Deadly Embrace (22 page)

He looks like one of those neo-Nazis
, Madison thought.
Or one of those skinheads who hate everybody
.

"See what you made me do!" he screamed. "See what you mothafuckers
made me do! Get me a fuckin' van, or I'll sfloot another one of you."
He retreated to the other side of the room, where he and his two
cohorts formed a tight group.

Cole removed the cloth from one of the tables and draped it over
the girl who had been shot. She was quite obviously dead.

The women hostages were wailing and sobbing, the male ones were
just plain scared.

"He's a kid," Madison whispered to Cole. "Did you see his
face?"

"I saw it all right," Cole said grimly. "Wish I hadn't."

"I know," she agreed. "He can't be more than seventeen or
eighteen."

"Listen," he said in a low voice, "I'm gonna try an' talk to some
of the guys, see if we can take 'em."

"No, Cole. He's got an Uzi, he could kill every one of us."

"I don't think so," Cole said.

"Why not?" Madison said urgently. "He's already killed twice, he's
got nothing to lose."

"We can take him, Maddy. Like you said—he's a kid."

"Surely you
know
what kids are capable of?" she argued.
"Remember the Columbine school massacre?"

"Then what're we
supposed
to do?" Cole asked, completely
frustrated. "Sit here and take it? Give him a chance to pick us off
one by one?"

Cole was right, they had to do something. But then again, it was
foolish to take risks.

"I need to talk to that hostage negotiator again," she said,
feeling strangely brave. "It appears they have no intention of
getting a van here. Maybe I can convince them."

The main gunman swaggered into the center of the room. Now that
he'd removed his ski mask, he seemed boastful and triumphant. He
surveyed his captives.

Madison raised her hand. She noticed white powder on the tip of
his nose and her stomach flip-flopped.

"What the fuck
d'you
want?" he yelled, eyes glittering
dangerously.

"Let me speak to the negotiator again."

"You did shit last time."

"I know I can help," she said, her words almost tripping over one
another. "Please, can I give it another try?"

"Yeah," he sneered. "Tell 'em what went down here. An' tell 'em
that in fifteen fuckin' minutes, I'm shootin' another one."

* * *

"I don't want to be alone tonight," Sofia said as the Bentley pulled
up in front of the boardinghouse she was staying in.

"Excuse me?" Gianni said. He had never met anyone like Sofia
before; she was a-girl full of surprises.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she repeated, biting on her
lower lip. "Have you got a floor or something I can camp out on?"

He raised a surprised eyebrow. "Are you asking to come home with
me?"

"You're trustworthy—aren't you?" she said, deciding that he
was. "And anyway," she added, "you
know
what I can do if
you're not. Scream bloody murder."

"I'm staying in a hotel. If you like, I will book you into a
room."

"You don't understand," she explained. "It's not that I need
a
room; it's, like, I can't be alone right now."

"You can't be alone," he repeated.

"Sometimes I get totally freaked in the middle of the night and
have bad dreams."

"You wish to sleep with me?"

"Not
sleep
with you," she corrected. "Be in the same
room."

"You are making no sense, young lady," he said sternly.

"Hey, c'mon, don't call me 'young lady' like you're some old dude
ready for the graveyard. How old are you, anyway?"

"Forty-six. I'm sure as far as you're concerned, forty-six
is
an old ... dude."

"Are you gay?" she asked, fixing him with a direct gaze.

"Do I
look
gay?" he replied, quite affronted.

"No," she said, thinking that he looked like he'd stepped out of a
magazine ad for expensive male fashions. "Thing is—these days
one never knows. Actually," she added with a sigh, "I wish you
were
."

"You do?"

"Jace—one of my best friends—was gay. The problem was,
there was no way I could keep tabs on him. We were traveling around
Europe together, and he kept on, like,
totally
getting himself
into weird situations."

"What sort of situations?"

"Stuff you wouldn't approve of."

"May I ask how old
you
are?"

"Um ... uh ... eighteen."

"How long have you been traveling around Europe by yourself?"

"It's cool," she said, not wishing to get into a discussion about
her travels.

"If you were my daughter it wouldn't be ... cool."

"My dad doesn't give a shit," she said, shrugging. "He's probably
glad to be rid of me."

"Where is your father?"

"Who knows?" she said vaguely. "Sometimes he's in New York,
sometimes Vegas. That's where I'm from, y'know, Las Vegas."

"People are actually born there?"

"What did you think—that everyone goes there
just
to
lose their money?"

"Las Vegas is an odd place."

"You ever visited?"

"Once, for a special charity event."

"Of course," she said sarcastically. "Why else would a dignified
man like you be caught dead in a hokey place like Vegas?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're, like, so up yourself," she said, shivering.

"I
beg
your pardon?"

"Mr. Uptight. It wouldn't kill you to chill out."

"I am very relaxed. It's you who are nervous."

"So," she said, dreading the thought of being alone, "can I sleep
with you, or not? And I don't mean 'sleep' in the biblical sense. I
mean, y'know, just kinda like stay in the same bed or something, so
long as you don't come anywhere near me."

"Sofia, my dear, as tempting a proposition as it is, I do not
imagine my girlfriend would approve."

"You have a girlfriend?" she said, startled.

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I dunno, you seem like, uh ... asexual."

"That's an extremely insulting comment to make to an Italian
man."

"Sorry."

"Why would you think that?"

"I dunno," she said, fidgeting on the luxurious leather seat.
"You're, like, so all put together, with your expensive suit and your
snooty attitude. I can't imagine you getting it on with anyone. Who
is your girlfriend, anyway?"

"A famous model."

"Oh," she said, giggling. "So you fuck the help—is that
it?"

"You're an extremely rude girl."

"Some people get off on that."

"Not me, Sofia."

"Well, I guess I'll have to sit in my bed by myself and have
freaking nightmares. Not that
you
care," she said, reaching
for the door handle.

He put his hand over hers. "No," he said, "you can stay with
me."

"What about your girlfriend?"

"She's in Paris."

"Then that was just a ploy to get rid of me?"

"
Am
I getting rid of you?"

"No."

"Very well." He tapped on the glass separating him from his
driver. "Manuel, to the hotel, please."

"And what hotel is that?" she asked.

"The Marbella Club," he replied.

"Where else?" she murmured.

* * *

If Vincent had a gun, he would have shot Andy Dale right in his
movie-star face. How dare the short, untalented actor think he could
get away with this kind of repugnant behavior?

And what was Jenna thinking? Naked in a Jacuzzi with another man,
in
his
hotel. She was insane. She'd lost it totally, and he
knew he would have to divorce her. She'd disrespected him, and that
was the worst thing she could've done.

"Get out of there!" he said, barely able to say the words.

"Honey," she said, putting on her little-girl voice, "I'm so
sorry. I know I was supposed to come back to the table, only I bumped
into Andy and Anais, and they invited me up here. I was about to call
you, see if you cared to join us."

"I repeat- get out!"

She stared back at him defiantly. "And what if I don't?" she said,
testing him.

"Surely you can't be
that
dumb?" he said. And then turning
his attention to Andy Dale, he continued, "You get out, too. Take
your girlfriend, your belongings, and leave my hotel."

"Are you talking to
me
?" Andy said, eyebrows shooting
up.

"Yes, I'm talking to you."

"Do you know who I am?"

Christ! Hadn't they recently had this same conversation?

"Do you know who I am?" Vincent said.

"Yeah," Andy sneered. "Some schmuck whose wife doesn't give a
shit."

He'd taken enough for one night. Striding over to the Jacuzzi, he
grabbed Jenna by the arm and hauled her out. She was half naked,
having kept on her thong underwear, which was now totally
transparent.

"You hurt me!" she complained.

"Get dressed," he hissed.

"You can't treat me like this," she objected. "I'm not a
possession—I'm your
wife
."

"Yes, my wife," he said harshly. "And
my wife
is sitting
half naked in a Jacuzzi with this no-talent actor."

"Hey," Andy objected. "Who're
you
calling names? I won a
Golden Globe last year, and don't you forget it."

"I'm not forgetting anything," Vincent said. "Now get your skinny
ass out of there."

"I'll get out when I'm good and ready," Andy said. "In the
meantime I'm calling my manager. You're gonna get the worst publicity
this hotel ever had."

"I don't give a shit what you do," Vincent said. "I'm sending
somebody up here to throw you out. You are
not
staying on my
premises."

"You're being so
mean
," Jenna wailed, her pretty face
crumpling into tears of self-pity. "It's all
my
fault. Andy
didn't do anything!"

Vincent glared at her. "Be quiet," he said, "and put your clothes
on."

Sulking, she reached for her dress.

"Are we going somewhere?" Anais inquired, stretching languidly,
her large black nipples startlingly erect.

"No," Andy snapped.

"Yes," Vincent said. And with that he physically dragged the actor
out of the tub and threw him down on the floor, a sprawling wet
mass.

"Shit!" Andy whined, trying to cover his privates. "I'll have your
ass for this. I'll sue you
and
the fucking hotel."

By now Jenna had wriggled into her dress.

Picking up her shoes, Vincent took her by the arm and led her from
the room.

* * *

"I'm staying here," Michael said, getting out of bed. "Cancel your
maid service or whoever you've got coming in."

"That's what I like about you, Michael," Dani said, sitting up in
bed. "The way you take my feelings into consideration."

"I always do."

"Did I
say
you could stay here?"

"You don't want me to, Dani?" he said, pulling on his pants.

"Does it matter?" she sighed, reaching for her robe.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's not fight. I need a place to think
things out.
You're
that place."

"I'm
always
that place," she said, wondering why she
continued to put up with him after all these years.

"This is what I want you to do," he said, all business. "Get me
Vincent."

"It's late."

"He's in the casino, isn't he? Or his restaurant."

"I don't keep tabs on him, Michael."

"See if you can reach him. I need to see him."

"Now?"

"No, in a week or two would be fine."

"There's no need for sarcasm, I'll see what I can do."

She picked up the phone and called the manager of the hotel. "Is
Vincent around, Mario?"

"I do believe he was in the casino earlier, Mrs. Castle. He said
something about visiting the penthouse. We have quite a few celebrity
guests here. Maybe he was going to a party."

"Vincent doesn't party," Dani said. "We all know that."

"I... I actually think he was looking for the other
Mrs
.
Castle, his wife."

"Ah...," Dani said. "When you see him, please ask him to phone me.
It's urgent."

"Yes, Mrs. Castle."

She put down the phone. "Satisfied?" she said to Michael.

"I'm,always satisfied when I'm around you."

"Oh
please
," she said. "Don't start with me."

"Come in the other room and I'll fix us a drink," he said.

She followed him into the living room.

"What were you doing with that jerk tonight anyway?" he said,
going behind the bar. "You know I can't stand him."

"I've told you many times, Dean is
not
a jerk. He's a very
nice man who's always helped me."

"When did
you
ever need help, Miss Independent?" Michael
said, pouring her a shot of vodka and adding ice.

"Michael," she said sternly, "I'm not in the mood."

"Okay. Calm down," he said, grinning.

She hated that he didn't take anything seriously. And yet, when he
smiled she'd never been able to stay mad at him.

"Does Madison know you're on the run?" she said, reminding him of
his situation.

"Is that what I am—on the run?" he said wryly. "Has it come
to this?"

"If there's a warrant out for your arrest and they can't find you,
then you're on the ran."

"Should I call her?" he asked, handing her the glass of vodka.

"She's
your
daughter."

"I'll call her," he decided. "And while I'm doing that, you'd
better try to reach Sofia. And when you do—tell her to get back
here immediately. I'm having Vincent arrange protection for all of
you."

* * *

When Madison was eight, she made up an imaginary family. There was
Daddy, who was always around when she needed him. There was Mommy, a
warm and loving person. And there was a big protective brother, whom
she adored. She named him Cooper.