Deadly Embrace (28 page)

The phone rang. He picked up.

"Mr. Castle? Your mother would like you to contact her."

"Thanks, Mario."

It was unusual that Dani would call him so late.

He punched out her number, wondering what she wanted.

Dani answered immediately. "Vincent, I have a surprise for
you."

"What surprise?"

"I need you to come to my apartment right now."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Then
what
?" he said, irritated. "Can't it wait until
morning?"

"No, it can't."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"I'll be there," he said, not at all pleased.

"Good," she said, and hung up.

* * *

Sofia followed Gianni into the Marbella Club, where he was greeted on
all sides with smiles and admiring salutes. Beautiful women waved and
blew him kisses.

"Man, you're popular," Sofia remarked, trailing behind him.

"Yes, and I'm sure they are all wondering who the drowned rat is
dogging my footsteps."

"Sorry," she said rudely. "Am I ruining your impeccable
reputation?"

"Not at all."

"I should've picked up some clothes from my place," she ruminated.
"Do you have anything I can borrow?"

"I'm sure Anais has left something in the suite. She usually
does."

She followed him into his suite, which overlooked the ocean. There
was a large blowup poster of Anais propped against one wall. Her back
was to the camera, and all she had on was a pair of low-rider studded
jeans. The heading across the poster read:
Black or White? Gianni
or Blue Jeans
?

Sofia surveyed it, squinting her eyes. "Gotta admit she's
gorgeous," she said at last.

"I know," Gianni replied, putting on some classical music.

"Anais is your girlfriend, right?"

"Correct."

"Isn't she kind of, like—
famous
?"

"She is a supermodel."

"I've probably seen her in magazines."

"So you read magazines?" he said, somewhat amused.

"And books. I
did
go to school, even though it was in
Vegas." She yawned; the events of the night were finally catching up.
"School sucked—I never learned anything. All I wanted to do was
get out and discover the world for myself."

"And have you?"

"Well, I gotta say—tonight was an education. Actually," she
added, grinning, "I'm kinda psyched. I think I handled it very
well."

"Jumping out of a window is handling it very well?"

"I didn't jump out of a window," she corrected. "I jumped
into
a swimming pool."

"Sofia, if you'd missed the swimming pool and hit the concrete,
you would be dead now, and we would not be standing here discussing
this."

"Hey," she said cockily. "I made the jump, hit the pool, and now
I'm totally psyched."

"That's comforting to know."

"So I suppose you're madly in love?" she said, flopping onto the
couch.

"That's a very forward question."

"Which means you're, like,
not
?"

"Anais is an extremely complex woman," he said, lighting a long,
thin Cuban cigar.

"How old
is
she?"

"Twenty-five," he replied. "In modeling years, that's considered
old. Sometimes it makes her insecure about her future. She wishes to
try acting."

"How long have you been together?"

"Why all the questions, Sofia?" he asked, expelling a thin stream
of smoke.

"You were questioning
me
in the car. Now it's my turn."

"You'll find a robe in the bathroom. Go put it on before you catch
cold. In the meantime, I'll order you something to eat. I'm sure
you're hungry. What would you like?"

"A club sandwich. Unless they've got a burger and french fries,"
she said, jumping up. "I'd
kill
for an American-style
burger."

"Let us not get dramatic," he said, half smiling. "I'll see what I
can do. When you've eaten, we should call your parents and perhaps
you should think about going home for a while."

She threw him a bold look. "Is that
before
I come to see
you in Rome, or after?"

"Then you
are
interested?"

"Depends what you have in mind," she said, trying not to sound too
intrigued—which she was, because the thought of flying to Rome
and scoring a modeling job was quite exciting.

He indicated the poster of Anais. "I need a new face alongside
Anais for my next jeans campaign. Perhaps
you
could be that
face. Of course, if you come to Rome, you'll have to test with my
photographer.
He'll
know whether you possess the quality we
need."

"Oh, wow!" she said mockingly. "Does this mean I'm being
discovered?"

"Possibly," he said, ignoring her attitude. "If the camera loves
you."

"Cool," she said. "There's nothing keeping me here. So ... will
you
take me to Rome?

You want
me
to take
you
?"

"Why not? It'll be an adventure."

"Very well, Sofia. We leave in the morning."

"What airline?"

"No airline, my dear. I have my own plane."

"Of course. Why wouldn't you?"

* * *

Jolie was not into competition. She regarded Nando as a
challenge—and the challenge was keeping him faithful. So far
she was doing a pretty good job, but Jolie was a realist and Nando
was a man, so the trick was keeping him as satisfied as she could at
home. For his last birthday—his thirty-sixth—she'd had a
stripper pole installed in their bedroom.

When Nando first saw it he'd yelled with laughter. But soon ...
when she began showing him what she could do on it, the laughter
ceased, and he was more turned on than she'd ever seen him. Now it
was his private treat—something she reserved for special
occasions.

Tonight Nando seemed like he could use a treat. He was so tightly
wound up she could almost feel the tension.

"What's up, honey?" she asked when they got home to their
luxurious house in an exclusive gated community.

"Vincent," he said, going straight to the bar in their sunken
living room with the oversize leopard skin couches and huge marble
coffee tables.

"Did he do something?"

"He did nothing. Vincent never does anything."

"What do you mean?" she asked sympathetically.

"He's so freakin' rigid. Doesn't want movie stars in the goddamn
hotel. Afraid to take risks. Doesn't think we should branch out. I
got a deal that'll make us more money than even
you
can
spend—an' he doesn't want to touch it."

"Why?"

" 'Cause it involves drugs an' hookers. Big freakin' deal. This
town wouldn't exist without drugs an' hookers."

"Calm down," Jolie said. "You're all worked up."

"Yeah. I'll never sleep tonight."

"Yes you will," she murmured. "Give me five minutes and meet me in
the bedroom. By the time
I've
finished with you, you'll be so
relaxed you won't know what hit you."

* * *

Finally the van arrived. Madison experienced a brief moment of
triumph. Had she persuaded the negotiator to get it there?

Whatever. It was there, that was the main thing.

"This is the way it's goin' down," the ringleader announced. "Pull
the cloths off the tables, make holes for your eyes, an' put 'em over
your heads. You—," he said, speaking directly to Madison.
"You're comin', an' your old man. An' you," he added, pointing at
Natalie.

"Leave her behind," Madison said quickly. "She's not feeling
well."

"Fuck that, she's comin'," he said, singling out three more
hostages—the young Italian waiter, the woman with the gash on
her temple, and a middle-aged man. "We go out with you surroundin'
us. Anybody fucks with me, they get their shit-ass head blown off.
Got it?"

Everyone nodded.

"The rest of you mothafuckers—over in the corner, an' stay
quiet."

Madison glanced at Cole. He gave an imperceptible nod—as if
to say,
Do what he wants
. She pulled a cloth off one of the
tables and began making crude holes for her eyes with a table knife.
Natalie started doing the same.

"This is a nightmare," Natalie whispered. "How'll we get through
it?"

"We will," Madison said reassuringly, sounding a lot braver than
she felt.

"Where are they taking us?"

"Wherever this lunatic says."

It was one thing telling Natalie not to worry-, but she knew they
were in great danger. One of the stoned gunmen could shoot them on a
whim. Or maybe the police had sharpshooters with itchy fingers dying
to burst in.

Who knew what could happen?

All they could do was hope and pray.

Motherhood had mellowed Beth slightly, which did not stop her from
complaining about being kept awake at night by the baby crying. She
also flatly refused to breast-feed. "Not my scene," she said,
wrinkling her nose. "That's like— ugh!"

"Isn't it supposed to be better for the baby?" Catherine asked.
She'd recently returned from her visit with relatives and was helping
to look after Madison.

"That's crap," Beth replied, shooting her sister a dagger's
look.

"Y'know, when Madison gets bigger, you gotta learn to control your
language," Michael commented.

"
Really
?" Beth answered coolly.

"It's a thought," he said mildly.

He and Beth had settled into domestic life quite well. They lived
together as man and wife, even though they weren't married. It suited
both of them. Great sex and no wedding rings. He was a lucky
man—or was he? Sometimes he thought marriage might work out.
They had a baby together, so why not?

Since Madison's birth, he hadn't felt like seeing any of his old
girlfriends. He was satisfied hanging out with Beth, the baby, and
Catherine—who, once she'd gotten over her initial shock, had
turned out to be a sweetheart. And Beth seemed to have curbed her
wild ways, no longer running out to all-night parties and flirting
outrageously with every man she saw. She loved Madison as much as he
did, and although they fought a lot, they both agreed that Madison
was the cutest baby in the world. She was a combination of the two of
them, with her dark curly hair, sparkling green eyes, and deep olive
skin. She was truly beautiful.

Sometimes, late at night, when Madison awoke for her bottle,
Michael went into her room, scooped her out of her crib, and fed her
the bottle himself. She was such a warm and trusting little bundle in
his arms, her big eyes staring up at him so expectantly. When he
looked at her, he felt a love he'd never experienced before. She was
his
baby.
His
future. She was the family he'd never
had.

When Madison was six months old, Catherine moved in permanently.
Although, like Beth, she was only eighteen, she seemed much older and
more capable. Michael was pleased to have her around, because now she
could keep an eye on Madison
and
Beth, so that when he was at
work he felt more secure—especially since a lot of his work
took place at night, and Beth claimed she felt nervous in the house
by herself.

One morning Beth woke up, jumped out of bed, and decided she
wanted to go back to the fashion institute to continue her studies.
"Will you pay for my tuition?" she asked. "I promise you won't regret
it."

"If you're sure that's what you want to do," Michael said, "then
I'll be happy to pay for it."

"
Very
sure," she answered. "I'll be famous. You'll
see."

"You will, huh?" he said, amused by her enthusiasm.

"I'll make you proud, Michael."

"You've already done that," he said, indicating Madison, who was
kicking and gurgling in her crib.

"I have?"

"You bet," he said, hugging her.

And he truly meant it.

Word on the street was that Vito Giovanni and Marnie had split.
Vito had caught Marnie with another woman in
their
bed, gone
completely berserk, and thrown her out. The rumor was that Vito now
had a girlfriend—a twenty-two-year-old stripper who went by the
name of Western Pussy.

One night, some of the guys were sitting around at the social club
playing poker. Bone was there; so was Gus. When Michael walked in,
they were sniggering about Marnie and her sexual predilections.

"She was always a tough-assed bitch," Bone announced to the room.
"Her an' that douche bag cousin of hers— Roy."

Michael figured this might be the right time to get Bone to
acknowledge his existence. "Oh, yeah, Marnie," he said, pulling up a
chair. "She used to get it on with girls in Vegas. Everyone knew
about it."

Bone threw him a blank look. He was a tall, scary-looking man with
yellowing, hangdog teeth and a lethal scar running the length of his
left cheek. 'You talkin' to me?" he said coldly.

"Some reason I shouldn't?"

"You're a fuckin' joke," Bone sneered.

"Okay, okay, cut it out," Gus interrupted. "The war's outside this
room—not in it."

"Forget it," Bone growled.

Michael was not prepared to forget it. "You got some kinda beef
with me?" he demanded later, blocking the older man on his way
out.

Bone looked him over with his small, shifty eyes. "You gonna stand
there an' tell me you dunno what went down?" he asked. "You really
gonna do that?"

"Huh?"

"C'mon," Bone taunted. "You can't be
that
dumb."

Michael stared at him blankly.

"Oh,
now
I get it," Bone said, enjoying himself. "Marnie
never told you, did she?"

"
Told me what
?"

"About your mama," Bone said. 'Y'know," he added, fingering the
scar on his cheek, "I was there the night it happened."

Michael felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach. "What the fuck
you sayin'?"