—”

“If my investigation reveals that her escorts are having sex with clients, then what? You’ll report back to the mayor, he’ll go public and Zandra will suffer the repercussions.” Remy shook his head. “I can’t do that to her.”

Keegan looked him in the eye. “You have my word that I won’t report any damaging information to Norwood.”

Remy frowned in confusion. “Then what the hell is the point of all this?”

“To appease the mayor. When he’s got his sights set on something, there’s no moving the target.” Keegan’s expression softened. “Look, son, I know how much Zandra Kennedy means to you. Whenever you talked about home, her name came up as often as any of your family members—sometimes more. I have no desire to cause her any trouble, but if the mayor hires another firm to investigate her agency, all bets are off. And we both know there’s nothing to stop any of the other candidates from going that route. If I were you, I’d want to know what kind of ammunition the enemy can use against me.”

Remy held the commander’s intent gaze for a moment, then shoved to his feet and stalked to the windows. He rubbed a hand down his face, rasping the short whiskers of his goatee.

Behind him, he heard the soft creak of leather as Keegan rose from the chair. “I’ve heaped a load onto your shoulders, so I’ll give you till this evening to get back to me with your decision.”

Remy nodded tightly.

Not only had Keegan been one of the best mentors he could have ever asked for, but when the shit hit the fan, he’d put his neck on the line for Remy, intervening with the brass to spare Remy the ignominy of a dishonorable discharge. And now he’d come through for him again.

Remy turned from the window. “Sir.”

Keegan stopped at the door, meeting his gaze.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You didn’t have to. You could have gone to another firm, and I’d have been none the wiser. I really appreciate you looking out.” His lips twisted ruefully. “Of course, if I go through with this and Zandra finds out, she’ll never speak to me again.”

Keegan gave him a smile of sympathetic understanding.

“‘Cheat if you must,’” he said, quoting an old Navy SEAL expression, “‘but don’t get caught.’”

Chapter Six

L
andis Kennedy’s unexpected visit left Zandra shaken for the rest of the day.

On her way home from the office that evening, she mentally replayed the painful confrontation until her insides churned with anger and her eyes burned with fresh tears.

After all these years, and after everything she’d done to put her traumatic past behind her, she should have been immune to her father’s cruelty and hatred. But she wasn’t.

And something told her she never would be.

Closing her eyes, Zandra let the memories wash over her, pulling her deeper under.

Fifteen years ago when she’d graduated from high school as class valedictorian, she’d had her choice of any college or university to attend. Determined to get as far away from home as possible, she’d stunned everyone by accepting admission to Oxford University in England. She’d majored in economics and spent the next four years studying rigorously while working odd jobs to help pay her tuition. She’d loved living abroad, and had only returned home every summer to look after her mother, who remained trapped in an abusive marriage.

No matter how often Zandra implored Autumn Kennedy to leave her husband, to run away and start over someplace new, Autumn had insisted on staying. She was afraid to do anything else. And after her mother passed away, she seemed to cling even more to Landis.

But when Zandra graduated from Oxford, Autumn had made the trip overseas without her husband, who couldn’t be bothered. After the graduation ceremony, she and Zandra had celebrated over lunch. Autumn’s face had held the serene glow of someone who was at peace with herself, a memory that would haunt Zandra years after her death.

When she announced her decision to remain at Oxford for graduate school, Autumn had reached across the table and taken Zandra’s hands between hers. She’d told Zandra that she loved her and was very proud of her, which Zandra already knew. But hearing it again, on that day, had meant the world to her.

Over dessert, Autumn had opened up and spoken poignantly of her own dreams of living the artist’s life in Paris, painting masterpieces inspired by the beauty and romance of the city.

So for the next seven days, she and Zandra had lost themselves in Paris. They’d visited museums, gone for long strolls, sipped coffee at cozy sidewalk cafés, enjoyed the simple pleasure of breaking the crust on a crème brûlée while watching pedestrians dash across a busy street.

And Autumn had painted to her heart’s content. She’d painted people at a market, a red dress hanging in a boutique window, a bridge overlooking the Seine.

And she’d painted Zandra, a tender smile on her face as she’d quietly stroked her brush across the canvas.

It would be the last time Zandra saw her mother alive.

Shortly after Autumn returned home, Zandra received the phone call from her father that would change her life forever.

In a voice devoid of emotion, he’d told her
, Your mother’s dead
.
Come home.

Reeling with shock and grief, she’d rushed back to Chicago, where she learned the unspeakable details of her mother’s suicide.

After washing and folding a load of laundry, Autumn had walked into the bedroom closet and hung herself with one of her husband’s belts. He’d found her there when he came home from work that evening.

Zandra was so absorbed in her dark reverie that she didn’t notice when her driver, Norman, pulled up outside the luxury high-rise on East Delaware and climbed out to open the back door for her. She woodenly thanked him and wished him a good night, then walked into the building, nodded abstractedly to the concierge and rode the elevator to her floor.

As soon as she entered her penthouse, she set down her purse and attaché case, stepped out of her heels and headed straight to her custom-built wine cellar off the kitchen. She needed a drink. The more, the better.

She’d just selected a bottle of merlot when her doorbell rang.

She frowned, wondering who it could be.

Not Remy,
she prayed. After the emotionally trying day she’d had, she couldn’t deal with his overwhelming masculinity or the dangerous feelings he aroused in her.

She’d called him earlier to cancel their lunch date, citing an appointment that came up unexpectedly. In the heavy silence that followed, she’d sensed Remy’s skepticism and displeasure. But to her surprised relief, he’d accepted her excuse and told her he would see her later.

She hoped
later
didn’t mean
tonight.

The doorbell rang again.

With a sigh, she set down the corkscrew and went to answer the door.

She was surprised to find one of her new neighbors standing there holding a bottle of wine.

He smiled, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hi. I hope I’m not intruding. I moved into the building a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been meaning to stop by and introduce myself. My name’s Colin.”

Zandra hesitated, then shook his proffered hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Zandra.”

“I know.” His smile turned sheepish. “I saw you heading out for a jog one morning and asked the doorman your name. He couldn’t say enough wonderful things about you.”

“Oh, I pay him to do that.”

Colin laughed, a warm, easy sound. He was a very attractive man, with dark brown hair, olive skin and the rangy build of a casual athlete.

He held out the bottle to her. “This is for you.”

“Oh, how thoughtful.” Accepting the wine, Zandra glanced at the distinctive label.

“It’s a Napa Valley rosé. I spent a day at the vineyards during my recent business trip to San Francisco.”

Zandra smiled at him. “I appreciate the gift, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You just moved here.
I’m
supposed to bring
you
something to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

His eyes twinkled. “Well, you could always invite me inside for a glass of wine,” he suggested.

“I could.” Zandra gave him an amused, considering look. She didn’t make a habit of welcoming strange men into her home, but Colin seemed harmless enough. She’d glimpsed him around the building once or twice, and judging by the way he’d been staring at her, she’d known it was only a matter of time before he would make his move.

Deciding she could use some company—if only to keep her mind off the troubling events of the day—Zandra opened her door wider. “Please come in.”

Colin smiled with pleasure, stepping into the apartment. As Zandra closed the door behind him, he cast an appreciative look around the spacious living room, taking in the glossy wood floors, luxurious crown molding, richly painted walls, eclectic collection of art and photography, and the plush sofa and chairs strikingly accented with red, chocolate and blue quartz.

He gave a low whistle. “I know we just met, but I need the name of your interior designer. This place is stunning.”

“Thank you.” Zandra smiled, accustomed to the reaction from new visitors. “She’s an old friend. I’d be more than happy to refer you.”

“That’d be great. I’m still settling into my apartment, but you’ve definitely given me something to strive for.”

“That’s good. Have a seat, and I’ll be back with the wine.”

As Zandra headed from the room, Colin went from admiring her decor to blatantly checking out her ass. That, too, was nothing new to her.

Inside the chef’s kitchen, she returned her unopened bottle of merlot to the wine cellar, then uncorked the rosé and filled two glasses.

When she reentered the living room, Colin was standing at the row of windows that boasted spectacular lakefront views. He turned and smiled warmly as Zandra handed him a glass.

“To beautiful new neighbors,” he toasted her.

She smiled. “And neighbors who come bearing gifts.”

They chuckled softly and clinked glasses.

Colin watched as Zandra nosed the aromatic wine, then took an experimental sip. It was delicious, bathing her palate with flavorful notes of strawberry and raspberry with a hint of citrus. “Mmm.”

“Good?”

She sipped again, sighed. “Very good.”

Colin looked as pleased as if he’d fermented and distilled the wine himself.

As he drank from his glass, Zandra noticed that he had the smooth, manicured hands of a man who made a living pushing paper. She couldn’t help comparing them to Remy’s much larger hands, dusted with black hair and callused from years of combat. At the memory of those hands masterfully stroking her body, she flushed all over.

Stop it,
she ordered herself.
Don’t think about Remy. What happened in St. Lucia was a huge mistake, one that shouldn’t
—
won’t
—
be repeated.

As she and Colin moved to the sofa and sat down, she asked conversationally, “So are you new to Chicago, or just this building?”

“New to Chicago,” he answered. “I’m from Phoenix, but I was recently transferred here to head my company’s research and development division.”

“What kind of company do you work for?”

“Software.”

Zandra nodded, crossing her legs. She didn’t miss the way his gaze roamed from the curve of her thighs down to her French-pedicured feet.

His eyes glinted with appreciation. “I’m starting to think this job transfer was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.”

She smiled, sipping more wine.

“So what about you, Zandra? What do you do for a living?”

You’re nothing but a high-priced whore masquerading as an entrepreneur.

She met Colin’s gaze, her chin lifted a defiant notch. “I own an escort agency.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “An escort agency?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.” He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a mad—” He caught himself, stopping just short of calling her a madam.

After an awkward pause, he eyed her curiously. “What made you decide to open an escort agency?”

Zandra didn’t feel like getting into the multilayered reasons, so she merely responded, “Escorting is one of the most profitable businesses in the world. Wealthy men will always seek the company of beautiful women, so I’m more than happy to bring them together.”

She’d spoken with such cool, clinical detachment that Colin raised his brows. “But don’t you ever worry about...you know, getting in trouble with the law?”

Zandra gave him a look of amused indulgence. “You’re assuming that all escorts are prostitutes and all escort agencies are in the business of prostitution. I won’t deny that many are, but contrary to what moralizing politicians and overzealous cops would have you believe, there
are
exceptions. A business that books clients and sends them to a woman’s home or hotel room isn’t an escort agency. My escorts accompany clients to social and business functions. They’re paid for their time and companionship, not sexual favors. Just because the public has been trained to believe that every professional escort is a hooker doesn’t make it so.”

When she’d finished speaking, Colin held up his hands, looking thoroughly abashed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend—”

“You didn’t offend,” Zandra said mildly. “You asked a question based on a common misconception, so I took the opportunity to enlighten you.”

Colin smiled, staring at her. If he’d been merely interested before, he was now fascinated, as evidenced by his next words.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

Zandra chuckled. “So you’ve already said.”

“No, I don’t mean because of what you do for a living. You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, Zandra, and you have this really seductive aura of mystery. Honestly, I’ve spent the past two weeks just working up the nerve to introduce myself to you.”

Zandra smiled, touched by his sincerity. “Well, I’m glad you came by. I always enjoy making new friends. Especially ones who have excellent taste in wine.”

Colin grinned. “I have to fly back to San Fran in two weeks. Maybe you could go with me, and we could pack a picnic lunch and spend a day in Napa Valley—”

Zandra laughed. “Or maybe we could just start with dinner first. In Chicago,” she added pointedly.

His grin deepened. “That works, too. Are you free on Friday night?”

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang.

Zandra automatically tensed. Because this time she
knew
who was at the door.

Colin eyed her curiously. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.”
But that’s never stopped him before.

Setting down her glass, Zandra rose and walked to the front door.

Sure enough, Remy stood there in shirtsleeves with his hands tucked into his pockets, the hem of his dark suit pants folding over huge combat boots.

Zandra’s pulse hammered at the way he was looking at her from beneath the thick veil of his lashes.

“Hey,” he murmured.

She swallowed dryly. “This isn’t a good time.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Not tonight,” she said, wedging herself in the doorway so he couldn’t see inside the apartment. “We can talk tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not tonight?”

“Because I—”

“Zandra, I’m going to get some more wine.”

At the sound of Colin’s voice behind her, Remy’s expression darkened. “Who the hell is that?”

Bristling at his possessive tone, she snapped, “None of your damn business.”

As she moved to close the door, his arm shot out, quick as lightning. She gasped as he put his hand to the door and shoved it open, forcing her backward as he barged inside.

His eyes swept over the living room, homing in on the two wineglasses sitting on the coffee table. “You have company?”

She hated that his accusatory tone made her feel guilty, as if she’d been caught cheating.

She scowled. “As a matter of fact—”

She broke off as Colin returned from the kitchen holding the bottle of wine.

He pulled up short at the sight of Remy looming in the foyer. The look that came over his face reminded Zandra of someone who just realized that he’d wandered into the path of a grizzly bear.

Not only did Remy
look
capable of tearing Colin apart with his bare hands, Zandra knew he was.