Guilty Pleasures (12 page)

Fab’s clear voice rose from the center of the admiring group of men. Polly started burrowing a route between their bodies, then gasped when her feet left the ground.

As abruptly as he
’
d lifted her, Nasty set her down. The shutters had closed over his expression once more. He looked down into her furious face and snapped his gum.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “Don’t you ever do something like that again.”

“And don’t you ever do something like that again.”

“What—”

“Someone threatened to kill you today. Have you forgotten that?”

Her eyes stung. She hadn’t expected her own reaction. Too many new experiences, some of them terrifying, some of them overwhelming in quite different ways, had come her way too fast. “I haven’t forgotten,” she said through her teeth. “How could I when you remind me about twice a minute?”

“How hard do you think it is to knife someone in a crowd?” She felt her mouth drop open and was helpless to close it. “You’re a babe in the woods, Polly, baby. You don’t get it, yet. And I’m not standing around waiting for you to get it when it’s too late—when you’re dead. Understand?”

“Well”—she blinked and swallowed—“unlike some people, I’m not used to thinking about people with knives.”

“Do you understand me, Polly?” The unrelenting tone of his voice spit out each word.

“Don’t call me baby again.”

“Do you—”

“Yes. Yes, I understand. I want to talk to my sister, and there’s a group of people around
her table. How do you suggest I
get to her?”

Nasty regarded her steadily and moved his gum around. “Stay close to me.” Clamping a hand at her waist—surely more tightly than could possibly be necessary—he turned to the laughing gaggle of men. In a loud, terse voice that could cut granite he said, “Listen up!”

Polly flinched, and jumped hard enough to jar her teeth together.

Silence fell. Not just on the men around the table, but on a good portion of the whole restaurant.

Fire overtook Polly’s skin. She bowed her head.

“This lady’s trying to get to her sister,” Nasty said. “Her sister’s sitting at the table you’re juicing. Do you mind?”

A low grumble started and stopped abruptly. Polly didn’t dare check to see how Nasty had made them quiet again. Feet passed her, and jeans, and bare, hairy legs. Gradually the restaurant noise rose again.

“Polly, where the Sam Henry have you been?”

She raised her head and looked into Fab’s startling blue eyes. “Trying to get through your crowd of admirers. Where else would I be?”

Fabiola tilted her head to study Nasty. “Hmm ” Her straight blond hair swung away from one side of her face. “Nice. You can be very sneaky, sister, and very selfish. Are there any more at home like you, gorgeous?”

“Fab,” Polly said, but only because she was expected to protest her sister’s aggression. “This is Nasty Ferrito. He—er, I invited him to join us.”

“Smart girl.”

“Let’s sit down,” Polly said when it became evident Fab wouldn’t remember to invite them. “I understand you spoke to Mom.”

Fab bent forward over the table. “Keep your voice down,” she said, sending significant glances in Nasty’s direction.

“Nasty knows all about it. I think Mom’s half-convinced he’s the enemy.”

Fab sat back again. To Nasty she said, “Are you the enemy?”

“Why, yes, ma’am,” he told her. “Of course I’m the enemy.”

“He’s not the enemy,” Fab said matter-of-factly. “Mom’s in a real snit. How do you like my dress?”

“What dress?” Polly asked.

Fab checked the divided halter top on the minuscule red number she wore. “I’m decent.” Long, red-nailed fingers passed under her very shapely bottom to a hem that clipped the tops of elegant thighs. “Everything’s covered.”

Polly smiled at her adored sibling. “Just, my dear. How can you blame men for falling all over you when you look like
that?”

“I don’t blame them,” Fab said. “
Who are you, Nasty Fer
rito? Apart from being Nasty Ferrito? My mother and I think that’s a wild name.”

“I’m a dive-shop owner,” he said calmly.

“And?”

“Former N
avy SEAL. Montana son. Loner. A
dangerous
dude.” He raised his well-defined eyebrows. “And a man with plans.”

“Crumb—as my soft sister would say. A virtuoso of violence in the flesh. Counterintellig
ence and all that stuff. Inhu
man, that’s what they call you people. Hell—I mean, crumb,
what are you doing with my little sister?”

“Put a sock in it, Fab.” Polly fumed. “For the record I’m older than you. Nasty
used
to be in the Navy. He teaches diving school now.”

“Oh, sure.” Fab slid slowly sideways in her chair until she could see all of Nasty. “When they talk about seven feet of whipcord, they’re talking about guys like you, Captain Death.”

Nasty’s sudden laugh startled Polly. She was growing tired of be
ing startled around this man.
“Captain Death?” he sputtered. “That’s great. Geez, wait till I tell Roman that one. He’ll croak. Nice to meet you, too, Fabiola Crow. You’re beautiful, but not as beautiful as your sister. You’re smart—but I doubt if you’re as smart as your sister. You’re sexy, but definitely not as sexy as your sister.
Polly’s the family diplomat, too. But you’re a winner, Ms. Crow, and
I
think I’m going to like you.”

This time it was Fab who sat with her mouth open.

Art Loder appeared at Polly’s shoulder. “Introduce me to your sister,” he said. “She’s something.”

“This is Art Loder, Fab,” Polly said. “He and his sister, Jennifer, are the Main Monsters.”

“Yeah,” Fab said with the enthusiasm Polly loved in her twin. “You’re fabulous. God,
I
wish I could move like you two.”

“Thank you kindly,” Art said. “I’d a sight rather watch you move.”

They all laughed.

“Come back, Artie,” Jennifer called. “We can’t finish this argument without you.”

Polly felt stared at and turned to meet Jack’s eyes. He wasn’t finding anything funny. He sent her a signal she didn’t understand. She ignored him.

Jennifer said “We’ve started a pool. You want in? How many sports stadiums will there be in Seattle by the year 3000?”

Nasty stroked his jaw. “I can only count with my fingers and toes.
I
don’t have enough. But then, who knows?”

“Right, mate!” Art slapped Nasty’s very solid shoulder, and looked at his own hand. “Cripes. Go easy on the spinach, will ya? I need these hands.”

“Artie!”

“Coming, sis. When you gotta go, you gotta go.” To Fab he said, “Just let me know when you want to start tumbling lessons. Or dancing lessons. Yeah, how about dancing lessons? I’ll make time to give you private sessions.”

“I just bet you will,” Fab said to the acrobat’s departing back. “Pushy little fart.”

“Fab.”

“Not bowled over by the charmer, huh?” Nasty said, sounding preoccupied. His eyes didn’t quite focus. “He’s got a big head.”

“International circus performers, isn’t that what you told me, Polly?” Fab asked. “I’ve got to admit the guy’s got some muscles in that cute red suit. He’s got some other things, too. There’s no way he could carry a concealed weapon.”

“Fab.”

“Oh,
Fab,
”
Fabiola repeated, grinning.

Nasty was restless. “What’s with Domehead, Polly? Your producer friend. He’s making holes in your back.”

Nasty hadn’t looked behind him once—as far as Polly had been aware. How did he know Jack was staring at her?

“Is there anything you haven’t told me about Jack Spinnel? That is his name?”

“That’s his name,” Polly said. “There’s nothing personal I haven’t told you because I don’t know much about him. Professionally, he’s had a number of successful children’s series. And he’s done one or two nature programs. Some gorilla stuff—the US studies,
I
think. Aborigines in the outback. A couple of critically acclaimed documentaries on South America.”

Fab pursed her lips. “Hmm. Nice track record. Too bad he’s such a prick.”

“You don’t even know the man,” Polly protested.

“He’s got the hots for you.”

“That’s stupid.” And the suggestion had been made too many times to ignore, darn it.

The arrival of a waiter was a relief. She ordered a beer and potato skins. Nasty asked for Coke and fried calamari.

“Jackie boy doesn’t want to share you with anyone, love,” Nasty said when the waiter had left. “If he could figure out a way, he’d grab you and get you out of here.”

Polly found her voice. “No, he wouldn’t. You’re seeing things—or making up things you can’t see, or guess at.” Gavin had spoken of Mary thinking Jack was involved with Polly.

“Am I, Fab?” Nasty asked.

Fabiola faced Jack’s table. She lifted her wineglass and
stared down into the pale contents. “I’d say Captain Death has great instincts,” she said. “That guy’s creepy, Pol. Nothing’s moving. He’s frozen with his eyes on you.” She shivered and emptied her glass.

“Have you told him anything about what’s going on?” Nasty asked.

“I haven’t told anyone,” Polly said.

“Venus couldn’t have said something?”

“I know she wouldn’t have had a chance to talk about the woman who called her. But if she’d told him about the answering machine threats—” He was trying to trick her into telling him everything. “There wouldn’t be any reason to go to Jack.”

“You know all about what’s been going on, Fabiola?” Nasty asked.

“I know. Polly and I share everything. We always have.”

“Do you think there’s any reason why Bobby can’t be kept safe here in Kirkland?”

“The guy on the phone did threaten him, or that’s what Polly and I decided he was doing. He said he’d forgive her for the one mistake she’d made. If she got rid of it, or something.”

Polly looked unseeingly at the beer the waiter placed in front of her. Nasty had successfully maneuvered Fab into telling him just about everything.

“And you and Polly decided this man meant Bobby?”

She needed fresh air.

“What else could he mean? What I don’t get is this woman who called our mother today. That’s even more weird. I think the guy’s got a woman who’s afraid of him. You read about cases like that. These men get a woman, a wife, or a girlfriend, to do these things for them—help them get at another woman. The girlfriend or whatever is afraid to go against the man, so she goes along. Sometimes the guy’s abusing the girlfriend’s own kid. Can you imagine a sicko like that?”

“I don’t have to imagine,” Nasty said.

Polly looked at him. His voice didn’t change, but it sounded
as if he carried the experience of a very long life with him— and he’d been disgusted by a lot of that experience.

“Maybe I’d better ask some questions about your venerable producer,” Nasty said. “I already know he thinks he owns you.”

Polly rallied. “How could you know that?”

“I’ll tell you
when the time’s right. For now,
the
less
you
know,
the better. We’ll make sure Bobby’s safe,” he said to Fab. “My partner’s an expert in the protection game. You don’t have anything to worry about there.”

“Oh, I’m not going to worry about Bobby,” Fab said. She looked at Polly from beneath thick, dark lashes. “It’s my sister who may be in danger around here.”

“Don’t worry about Polly, either. I intend to stick to her day and night. I won’t let her out of my sight.”

“Like I said
,
” Polly told him. “It’s my sister
who
may
be
in danger.”

Seven

S
he’d turned out all but the lights around the makeup mirror. Jack said she was too fat for the screen, but she wasn’t fat. Mary Reese smoothed the loosely belted, white satin robe over her breasts. In the mirror, she watched her nipples push against the fabric, and wriggled on the small stool.

She wasn’t fat. She had the kind of body men fondled in their dreams, the best dreams they ever had.

The building was empty. She’d hear his footsteps when he approached backstage, and the dressing rooms.

Mary picked up her watch from the dressing table. He was late. Bastard. He liked to make her wait. It excited him to think of her here like this, ready, and frustrated. He always said the waiting made her more inventive.

Tonight she intended to make him listen to her. Either he listened, and helped her come up with a plan, or she wouldn’t put out. Of course, he was strong
enough to take care of that…
Mary pressed a hand between her legs and closed her eyes.

A draft hit her back before she realized the door had opened. “Mary, Mary,” he said. “Nice of you to make sure you’re well oiled for me.”

She glared at him in the mirror, tossed her hair back, and pretended to be angry. “Well oiled for you?” She laughed. “Who needs you? I’m doing very well all on my own.”

He closed the door. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“I didn’t hear you coming.”

“You were too busy.”

“Go away.”

“Maybe I will. Yeah, I think I’ll just go away and find someone more obliging.”

She pouted.

“On the other hand, I think I want to see you do it to yourself.”

The idea appealed. “And then we can do it to each other,” she said, the nerves that counted exposed, and begging for attention.

“We’ll see.”

“No, we won’t.” Peeved, she tightened the robe belt. “I don’t feel like being told what to do. We’ve got plans to make.
I’ve
got plans to make. You’re going to do what I want.”

He approached and stood with his hands on her shoulders. “
I
don’t like being told what to do either.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will, Mary. You will. But I want to watch you do it to yourself first. Come on.” It was as close to wheedling as she’d ever heard from him.

Fixing her eyes on his in the mirror, she pulled the belt undone and parted the robe. Beneath it she wore a black lace teddy with satin ribbons holding it together between her breasts.

“Lush,” he said. “You are so lush. Ice cream and big, dark cherries. And this hair.” He ran his fingers through the red curls that brushed her very white shoulders. “I love your hair. All of it. Do it, Mary. I’m ready, but I want to watch you first.”

“Why don’t we—”

“Do it.” A sharp tug on her hair underscored the menace in his voice. “Go on.”

He excited her. Her breathing came in short gasps. Leaning her head against him, she let her knees fall apart. A slit in the teddy revealed the other red hair he was so fond of.

“God you’re something,” he muttered.

She slid a finger through the slit and let her eyes close.

“Go for it, Mary. Go.”

“No.” A flush heated her all over. “Let’s just get it on together.”

“Don’t cross me.”

When he spoke like that, and looked like that—wild—he incited and frightened her. She’d defied him before, and the sex hadn’t completely dulled the pain.

But it almost had.

Mary sprang from the stool and whirled away. “You can’t make me do it.”

“I’m not in the mood for games.” He stood where he was. “Come here.”

“You come and get me.”

“Stupid, stupid, Mary. You don’t know when to shut up and do as you’re told.”

“Why don’t you teach me?” she said sweetly, while her heart thundered, and sweat poured between her shoulder blades. She felt sick. “Come on. Teach me.”

He moved as fast as she knew he could. Four steps and he reached her. Five steps and he slammed her against the wall. Mary screamed.

“Shut
up,”
he said into her ear. “Shut up, Mary.”

“Kiss me,” she begged.

“I don’t like mouths. You never know where they’ve been.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“We’re very compatible.”

Mary pushed on his chest.

He returned the favor until tears squeezed from her eyes. “Are you ready to do as you’re told?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Good.” With a last pinch, he straightened and stood aside to let her pass him. “Back on the stool. I like watching in the mirror.”

A thrill mounted under her skin. She returned to the stool and sat down, spread her legs, parted the fabric of the crotch
in her teddy, and stimulated herself. Long, slick strokes. Her hips rocked.

“Pretty,” he whispered, coming to stand behind her. He reached down and undid the satin ribbons. A swift tug and he had what he wanted. Hauling the top of the teddy open, he revealed her heavy breasts.

Mary’s vision blurred. She let her head fall forward.

He raised her chin. “You told me you wanted to be an actress.”

She nodded, working harder, faster.

“Knowing how to put on the greasepaint is important to actresses.” He wouldn’t release her chin. “You’ve got to draw attention to your best features.”

“Let me go.”

Slowly, he passed a stick of violet greasepaint around first one nipple, then the other, making garish circles on her translucent, blue-veined skin.

“Stop it,” she whined. “It’s hard to get off.”

He ignored her, picked up another stick, and added a turquoise line around the purple. “So pretty,” he murmured. “Hurry up, Mary.” Leaning over her, he pulled the slit open wider and clamped his hand on top of hers, guided her.

“I don’t like that.”

“But I do. D’you know what these are?” With his free hand he tweaked a nipple. “Targets. Be quick. I’m ready for target practice.”

Her stomach rolled over and she tasted acid. When she tried to pull her hand away, he snatched her fingers, and pumped them back and forth until she cried aloud.

“Good,” he whispered against her ear. “Very good. Now, Mary. Now!”

She came. With a shriek and a dim spear of humiliation, she came beneath her fingers, and his, while he watched her helpless bucking.

What she saw in the mirror then wiped away any trace of
embarrassment. She fascinated him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her body.

She didn’t like the painted circles.

“Better?” he asked. When she nodded he said, “But it’s not enough, is it. It’s never enough for people like you and me. Get up.”

Dimly, she looked up into his face. Satiation spread its dreamy lethargy.

“Up,” he ordered curtly. But he didn’t wait. Instead he moved beside her, gripped her waist, and hauled her to sit on the dressing table.

Mary plucked at his shirt. “Come on,” she said. “Come to Mary.”

Very deliberately, he pulled her arms away and took them behind her back. He held her wrists together and studied her breasts. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said, picking up another stick of paint and applying a third circle. Yellow this time. “When you want to grab attention, my love, just show off your tits.”

Mary squirmed. The result was to grind the bones in her wrists together.

He tossed the greasepaint down and picked up a stiff liner brush. “For the finer touches,” he said, concentrating, dipping the bristles into red lip gloss.

“You’ll bruise me,” she said, struggling against his hold on her arms.

Then the pointed brush made contact and the pain didn’t matter. “Yes.” She strained toward him. “Yes, yes.” Each stipple was a delicious dart.

“Bull’s-eye!” His mouth and teeth replaced the brush with shocking suction.

Mary gasped, and cried out. She wrapped her legs around his waist and moaned. He sucked long, and hard. Her back met glass. The naked bulbs sent shafts of heat into her shoulders.

“See,” he said, raising his face. “Trust me. Invention is my thing.” His mouth glistened.

“Did you see him tonight?” Mary asked.

His face twisted. “Shut up!” The sting of his fingers on her cheek brought tears to her eyes. “I’ll deal with it.”

She didn’t care how dangerous it was to press him, she had to have what she needed—his promise that they would win. “Was he with her?”

“You stupid, stupid woman. Stupid, selfish bitch.”

He used a finger to wipe an oval of white greasepaint around the perimeter of her lips.

She felt his fingernail dig into the skin and winced. “Don’t. We’ve got to talk about this. You’re protecting her. I’ll see them both in hell before I let—”

Black. Black silenced Mary. A wide swath of black liner, pressed so hard the inside of her mouth ground into her teeth. His eyes glittered. Fear fluttered in her chest, her stomach. There could be no going back. “She’s in the way.”

“She’s the least of our problems. A nuisance. Nothing else.” A single powerful lift and she thudded to sit on the stool once more. He stood beside her and made sure she saw what he’d done to her face. Great, garish clown strokes painted a huge, downtumed mouth. The red gloss smudged out from the centers of her nipples, bleeding into the violet circles.

She heard him taking off his clothes but couldn’t look away from her distorted image.

Then he probed her lips and Mary watched how he entered her mouth and withdrew, only to push ever deeper inside.

His buttocks tensed. “Work it, love. Hold me.”

She closed her eyes and did as he asked—and sweated while he grunted. His body fascinated her. When he came, and let out a shuddering sigh, she fingered his butt, groped blindly for the rigid backs of his thighs.

“Great,” he said, panting. “You follow directions well, kid.”

“I’m not your slave,” she told him, turning her face aside and wiping her mouth. “Now it’s my turn. But I want to know what comes next with the other.” All of this was a pastime, a game while the most important game was played.

“Leave it to me,” he said. “This isn’t your problem. I’ve got everything under control.”

“You don’t get it, do you,” she hissed at him. “You’re not in charge here. You’re not the one who makes the decisions or hands down the instructions.
I
am. When are you going to get it right?” ?

He dragged her to her feet and shook her. “I’ve got it right You’re going to stay out of my way. You’re going to stop giving me orders. And you’re going to be where I want you, when I want you—with the information I may want.”

“The hell—”

The next shake jabbed the backs of her calves into the stool. “You were saying?” he asked, menacing, keeping her off balance enough to make her try to scramble upright.

Excitement made her bold. “Get rid of her.”

“Don’t be crazy. You think we need police swarming around?”

“All you have to do is make sure she goes missing. And stays missing.”

“Not until I do what I’m here to do.”

She would not back away from this. “I want that woman a long way away.”

“Just because you’re jealous? I don’t give a shit about how jealous you are. I’ll do what I’ve got to do.”

“And then she’ll be out of the way?”

“Leave it to me.”

“Damn you! Get tough before it’s too late. I want it done.”

“When I’m ready. When the time’s right.
”

“I want—”

“Shut
up.”

He flung her around and bent her, face
first, over the stool. Mary flailed, and tried to grab at him but he was too strong. With little effort he parted her thighs and wedged them apart with his knees.

Holding her down by the neck, he swept a circle on her bottom. This time she couldn’t see the color of the greasepaint.

“Don’t! I hate you. You’re going to wish you hadn’t done this.”

“Don’t you remember telling me I could do what I like as long as I made it different?” The paint stick clattered on the dressing table. “Didn’t you say you get bored easily?”

“Let me up!”

“Targets, pet. Just making sure I know what to aim for here.”

Mary tensed. “Use something. I don’t want to bleed.”

He laughed. “Do you think he does this with her?”

“She hasn’t got what I’ve got.” She braced her weight on her hands against the floor. Her breasts, with the grotesque designs, swayed. “It’ll all come apart, I tell you. If we don’t stop them, everything I’ve made will be destroyed. And I won’t be the only loser.”

“I’m going to stop them, Mary. My way.”

“My stomach hurts.” She smelled the grease remover before he slathered it over her. “You’re going to suffer for this.”

“Not at all. I’m going to love it. I bet he thinks she’s more fun to do it with than you. Different, but more fun.”