Take Me Tonight (16 page)

Sage nodded, her heart pounding.

“And then he swears, says like ‘fuck this’ or something, and yanks the thing back over my eyes and leaves. I’m just sitting there, tied up and blindfolded like I’m in some badass movie. The next thing I know, someone is dragging me out of there and throws me back in the van. And I heard this same guy saying, ‘Next time you bring me a mutt, someone’s gonna be in big trouble. They’re no good to me.’ ”

“A mutt?” Sage stared at her. “Like a dog?” Vivian was so breathtakingly beautiful that the phrase was just laughable.

“I think he was referring to a mixed breed,” she said quietly. “Anyway, next thing I know, the van doors open and I’m back in the garage, near my car. Kidnapping over.”

“Did you talk to anyone about this? Did you tell Glenda about it, even? Or Keisha?”

“Keisha,” she said softly. “I was mad. Insulted and just mad about the mutt comment. I thought it was racist and she did, too. So, she decided…” She closed her eyes. “
We
decided that she should sign up, too, and see what happened to her.”

For a moment, no one spoke. They knew what had happened to her. Keisha had died.

“So, after she…Well, I got a bodyguard,” Vivian said. “Because I got freaked out. And today, he disappeared and that goddamn van came up and down my street and somebody went into my house.”

“Where were you?” Sage asked.

“Hiding in my garage. Then I came here, because you’re the only person I know who loved Keisha like I did.”

That was true. But Keisha had never socialized with them together. She kept them separate and Sage never knew why.

Without a word, Johnny left the room. Sage decided to use the opportunity to talk privately. “Vivian, do you think it’s possible Keisha had an abortion?”

Vivian looked up from the cat. “Well, then, that’s the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“She was pregnant.”

Blood drained from Sage’s head. “She was? Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Vivian closed her eyes. “It was over, but she wasn’t sure what to do.”

“What was over?”

“Her affair with LeTroy Burgess.”

Sage recognized the name of the high-profile Blizzard instantly. “I thought they were just good friends. I know Keisha thought he was all that, but he’s happily married.”

“He’s
married
,” Vivian corrected. “I don’t know if ‘happy’ plays into that. And if it weren’t for that message she left, I would have directed the police to talk to that sorry excuse for a tree with root rot.”

“Do you think he killed her?”

She lifted one shoulder. “The brother is a madman, and if Keisha went public, there goes half his eight mil’ a year to the wife and kid.”

Keisha had had an affair with
LeTroy
? Could he be the one warning her with messages? Was he afraid Sage would take that story public? Or was she looking too hard for nefarious motivations where there were none? “Maybe he forced her to have an abortion and she was so miserable about it that she killed herself?”

“I don’t know. But out of respect for her, I’ve kept the information to myself. Why ruin her reputation? She’s dead and I think somebody killed her, and somebody might do it again.”

“You sure about that?” Johnny entered the room, something bright in his hand. Sage recognized the neon colors of the sticky-backed index cards. “’Cause here are some suicide notes. A lot of them.”

Vivian sat up straight and stared at the cards he held. “That’s no suicide note, bro. That’s from the game of
Exposure
.” She air quoted for emphasis, and injected plenty of disgust into the word. “Which is Glenda’s idea of twenty women sitting in a room giving each other ammunition for Olympic-quality back-stabbing.” She glanced at Sage. “We all make that shit up to keep Glenda happy. Is
that
what the police called a suicide note?”

“Yes,” she said. “They showed me the one they found that night. It said, ‘Sometimes I think I’ll never be good enough.’ Didn’t they show you, when they interviewed you?”

“After I talked to them, I took about a month’s worth of sedatives,” Vivian admitted with a sigh. “You may recall I didn’t make the memorial service.”

“We should tell Detective Cervaris about this game,” she said to Johnny. “And the voice mail.”

“Yeah. I just put a call into him. And I got a good friend who’s a reliable bodyguard for you, Vivian. He’ll be here this afternoon. Now, I’m going to make some breakfast.”

He went into the kitchen and Vivian’s eyes widened in surprise. “Ain’t he a handy tool to have around?”

“Yeah,” Sage said, standing slowly and walking to the stack of cards Johnny had set on the back of the sofa. “He’s handy, all right.”

“Seriously sweet on the eyes, comes equipped with a sidearm, and knows his way around a kitchen. Where’d you find that man?”

She picked up the top card, debating how to answer. “He found me, actually.”

“You must have yourself a guardian angel, sister.”

“Mmm.” Sage barely heard the comment, her focus shifted to the words Keisha had written. “Are you sure everything she wrote on these cards was a lie?” she asked Vivian.

“Trust me, those Bunnies are wicked competitive,” Vivian said. “No one is stupid enough to reveal their insecurities to someone who could use that knowledge against you. Every single statement was made up.”

“Really?” Sage handed the card to Vivian and watched her read it. “Even this one?”

Vivian Masters is a pathological liar.

Chapter
Sixteen

“T
its out, Briana! And would it kill you to kick above your waist for a change?”

Briana arched her back, bit her lip, and kicked so high her knee touched her nose.

“Better. Taylor! Did you forget you have arms? Or are those wings flopping like a seagull?”

Taylor dutifully locked her elbows and pointed her fingertips, but something else caught Glenda’s eye in the back row. Pamela Brayden’s pained expression as she pressed her fingers into her belly. Glenda marched through the formation and stopped in front of the normally spunky young woman, debating exactly how to confirm what she already knew. Some questions were simply more effective than others.

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror today, Miss Brayden?”

Pamela met Glenda’s disapproving look with one laced with intimidation. “Is there a problem, Ms. Hewitt?”

“Cat-ravaged hair on your head, grocery bags under your eyes, and your second chin is threatening to hit your cleavage, which could use a little more support today. How do you think that’s going to play on national television tomorrow?”

“I just feel lousy, okay? I have a stomach virus or something.”

“A stomach virus?” Glenda asked sharply.

“Or something.” Pam leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I know you hate this as an excuse, but I’m totally getting my period.”

“Yes, you are,” Glenda said quickly. “By my calculations, you’re due tomorrow.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a look passing between two of the girls, accompanied by an eye roll.

“Go ahead and roll your eyes, Miss Doyle. But it is my job to know everything about every one of you, including when you bleed. I also know that you’re trying to hide that strained ankle tendon and that you changed the color of self-tanner you use. It is my business to know everything about every
body
in this room.”

She turned back to Pamela. “See me after practice and I’ll give you something for the symptoms. You can’t be doubled over in pain and running off the court to change your tampon tomorrow night.” She zipped to the back of the group. “All right now, ladies, into the H formation. Let’s start ‘I Want You to Want Me.’ ” Her double clap was interrupted by a question from the front.

“Who do you want in the middle, Glenda?”

“Vivian.”

“She’s not here.”

She whipped her head in the direction of Vivian’s warm-up spot. “Where is she?”

The daytime practices were not mandatory, of course, only evenings. But this was the start of play-offs and the Blizzard would be on ESPN tomorrow night.

So where was she? A pinch of worry nipped at her gut. “Julia, you take the center of the H for the first ten run-throughs.”

A low groan traveled over the room.

“One more sound and you’ll do twenty.” She clapped again and the girls scurried into position. “Cue the music!” she called to her assistant. When the bass started, and a rocker screamed “I want you…” Glenda pushed the studio doors open just as the girls shouted a rigidly unified, “To want
me
!” in response.

Would he want to try Vivian again? Behind her back? Was he getting that desperate? There was no telling what he’d do lately. He had taken Ashley on his own with no warning, leaving Glenda to clean up his dirty work when the girl got too curious. Sighing, she pushed open the door to the office next to hers. It was empty. So where was Julian?

She dug out her cell phone, dialed, and he answered on the first ring. “Yes, Glen.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m very busy. What do you want?”

His voice, even gruff and impatient, always made her reel. He was godlike to her. What he could do, the magic he could work, never ceased to amaze her. At first, she’d just been enamored of his talent. Then, he was the answer to her prayers. But now, her admiration had moved to something more difficult to control. And, God, she hated losing control. “Do you happen to know where Vivian Masters is?”

“The mulatto?” he snorted. “Why would I care?”

“I thought maybe you got…desperate.”

“No, Glen. I’m not that desperate. But while I have you on the phone, I’ve been thinking you could help me with something.”

Anything. She’d do anything. “Name it.”

“Sage Valentine.”

“The writer? Keisha’s roommate?” The heat of jealousy burned again. What did he see in that girl?

“I think she’s perfect.”

So he had seen her somewhere. When? Where? “I think you’ll be very disappointed,” she said.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“She’s not what you’re looking for, I assure you. She has none of the qualifications and…” Glenda dug for something, anything. “I don’t think she’s pure.”

“Her imperfections, in this case, make her more attractive to me,” he said. “And you have the ideal opportunity with that story she’s doing. Get her.”

“I’ll have to get her ready. It could take a little time.”

“Do it quickly—unless you prefer I use someone else. You’re not the only game in town, you know. And I know you need the money, Glen. I understand your time is running out.”

She gripped the phone. She hated when he reminded her of why they’d first started this. “This goes beyond money now. I believe in you. You know that.”

“Still, money buys Emily time, doesn’t it?”

Anger rocked her when he used her daughter’s name. He always had to have the power in this relationship. “I’ll get Sage. In the meantime, do you need someone else? Tomorrow night after the game?”

He cleared his throat, thinking. “That would be good. And don’t tell me who. I want to guess who it will be while I watch.”

“Of course.”

As soon as she hung up, she went to Julian’s computer and logged on. In a flash, she entered www.takemetonite.com. She bypassed the fake first screen, entered the password he’d taught her and a white square box flashed a warning and asked for another code.

This is where it got tricky. She entered her code, holding her breath until the firewall came down. In ten seconds, it fell, and Glenda was logged in and able to change anything on anyone’s itinerary page. She scanned the database of names, zeroing in on one of her girls. So many of them were signed up. Some got a real kidnapping, enough to seed the team with the idea. And some…didn’t.

Like Susannah Gray. She closed her eyes to think about where the girl was in the cycle. Yep. Perfect. And she had the requisite blond hair, blue eyes, excellent figure, sharp wit, and, oh-so-important to him, perfect teeth.

She typed in a few more passwords and, like magic, was able to change the information on a page that only Susannah Gray would see when she logged in. At takemetonite.com, they would simply get a message that Ms. Gray had canceled her appointment.

Before she logged out, she switched to another itinerary page. Sage Valentine. There was no change on her page, no follow-up to that last mess up, no date for another appointment. Why did he want her so much? What was so special about her?

Irritation itched her. She wanted her girls, and only her girls, to be his choice.

When she returned to the rehearsal studio, they were on the last riff of “I Want You to Want Me.” On the far right, Susannah Gray beamed her flawless smile. When the music stopped she was still smiling, pleased with her performance.

“Susannah!” Glenda called.

She snapped to attention, the joy disappearing from her face. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I need to see you in my office. It’s urgent.”

She saw the girl flash a worried glance to one of her friends, then she turned to Glenda, her smile in full force, if a bit strained. “Of course, Ms. Hewitt.”

Susannah should do the trick nicely until she could get Sage Valentine. The problem was, Sage couldn’t be controlled the way her girls could. If anything went wrong…

There’d be another resident at the bottom of the Charles River.

“Psst. C’mere. I got something for you.”

The fussy feline waltzed across the kitchen with her nose lifted in disdain.

“Don’t give me that ’tude, puss. You want what I got and you want it bad.”

Taz inched toward the piece of sausage Johnny balanced on his fingertip. She sniffed, then allowed a glimmer of interest in her pretty green eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right. Homemade. No Jimmy Deans for my girls.”

He heard Sage’s soft laugh before she appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked up from his crouched position and, as he did, the cat snapped the food with a swift tongue, then purred.

“You like to have women eating out of your hand, don’t you?” Sage’s smile was as warm and real as the night before.

“Of course I do,” he said, standing to brush the bits of food from his hands into the sink. He had no right playing games with Lucy’s niece. And now that Vivian Masters had stirred things up with her creepy message, he should concentrate on the job at hand. Not the temptation to turn up the heat again.

“How’s she doin’ back there?” he asked.

Sage shrugged. “She’s resting on my bed. The poster upset her, and so did that card claiming she’s a liar. She says it was Keisha’s idea of a joke.”

“What do you think?”

“I think,” she said, picking up a sponge and wiping a counter he’d already cleaned, “that somebody should stay with her—”

“I told you, I got that covered.”

In spades, actually. His phone call had landed him a surprise chat with Dan Gallagher, who had just arrived from Sydney with the legendary Australian spook-turned-Bullet Catcher, Adrien Fletcher, who’d come to the States for some special training.

Johnny hadn’t talked to Lucy directly—a blessing, considering what he had to say to her—but he’d briefed Dan, and in a matter of minutes he had Lucy’s approval to send in another bodyguard. Dan was coming to Boston, too. Johnny knew how close Dan and Lucy were; she was probably sending him in to check on her niece.

“So, this friend of yours who’s going to protect Vivian. Is he another rescuer?”

“No, just some gym rats I met when I first moved here.”

“Was that a plural? How many rats are coming over?”

“A couple.” At her surprised look, he shrugged. “Hey. I called in the cavalry, babe.”

She seemed to accept that, going over to her computer. With a sigh, she carried it to the dining room, a quiet
ding
letting him know she’d turned it on.

He followed her out there—and Taz followed him—and sat across from her. “You going to work now?”

“I’m going to organize my thoughts,” she said. “I’m going to make a list of people involved. I’m going to google all the dancers who I’m allowed to interview and get some background on them before I set up meetings, then I’m going to outline all my questions. So yes,” she said, tapping a few keys. “This is work.” She hit another one. “You ought to try it sometime.”

He slapped a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

She raised her eyebrows and half smiled. “Truth hurts, big guy.”

He propped both elbows on the table and dropped his chin on his knuckles, staring at her, seeking a genetic link to Lucy, but she was so fair and different. She had high cheekbones, but not the chiseled, sharp angles that made Lucy’s face so distinctive. Sage’s were more…lovely, more feminine. And though her hair was salon-streaked blond, the underlying shades were light brown, nothing like the raven black of his boss’s. Black except for the mysterious white streak down the front. For a moment, he wondered if Sage knew what trauma in Lucy’s life had caused the much-talked-about streak.

She looked up at him, giving him a perfect shot of the tilt in her eyes, which could be a hint of Pacific Islands, but the slant wasn’t as dramatic as Lucy’s.

“Do you mind not scrutinizing me while I work?” she asked.

“Can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

Her expression changed to a smile. “You’re nuts.”

“What are you, anyway?” he asked. “Irish? English? German?”

“I’m a mix of a bunch of stuff. My father has English and Scottish and maybe some Scandinavian on his great-grandmother’s side, but no one has ever done his tree.” She typed some more, and frowned, reading. “My mother’s father was French, and her mother was…” She paused, clicked, then shook her head a little. “Micronesian.”

Bingo.

“Whoa. Exotic.”

“I guess. I’ve never been there. My grandmother was born in the middle of the Pacific a million miles from nowhere.”

Her grandmother had been born in Pohnpei and he knew exactly where it was; Lucy had a detailed map of the little island on her library wall. “Don’t you want to go and meet your island relatives?”

She peered over the laptop. “I think we covered how I feel about my relatives.”

Careful, Johnny boy. Dangerous territory ahead.
“That’s right, your aunt.” He couldn’t help it. He had to say it. “Lucy Sharpe.”

She nodded absently, rubbing her chin, her focus intent on the screen. “Uh-huh.” She clicked some more, her eyes narrowing with interest as she read.

“So is she your mother’s older or younger sister?” Had to be younger.

“Much younger. She was eleven when I was born. My mother was nineteen.”

Yep, the math worked. There was no way he could deny it: Lucy had sent him on a private assignment and she needed his blind loyalty to make it happen. All the Bullet Catchers were loyal, but he was…indebted. And Lucy knew that meant he would do this without asking questions, and would never reveal to the principal who was behind her protection.

Ms. Machiavelli does her thang.

But why the secrecy? If Sage found out, what was the worst that could happen? Couldn’t she understand that her aunt had her best interests in mind, forgive him, have wildly awesome sex with him a few hundred times to thank him….

No, that was the
best
that could happen. Bullet Catchers were trained to figure out the absolute worst possible scenario, and plan on it. So…she’d find out the truth, hate him forever, and kick his ass on the street without a kiss goodbye.

No, that was still optimistic.

The worst that could happen was…she’d find out the truth, forgive him, admit she was crazy about him, have wildly awesome sex to thank him, and then she’d find out the
real
truth about him.