Lethal Seduction (38 page)

“You'd better,” Madison said, hoping she'd be able to catch Jamie at her office before she left.

“I'll be there in an hour,” Kimm said, and hung up.

Although Madison had suspected it was true, this was still not good news. Jamie would be devastated, and unfortunately Madison wasn't going to be around to help keep her together. Damn! Bad timing. Jamie would need her friends, because in a way she'd led such a sheltered life—always the beautiful one; the girl who married the boy of her dreams and supposedly lived happily ever after.

Jamie and Peter. The golden couple.

Obviously they were not to be.

She quickly abandoned her packing and called Jamie at her office.

“Hi,” Jamie said, sounding out of breath. “What's up?”

“What're you doing?”

“Coming up with a design concept for—can you believe it—Kris Phoenix.”

“Kris Phoenix!” Madison exclaimed. “When did he reappear?”

“Hmm,” Jamie said sheepishly. “I didn't tell you this, but he never actually went away. He kind of called me after Anton's dinner, told me he was buying a penthouse in New York, and would I be interested in designing the interior.”

“How come you never mentioned it?”

“It's not like I've been dealing with
him.
I get to confer with his manager and a couple of executive assistants. If I were dealing with Kris, I would've told you. Besides,
you're
the one who'll see him next—he's performing in Las Vegas.”

“How do you know that?” Madison asked suspiciously.

“I kind of spoke to him on the phone once,” Jamie admitted. “He uh . . . sort of invited me to his show.”

“Interesting you never mentioned this.”

“There's been so much else going on, and I'm not about to start behaving like a giggling schoolgirl—y'know, running to my best friend every time a guy calls me.”

“Every
time?”

“Don't be silly.”

“Kimm wants to see you. Can you make it to my apartment now?”

“Right
now?” Jamie said, sounding alarmed. “Is it
that
urgent?”

“I'm leaving early in the morning, and I thought I should be at the meeting.”

“Why? Is it bad news?”

“Let's see what Kimm has to say.”

“Oh God,” Jamie groaned. “How can I face up to bad news? I love Peter, and I'm positive he loves me.” Suddenly she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Can't discuss it now. Anton's lurking.”

“So jump in a cab and get over here.”

“I'll be there ASAP.”

•

Kimm was wearing the black leather coat Madison had bought her in Miami, and a modicum of makeup.

“You look nice,” Madison said, ushering her in.

Slammer immediately began sniffing at her legs. The tall woman stooped to pet him.

“I have Evian water,
not
on ice,” Madison said. “And I see Slammer is pleased you're here.”

Kimm rubbed the dog's head. “I'm sorry I come bearing bad news,” she said. “Had a hunch it would turn out this way. Once a wife is suspicious—forget about it, it's over.”

“Jamie will not take this well,” Madison said thoughtfully. “She's not strong like me; she's much more delicate.”

“I can tell.”

“Y'see,” Madison explained. “Because of her looks, people have always spoiled her. She's treated like this blond, blue-eyed goddess—the kind of woman men always fall desperately in love with. Not lust—love. So she's always been somewhat protected.”

“Nice for her,” Kimm said dryly.

“She met Peter straight out of college. They've been married three years and are—
were
—extremely happy. This will destroy her.”

“She'll be even more upset when she sees the photographs,” Kimm remarked.

“Why? Is the girl he's with very beautiful?”

“It's best if we wait until Jamie arrives.”

“Right,” Madison agreed, hating every moment of this. “It's her business, not mine. Maybe I shouldn't even be in on this.”

“Didn't mean it that way,” Kimm said shortly. “I'd sooner not go through it twice, that's all.”

“I understand.”

Slammer began barking, signaling Jamie's arrival. Madison hurried over and threw open the front door.

“Hi,” Jamie said, looking prettier than ever in a long, blue cashmere trenchcoat. “That was quick. I didn't even have to ring the bell.”

“I have my own personal dog radar.”

“Yes,” Jamie said sternly. “And you're getting too attached to him. What're you going to do when you have to give him back?”

“His owner is never coming home from Australia,” Madison said firmly. “And if he does, I'll simply inform him, too bad—he's lost custody.”

“You're funny,” Jamie said, running a hand through her short blond hair. “I can remember when you used to be petrified of big dogs.”

“He's a better companion than a man any day,” Madison joked. “Faithful, loving and always there!”

As if he was aware they were talking about him, Slammer threw himself down in the center of the room, rolled onto his back and lifted his legs in the air.

“Just like a guy,” Jamie said, grinning. “Showing off the goods and proud of 'em.”

“It's nice to see you again, Jamie,” Kimm said.

“I
hope
it's nice to see you again too,” Jamie replied, staring at the detective. “What exactly do you have for me?”

“A surprise,” Kimm said.

“I used to love surprises,” Jamie remarked, shrugging off her coat.

“Maybe not this one,” Madison said.

“So what is it?” Jamie asked, steeling herself for the inevitable.

“Photographs,” Kimm said. “And tape recordings of his cell-phone conversations.”

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“It's not a question of whether I
can,
I
do.”

“Right,” Jamie said, her expression becoming somber.

“Hey, listen,” Madison said. “I'll be in the other room if you need me.”

“No,” Jamie said sharply. “I
do
need you. You'll stay here with me.”

Kimm opened her briefcase. “You might want to look at the photos first,” she suggested, her wide face quite serious.

“This is torture,” Jamie moaned. “You look at them for me, Maddy—I can't do it.”

“Yes you can.”

“No
I
can't.
What if she's someone I know?”

“You've got to do it yourself,” Madison insisted.

A reluctant Jamie accepted the photos with shaking hands. She studied them for a moment, her classically beautiful face quite impassive. “What
is
this?” she said at last, thrusting the photos at Madison. “What the hell
is
this?”

Madison inspected the photographs. The first one showed Peter on the street, talking to another man. The second photo was more intimate as the two men leaned closer together. In the third photo they were embracing. And in the fourth, they were entering a hotel arm in arm.

“Oh, Jesus!” Madison said, feeling sick for her friend.

There were a few moments of silence before anyone said anything. “I'm sorry,” Kimm finally said. “But I suppose you had to find out sometime.”

“Find out
what?”
Jamie demanded, the color draining from her cheeks.

“It's pretty obvious,” Madison ventured.

“What?”
Jamie yelled. “Tell me
what?”

Madison and Kimm exchanged glances, and Madison gave an imperceptible nod, giving Kimm permission to say the words aloud.

“Your husband's having an affair with a man,” Kimm said.

And then there was silence.

R
OSARITA WAS ALL SET FOR
Vegas. She visited Barney's, purchasing a couple of expensive designer outfits before making a trip to one of her favorite places in New York, the Bigelow Apothecaries store on lower Sixth Avenue. Rosarita was a total makeup freak, and in Bigelow she went crazy, buying CE nail polish in red glitter, a selection of Laura Mercier lipsticks, several Portuguese soaps from Klaus Porto and, finally, a tube of glycolic acid skin-lightening lotion from Peter Thomas Roth—her favorite skin-care line.

After paying for her purchases with a credit card—Chas would pick up the bill, as always—she took a cab home.

Now that I'm pregnant,
she thought,
maybe Daddy will spring for a chauffeured car to drive me around. It's not right that I should be struggling on the cold New York streets, climbing in and out of cabs.

She decided to take it up with him in Vegas, preferably in front of Martha, who she was sure would agree with her.

Back at the apartment she packed her new makeup purchases carefully in her vanity case, making sure that the plastic bottle of poison was still well hidden at the bottom.

She was uncharacteristically nervous, but also excited.
Vegas was finally coming up, and if all went according to plan, soon she would be a free woman.

Wouldn't
that
be something to celebrate.

•

Across town, Dexter arrived at his first acting class full of enthusiasm. He'd had a good few days. Both Chas and Mortimer had agreed to meet with Silver Anderson, and the moment he returned from Vegas he was setting a time and a place. When he'd told Silver, she was delighted. “Put me in the same room with a potential investor, darling,” she'd drawled, “and the money is practically ours.” A throaty laugh. “I'm
very
persuasive.”

Yes, he knew that.

The acting coach Annie had recommended was a tall, thin, pale man with narrow eyes, a mean slash of a mouth and yellow Dracula teeth. His name was Finian Price, and he was a small-time character actor in big-time movies. Dexter recognized him immediately. “It's an honor to meet you, sir,” he said, walking over and introducing himself.

Finian dismissed him with a snarly look. “Enough with the ‘sir' shit,” he said. “Go sit over there,” he added, indicating a wooden chair at the end of a row of straight-backed chairs.

Dexter had expected a more friendly greeting, considering Annie had assured him she'd called the guy personally. Obviously Finian had other things on his mind.

The class was filling up with students. There were about twenty people—most of them quite young.

Dexter looked around and wondered if any of them were working actors like him. He didn't recognize anyone, so he went and sat down where Finian had told him to go.

A girl looked up as he approached, a petite natural blonde, with flowing hair that reached below her waist, an innocent face, wide eyes, full lips and an adorable snub nose. She was slender and possessed a beauteous smile, which she honored him with as she put out her hand. “Hi,” she said in a soft, lilting voice. “I'm Gem.”

There and then Dexter fell truly in love for the first time in his life.

“Uh . . . Dexter Falcon,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Dexter,” she murmured. “Are you new here?”

“As a matter of fact—yes,” he said, quite entranced by this angel.

“Oh, good,” she said, relieved. “So am I, and I'm
so
nervous.”

“Don't worry,” he found himself saying. “I'll look out for you.”

“You will?” she said hopefully.

“Course I will,” he said, experiencing an overwhelming need to protect her.

“I only arrived in New York last week,” she confided. “From Indiana. A friend told me about this class, and I knew this is where I had to be, even though enrolling used up almost all my savings.”

“I hear the teacher is excellent,” Dexter said.

“I hope so,” she said. “I only have enough money to support myself for three months. If I can't make it in that time, I'll be on a bus headed back home. I was wondering,” she added tentatively, “should I be looking for an agent?”

She sounded like him when he'd first arrived in town: naïve and trusting—all the things you shouldn't be in a city as hardedged as New York.

He'd
been lucky. Somebody would have to make sure she was lucky too.

“How about some
quiet
around here?” Finian thundered, planting himself at the front of the class. “Concentrate, for God's sake.”

A murmur of assent echoed around the room.

“Today we're going to discuss the movie
The Fight Club,”
Finian announced. “We'll analyze who those characters are and how you relate to them. At the same time we'll attempt to discover
why
you poor sods want to be actors in the first place, because God knows, it's hardly an easy profession, and very few of you will make it.
I
did,” he boasted. “But
I'm
one of
the lucky ones. And today
you're
the lucky ones, because today I'm sharing some of my hard-earned knowledge with you.”

“He's a famous actor, isn't he?” Gem whispered, obviously impressed. “I've seen him in movies.”

“Not a star, if that's what you mean,” Dexter said in a low voice. “Although according to my agent he's an excellent teacher.”

“Oh,” Gem murmured, even more impressed. “You have an agent?”

“Yeah, well you see, I'm a working actor,” Dex explained, hoping it didn't sound as if he was showing off. “I'm only here to gain a few extra pointers.”

“You've appeared in movies too?” she said in her soft melodious voice, so unlike Rosarita's strident shriek.

“TV,” he said. “I was on a soap,
Dark Days.”