Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson (3 page)

“How many girls are you shooting today?” I
said without selling the obvious irony.

Udelhoffer kept walking, not bothering to
answer. He led me out to a patio surrounding a kidney-shaped pool.
The air smelled of salt water and fish, and beyond the pool,
sunlight shimmered on Long Island Sound. Three other men stood near
the diving board. They weren’t armed that I could see, but I
wouldn’t be surprised if they had weapons nearby. The blonde in
Jacob’s picture perched on a chaise lounge, dressed in a miniskirt
and tee, a small carry-on suitcase on the paving stones in front of
her sandaled feet.

No one even pretended to be snapping
photos.

Udelhoffer stopped in front of a swarthy man
with a hawk-like hooked nose, and they shared a few hushed words.
Too quiet for me to hear, but I’m a fair lip reader. I saw
Gambino
,
favor
, and
ice
.

Even though the big man towered above, it was
clear from their body language that Hawk Nose was in charge.
Dressed in a button-down open at the neck, he looked more like a
South American businessman than a thug, except for the shoulder
holster under his jacket.

The third was average height and skinny, yet
judging from the sinewy muscles in his arms, as strong as steel
wire. He had ex-military written all over him and reminded me of a
man I’d killed in Columbia. Tight shirt, and I didn’t spot his
carry until I noticed the bulge on his right ankle.

The fourth was portly, with sweat stains in
the armpits of his Hawaiian shirt. He wore khakis and loafers, no
socks, and I couldn’t spot a pistol on him. An investor, maybe? Or
a perspective buyer?

Udelhoffer finished his briefing, and Hawk
Nose slowly walked over to me, a smile on his face that was pure
mockery. “So … you ever model before?”

I pegged his accent as Venezuelan. “I’ve done
some—”

“Then you know how this works.”

I had no clue. But since I doubted he did
either, I gave him what I hoped was an enthusiastic nod and
motioned to Julianne James, the real reason I was there. “Should I
go sit down with the other model while you get ready?”

“In a minute.”

His smile widened. He grabbed a nearby bag,
rummaged inside, then held up a skimpy bikini.

“Put this on … for the pictures. And since
you’re a model, you should be used to dressing and undressing at
the shoot.”

These men might not be overly concerned about
selling their modeling agency cover, but they weren’t stupid.
Making me strip in front of them provided more than a cheap thrill.
It let them check if I was wearing a wire. Or a weapon.

“Sure.”

I unslung my purse. Leaving my heels on, I
pulled the dress over my head. Next I slipped off my bra, stepped
out of my panties and stood in front of them totally nude.

The fact that four men were staring didn’t
bother me. After all, I was a model, used to being gawked at. I
tried on a playful smile and held out my hand for the bikini.

After a lengthy pause, the man in charge
handed me a scrap of a swimsuit.

I pulled it on, keeping my voice steady. “Let
me know when you’re ready for me,” I breathed, then wiggled across
the patio and took the chair beside the blonde.

“I’m Claire.”

“Julianne.”

I peered into her sunglasses, but only my
reflection stared back.

“Are you going to be part of the shoot?”

A slow shake of her head.

“They say I’m going to Paris.” She didn’t
seem convinced, and the syllables took too long to roll off her
tongue. From all appearances she was under the influence of
something beyond the lust for modeling stardom.

“Really?” I forced awe into my voice. “To
model? When?”

“They said soon.”

Jacob might not have a lot of information
about this operation, but what he did have was correct as usual.
Now I only had to figure out how to get her out of here before
“soon” rolled around.

“Have you signed a contract?”

Another head shake. For someone who’d been
told she was about to go to Paris to model, Julianne was acting
incredibly detached.

“I know an attorney. He told me what to look
for. You know, just to make sure you’re getting what you’re
worth.”

I didn’t know if an eighteen year old would
care about something as practical as contract negotiation,
especially when she was sailing on whatever drug they had given
her. But I needed to lure her away from the pool and the men
watching us, and beyond physically dragging her, I had few options.
“If we could go somewhere private for just a few seconds, I’ll fill
you in.”

“No, thanks.”

“It’ll just take—”

She lowered her voice. “They aren’t going to
like you talking to me.”

Then I understood. I wasn’t hearing
disinterest in her voice. I was hearing worry.

“Why not?” I asked.

She leaned in closer. “They haven’t taken any
pictures of me. They won’t let me leave. I can’t even make outside
phone calls.”

“You’re the only girl here?”

“No. There are others. But they’re doing
X-rated stuff.”

“Have they made you do any?” I asked, feeling
myself grow cold.

“They haven’t even asked. No one has tried
anything.” She shook her head, like she was denying an accusation.
“Men have always liked me. I’ve never been around guys who didn’t
try to hit on me.”

My first thought was surprise that these men
hadn’t tasted the goods.

My second was that maybe there was a
reason.

“Julianne, are you a virgin?”

Virgins fetched top dollar on the slave
market.

A crease dug between her eyebrows.
“What?”

“Are you?”

“Not since I was fourteen.” She lowered her
sunglasses, staring into my eyes. They were glassy, but there was
panic dancing beneath the dope haze.

“Have they hurt you? Threatened you?”

“They mostly ignore me. I thought maybe they
were gay, but I saw two of them messing around with the other
girls.”

I considered repeating what Jacob had told
me, that she was going to be sold. But I didn’t see how scaring her
even more would improve the situation. Besides, something wasn’t
adding up.

“I don’t think they’re taking me to Paris,”
she said.

“So why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes focused on me, and
she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m scared.”

“I can get you out of here,” I said. “Do you
want me to?”

She nodded. “Will you? Please?”

“Leave it to me, okay? Just be ready when I
tell you.”

“Thanks.” She reached over, squeezed my
hand.

I squeezed back.

Movement, in my peripheral vision. Hawaiian
Shirt had left the other men and was now circling the pool to where
we sat, an expensive-looking digital camera around his neck. He
motioned to me, the tip of his tongue flicking out and running
across his bottom lip.

“Okay, you. Miss Hot to Trot. Come on.”

I didn’t want to let Julianne out of my
sight, but I couldn’t exactly refuse my chance to become a big
star. A few bikini shots in the sand would still give me a chance
to keep an eye on her. I scrambled to my feet, doing my best to
look excited.

He turned in the direction of the house.

“I thought we were going to shoot on the
beach, since I’m wearing a swim suit and all.”

He opened the patio door and ushered me
inside. “Trust me, honey. This will be better.”

Inside he made for the staircase to the
second floor.

I could guess what kind of pictures he was
planning to take. A guess that was confirmed as we went deeper into
the mansion. A long hallway opened at the top of the stairs, doors
flanking both sides, most standing open. I peeked into the first,
hearing moaning.

The lighting—a simple klieg on a tripod—was
strictly amateur hour. And so was the talent. But what she lacked
in professionalism she made up for with enthusiasm. I guessed this
shoot could have been called,
I Love Fruit
, because that’s
what the girl was doing.

“Now the Bartlett, babe,” the cameraman cooed
as he snapped away. “And put the strawberry up to your lips. No,
your other lips.”

The next door down was a video production of
the more vanilla variety. Guy on girl, pretty standard stuff.

Scratch that. An animal musk odor made me
look closer, and I noticed a miniature donkey next to the bed.

I’d call that production,
A Piece of
Ass
.

“You like to watch?” Hawaiian Shirt asked,
leering over his shoulder.

“I’m more of a doer than a watcher,” I
answered, hoping my grin looked real.

We passed another door, saw another video
shoot.

I’m pretty shock-proof, but my cover persona,
Claire Thomas, wouldn’t be.

“Yuck.” I gave a shudder. “That’s gross.”

“Gotta keep upping the ante,” Hawaiian Shirt
said. “We’re calling it
Three Girls, One Cup
. You want to
join in?”

“No, thanks. I already ate. And I don’t want
to eat
that
.”

We were almost to the end of the hall when a
sound caught my attention. More a beat in my chest than a noise,
but I recognized it immediately.

A helicopter.

Many millionaires had vacation homes in the
area and few suffered the inconvenience of traffic snarls on their
way back and forth to Manhattan. Around here, helipads were as
common as tennis courts. But as much as I told myself all these
facts, my gut said the arrival of this particular aircraft was no
coincidence. It was here for Julianne, and I was stuck modeling for
nudie shots with this chubby Seymore Butts wannabe.

He chose the last bedroom on the left.

The room was large, furnished only by a king
size bed. It smelled of new paint and sheets that needed changing.
Windows looked out on the Sound, and I spotted a purple Bell
corporate-type helicopter approaching the beach.

“Let’s try a few on the bed. Take off your
top, show me those sweet tits again.”

I struggled to look unsure.

“Come on, all the famous bitches did nudes.
Marilyn Monroe did nudes. You want to be famous like her,
right?”

I chewed my lower lip and pretended to think
it over. “Well, okay, I guess.”

I set my purse on the nightstand, perched on
the bed and untied the bikini top. I needed an opening, some way to
escape my photographer without the men downstairs finding out and
greeting me with gunfire.

I let the top fall to the bed.

He snapped a few shots then paused,
stretching his neck.

“Stiff neck?” I asked.

“It’s nothing. Arch your back more. Show me
what a hot little slut you are.”

I’ll show you something else instead.

“I can help you with that,” I cooed. “The
stiff neck. I used to date a chiropractor.”

I climbed to my knees. Sitting back on my
heels, I spread my thighs wide and patted the bed in front of me.
“Why don’t you come over here.”

The smile spreading over his fat face had
nothing to do with spinal adjustment. He put down the camera and
sat where I’d indicated.

I massaged his shoulders for a few seconds,
then unbuttoned his shirt, revolted that his boobs were even larger
than mine.

“You really do want a modeling career, don’t
you?”

“More than anything.” I pressed myself
against his back, skin on skin. Circling my arms around his
shoulders, I snaked one hand down to his crotch.

He moaned, deep in his throat.

“I can adjust this, too,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, baby. Here I thought I was going
to have to slap you around. I still might. Horny bitch like you
would like that, I bet.”

Charming.

I cradled his head between my breasts then
smoothed my right hand around his shoulder and massaged up the back
of his head to his scalp. I could feel him relax, goose bumps
rising on his back.

I collared his neck with my left arm, and
then before he realized what was happening, I grabbed my right
elbow, pushed his head downward into the V of my left arm and
flexed my biceps, applying pressure to his carotid artery.

He tensed, but even though he had weight and
strength on me, it only took seconds before he was unconscious.
Stopping the blood supply to the brain will do that.

I slipped out behind him and let his body
fall back on the bed.

Breaking someone’s neck isn’t as easy as it
looks in the movies. It also isn’t lethal 100% of the time.

Breaking someone’s trachea and cutting of
their air supply is simpler, and more effective. It’s possible to
survive a broken neck. Survive not breathing? Not so much.

I chopped the sex-trafficking pig in the
windpipe, not sticking around to watch him suffocate. Grabbing my
scrap of a bikini top, I slipped the memory card out of the camera
and into my purse and closed the door behind me.

I had finished tying the top around my back
and slinging my purse across my chest by the time I reached the
patio. The
whump whump whump
of the helicopter blade pulsed
in the air. The sun glared off the water, making me squint. Raising
my hand to shield my eyes, I scanned the chairs surrounding the
pool.

The other men were gone.

So was Julianne James.

“
No operation is simple,” said The
Instructor. “Things can invariably go wrong, and like any good
soldier, you have to be ready to improvise, adapt,
overcome.”

I started down the steps, leaving the door
open behind me. Once the helicopter left the ground, Julianne would
be lost, and I’d be damned if I was going to let that happen. She
had taken up with some bad people, which made her more like me at
that age than I wanted to admit. But I’d been given another
chance.

She deserved one, too.

“Where are you going?”