Lethal Seduction (52 page)

Marika kept giving her the evil eye. Carrie knew the evil eye when she saw it—she'd experienced it enough times from fellow models.

Every attempt she made to get close to Leon was thwarted by Marika.

Damn the woman. She was a witch.

Carrie hadn't mentioned to Joel that nothing had happened between her and Eduardo the previous night. It was none of his business. The problem was that, after her conversation with Leon, she wasn't in the mood for a boy toy. No. She was more in the mood for Leon to fulfill his promise.

Eduardo did not make her feel as sexy as billions of dollars.

She was determined that tonight she would corner Leon and ask him exactly why he was treating her in such a disrespectful way. Screw him if he thought he could make an offer and then rescind it all in one day.

She dressed in a skimpy green Versace dress that left little to the imagination. Carrie Hanlon did not need much adornment, she could carry off sackcloth if need be.

•

“How can you do this to me?” Varoomba wailed.

“Waddya carryin' on about now?” Chas said irritably.

“Inviting my grams to go with us to the fight. How did you get another ticket anyway?”

“I have my ways,” Chas said mysteriously.

“It's not fair,” Varoomba whined, her eyes filling with tears.

“What's not fair?”

“You and my grams.”

“Stop calling her your grams for crissakes. She's Renee, an old friend of mine.”

“Did you screw her?” Varoomba said suspiciously. “Did you an' my grams have
sex?”

“Mind your own freakin' business,” Chas snorted.

“It's
plenty
my business,” Varoomba insisted. “She's my grams.”

“I don't give a fuck if she's your freakin'
sister.
What the two of us did twenty years ago has nothin' t'do with you.”

“I'm sure it doesn't,” Varoomba said huffily. “But what the two of you do today has
lots
to do with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Ya think you got some kinda claim on me?”

“We live together, remember?”

“I've bin meanin' t'talk to ya 'bout that.”

“And say what?”

“I got ya set up in an apartment.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, ya got your own place. I'm havin' your stuff moved there while we're away. It don't suit me, livin' with somebody. You gotta understand, my kids ain't happy 'bout it.”

“Your
kids?”
she said scornfully. “They're grown women.”

“Anyway, that's the way it is. I'll give ya some cash, an' you'll do what ya wanna do.”

“This is shit!” Varoomba exclaimed, her silicone boobs shaking with indignation.

“Take it or leave it.”

“It's all
her
fault.”

“Who's her?”

“Grams.”

“It ain't nothin' t'do wit' Renee. I told ya before, we're old friends.”

“You're a bastard, Chas—a genuine two-bit bastard.”

“Thanks, kid. I bin called worse.”

“You won't get away with treating me this way,” Varoomba warned. “You might think I'm just a dumb stripper, but I'll get my own back on you. And don't you forget it.”

I
NVITATIONS TO THE VERY EXCLUSIVE
party at the Marigiano had to be presented at the door before entry was gained.

Rosarita thrust her invitation at the girl with the list. “Mr. and Mrs. Dexter Falcon,” she said grandly.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Falcon,” the girl said, smiling straight at Dexter and ignoring Rosarita.
“Love
your show.”

It seemed people in Vegas knew him a lot better than people in New York. Well, they'd certainly hear about him today, when he dropped dead somewhere in the hotel.

Rosarita patted her purse. The bottle of poison was in place. All she had to do was pour it in his drink and make sure he drained his glass. Then it was good-bye, Dex—and hello, Joel.

Although now she had a new problem. How was she supposed to get Joel to dump Carrie Hanlon?

Of course, she could slip
her
some poison too.

Ha, ha! Very funny! A serial killer she was not.

Anyway, Rosarita felt secure that once she told Joel about the baby, Carrie Hanlon would be history.

The cocktail party was already crowded. Rosarita recognized a few famous faces and felt pleased to be mixing with the
stars. She and Joel would do this in the future—come to the fights in Vegas and mingle with celebrities.

She recognized Bruce Willis, incredibly sure of himself, with a smirky smile. And George Clooney—quite sexy. Martha would be in heaven!

“Why did we have to come to this?” Dexter asked, not comfortable at all.

“Because,” Rosarita explained patiently, “it's good for your career to be seen and have your photograph taken in such illustrious company. Look who's over there. It's Nick Angel. And there's Al King talking to Will Smith—oh God, I used to love Al King when I was younger. It's quite a stellar group, Dex, we should mix.”

“If you say so,” Dexter said, wishing he was in New York with Gem.

“And you have the temerity to call
me
jaded,” she mocked. “I think the shoe is on the other foot, my dear.”

“Excuse me?” he said, frowning.

“Nothing. What are you drinking?”

“I'm not in the mood for a drink.”

“Oh, c'mon, Dex—we're in Vegas for God's sake, you have to have
something.”

“I don't understand why my mom couldn't have come to this party,” he grumbled. “I could've given her
my
invitation.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” she said sharply.
“Your
invitation is what got us in here.”

“She would've loved it.”

“So what?”

“You're a mean woman, Rosarita. You could've arranged for another invite.”

“I could
not.
This party is very exclusive. We're lucky to be here ourselves. Can't imagine
how
I pulled it off.”

“You
pulled it off by using
my
name.”

“Why are you always bickering with me?”

“Because . . .”

“Because
what?”

“Oh, forget it.”

•

Walking into a crowded party with Carrie was definitely a kick. The few photographers who'd been allowed inside immediately went ballistic.

Joel got off on the attention. Oh sure, he was used to being photographed at premieres and Broadway openings with some gorgeous model on his arm, but Carrie was the model of the year, the decade, actually. Carrie Hanlon was a supermodel, the real deal.

He looked around to see if he could spot Madison. He'd decided that with Jamie's help he might be able to score there. How many other guys would be thinking about another woman while out with Carrie Hanlon? Not many. It showed he had class and taste.

Across the room, Marika was giving his father an earful. God knows what she was saying, but he could see Leon's lower lip quivering with annoyance.

Why did his father put up with her shit? Why didn't he trade her in and get himself a
real
girlfriend? It's not like Marika was a looker. She was a dragon lady. Quite scary, actually.

Oh well, it wasn't
his
problem.

•

“And this is Mr. Mogul,” Natalie said.

“Nice to meet you,” Jamie said, distracted, because before leaving for the cocktail party, Peter had tracked her down and actually called her.

“What the
hell
do you think you're doing?” he'd demanded over the phone. “Are you
insane?”

“How did you find me?”

“What does
that
matter? I found you, didn't I? So get your ass back here. And do it fast.”

“No, Peter,” she'd said, standing up to him for once.

“What do you mean—
‘No, Peter'?”

“It's over,” she'd said, and hung up the phone, ignoring the persistent ringing that continued until she'd left her room to meet Natalie.

“You're
a beauty,” Mr. Mogul said, checking her out.

“Don't worry, he's gay,” Natalie's brother, Cole, interrupted, hanging onto his arm. “Take no notice of his compliments.”

Mr. Mogul laughed.

“Cole,” Jamie exclaimed, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I haven't seen you since college. Madison's right—you look sensational.”

“Is that what she said?” Cole asked, pleased.

“I remember a tough little teenager running around trying to bum money off his sister.
Now
look at you.”

As a much-in-demand Hollywood fitness trainer, Cole kept himself in perfect shape. He was an extremely tall, muscular and handsome man.

“How did you two meet?” Jamie asked, draining her glass and reaching for another one.

“I went to break his balls, and he ended up breaking mine,” Cole said with a wicked grin.

Mr. Mogul gave him an affectionate pat on the arm. “Try not to discuss balls in public,” he said. “It's
so
not done.”

“I thought that's what you liked about me,” Cole said, grinning. “That I do all the things I'm not supposed to. Where is Madison anyway?”

“She won't make this party,” Natalie said. “She had to go interview one of the boxers.”

“Lucky her!” Cole said.

“There's a birthday dinner for her later, which you guys will come to, right?”

“Wouldn't miss it,” Cole said. “Anyway, I want her to meet Mr. M.”

“Am I going to be called Mr. M. forever?” Mr. M. said good-naturedly. He was an older man, but attractive, with a bald head and a wide smile.

“I think you're stuck with it,” Natalie said. “I started it
because I hated you. Now I like you. In fact—you can be my brother-in-law.”

“May I remind you that marriage is not legal between two men.”

“Damn! Just give him some kind of document, so that if you drop dead he gets everything.”

“You're a feisty one, Natalie.”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “Nobody ever said I wasn't.”

•

Waiters in black tie were serving Cristal champagne in fluted glasses with the place and date etched on the side in gold.

Rosarita took two glasses from a silver tray and handed one to Dex. “We'll take these glasses home,” she said. “As a souvenir. So drink up, Dex, while I go visit the little girls' room.”

She had come up with a new plan. She'd pour the poison in
her
drink, then when she got back, she'd switch glasses with Dex. It was perfect.

Once in the powder room, she shut herself in a cubicle, took out the bottle of poison and carefully tipped it into her champagne glass. Her heart was beating so fast that she didn't know what to do. She hoped that handling the poison wouldn't harm the baby. Joel's baby—which she would tell him about soon.

Holding her glass like precious cargo, she made her way back to the party.

On her way across the crowded floor, she bumped into Joel. Neither of them was surprised.

“You didn't tell me you were coming to Vegas,” he said, stepping in front of her.

“Nor did you,” she countered.

“I flew in for the fight on my father's plane.”

“Coincidence. I'm with
my
father too.”

“It's family night in Vegas,” he said dryly.

“And who did Carrie Hanlon fly in with?” she couldn't help asking.

“Carrie's kind of hanging with my dad. She's under the impression he's going to be signing her to a big, fat contract.”

“What kind of contract would that be?”

“A makeup deal,” Joel lied. “He owns three cosmetic companies. You know these models—they're always desperate for a bigger and better deal.”

“I wouldn't think Carrie Hanlon was desperate for anything.”

He moved closer. “What've you been up to while you're here?”

“Not a lot,” she said, licking her lips. “And you?”

“I haven't been having sex, if that's what you mean.”

“Nor have I,” she said, with a secret smile.

“How about we meet up before the fight?” he suggested. “I know you're with your husband, but I'm sure you'll be able to sneak away . . .”

She took a deep breath. “Where did you have in mind?” she asked.

“The swimming pool with the fountains.”

“That's a little
too
public, isn't it?”

He laughed. “It'll be almost empty,” he said, sipping his drink. “Of course, if that's too risky for you . . .”

“Not at all,” she answered boldly, almost sipping
her
drink, until she remembered what a disaster
that
would be.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said.

“Twenty,” she countered; didn't want him thinking she was
too
easy.

A sudden commotion across the room attracted both their attention. “What's going on?” she said.

“Aw Jesus, it's my dad,” Joel said, putting his glass down on a side table.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

“He's on the floor. Christ! I hope he's not having a heart attack.”

Without thinking, Rosarita placed her glass beside his and followed him over to the scene of the commotion.

“Let me through,” Joel said, billions dancing before his eyes
as he shoved his way over to Leon, who did not look dead, merely embarrassed.

“Your father tripped,” Marika explained. “It's nothing. He's fine.”