Lethal Seduction (7 page)

“Morning, miss,” BoBo said, cheerful as ever.

“Morning, BoBo. How's it going?”

“It's a wee touch chilly up the Khyber Pass,” he said, with a saucy wink. “But I'll live.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said, idly wondering if he wore anything under his kilt.

“If you ever need me t'look after Slammer, just say the word,” BoBo offered, fishing in his pocket for a dog treat that he proceeded to tempt Slammer with.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Madison said, thinking how much she was looking forward to getting together with her father. The last time she'd seen him was a few months ago when she'd spent a weekend in Connecticut at their house. She'd rented a car and driven there on Friday night, returning to the city twenty-four hours later. Sometimes the anticipation of spending time with her parents was better than the actual event. When she had Michael to herself she was much happier than when hanging out with both of them. Stella was hardly the warm and loving motherly type.

Stella had languished in the garden, lying on a chaise lounge under a striped umbrella, sipping ice tea, while Madison was there, and Michael had walked her around the grounds, showing off his roses.

“Isn't it awfully quiet here after New York?” she'd asked, surprised that he was so settled.

“I like it here,” he'd said. “No pressure.”

“No action either,” she'd replied. “When I was a kid, you and Stella
loved
getting all dressed up and hitting the restaurants and clubs. Action was your middle name.”

Michael had nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes Stella misses the action. Although most of the time she's perfectly happy, like me.”

Sometimes Madison couldn't help wondering if he'd ever screwed around on the beautiful Stella.

No. Her father wasn't that kind of guy. Michael had integrity.

Madison often wished that
she
could find a guy with integrity. It was more important than a great butt any day.

Back at her apartment, she took a shower and tried to decide what to wear, finally settling on tight black pants, boots and a man's white shirt knotted at the waist. For a change she wore her hair down, then added tinted shades. David had always liked her in tinted shades. “Makes you look like a movie star,” he used to joke. Ha! Only David would call her a movie star. She added a couple of crosses, strung around her neck on black leather thongs, and some Indian silver-hoop earrings. Then, with nothing else to do while she waited for Michael, she picked up the phone and called the private detective Victor had recommended.

A woman answered the phone, terse and unfriendly. “Yeah?”

“Oh, um . . . hi. I'm looking for K. Florian.”

“You want to set up an appointment?”

“That's right.”

“Can you make it at four o'clock today?”

“The weekend isn't good. How about Monday or Tuesday?”

“Monday, ten o'clock.”

“Where?”

“You want to come here? Or shall I come to you?”

“Are
you
K. Florian?”

An aggressive– “What's the matter? You shocked I'm a woman?”

“No,” Madison said quickly. “I guess I was expecting a man, but a woman's fine with me.”

“I'll come to you, then. What's the address?”

“Uh . . . you do realize that this is confidential. Y'see, it's not
me
hiring you, it's my friend. So uh . . . I'll make sure she's here at ten on Monday.”

“What's this about? A cheating husband?”

“How did you know?”

“It's always the same story.” A beat. “Listen, if he's cheating, I can get the goods within twenty-four hours.”

“Sounds very efficient. I'll give you my address.”

She did so, then decided she'd better contact Jamie to let her know.

Peter answered the phone. “Bad news!” he groaned. “Me have major hangover.”

“I'm not surprised.”

“You're
not?
Why? Were you drinking with me last night? What did I do?”

“No, I wasn't your drinking partner, but for a moment you were knocking it back pretty good in front of me.”

“Did I say something I shouldn't've?”

“You were fine, Peter—really.”

“Remind me never to drink again.”

“I always remind you of that.”

“Even my eyelashes hurt!”

“Is your wife around?”

“Jamie!” he yelled. “It's Maddy.”

“Coming,” Jamie called out in the background.

“What are you up to today?” he asked. “Anything exciting?”

“Meeting Michael for brunch. And you two are . . .?”

“Shopping,” he groaned. “My punishment for being bad.”

“Maybe I'll catch up with you guys later.”

“You'll find us at Barney's, followed by Bergdorf's and Saks. Doesn't that sound like a fun afternoon for a reformed drunk?”

Jamie picked up the extension. “Hi!” she said happily. “How are
you
today?”

“Great,” Madison said. “And you?”

“Last night was something, wasn't it?” Jamie giggled.

“I
had a lousy time. Can you imagine getting stuck next to Joel Blaine? I mean, really!”

“Don't be so down on him,” Jamie said. “Joel's not so bad. In fact, I find him sort of attractive in an odd kind of earthy way.”

“What?”
Peter said, still listening in on the other phone. “The guy's a moron. His dad's the one with the smarts.”

“You only say that because Leon's a multibillionaire,” Jamie said. “You and money, Petey—you revel in it.”

“So do you, sweet thing, so do you.”

“Put down the extension, Peter. I'd prefer to speak to Madison
without
you joining in.”

“Don't mind me,” he said. “I'm taking a cold shower and swallowing a bottle of aspirin. I'm still trying to understand why you didn't give them to me last night, you could've saved me a monster hangover.”

“What am I—your nurse?” Jamie said crisply.

“Oh, I forgot,” Peter said. “You were too busy flirting with Kris Phoenix.”

“Hey, listen, guys . . .” Madison interrupted. “Much as I love listening to you two bicker, can you please do it on your own time?”

“Sure,” Peter said. “See ya,” and he clicked off.

“Has he gone?” Madison asked.

“Yes,” Jamie said. “I can always tell if he's still listening in.”

“You
were having fun last night.”

“As a matter of fact I was,” Jamie said, giggling softly. “Kris Phoenix was saying some
very
flattering things.”

“No big one, Jamie, you've been hearing very flattering things since you were ten. Guys have
always
been on your case.”

“But Maddy, this was Kris Phoenix! We used to buy his records, follow his romances in the magazines. It's a huge kick being hit on by a guy like that. It'd be like Mick Jagger coming on to me.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged any time you want,” Madison said dryly. “Apparently Mick Jagger comes on to anything that breathes!”

Jamie laughed.

“Anyway,” Madison continued. “Enough about your love life. Remember that thing we discussed?”

“What thing?” Jamie said vaguely.

“You know what I'm talking about. It's set for Monday, ten o'clock, my apartment.”

“Oh . . . you mean the detective thing.”

“What's the matter?”

“Well . . .” Jamie said, hesitating for a moment. “Do you honestly think I should go through with it?”

“If you're suspicious, yes.”

“I'm not so sure anymore. We had such a fantastic time last night when we got home. I know Peter was drunk and everything, and I was kind of like . . . well, I guess I was on a high. Getting hit on by a rock star certainly revs the old adrenaline!”

“Are you saying you want me to call it off?”

“No . . . I guess I
should
do it. No harm done, right? Only I'm not that suspicious anymore.”

“Then
don't
do it,” Madison said, exasperated. “Nobody's forcing you. I'll call back and cancel.”

“What would
you
do?”

“It's not
my
situation,” Madison said. “I know how you hate making decisions, but this one is all yours.”

“Okay, okay,” Jamie said. “I'll do it. Just so I can say to myself, ‘Silly suspicious me.' ”

“That's a fair decision.”

“Nothing lost, right?”

“Right. Peter tells me you're going shopping at Barney's.”

“Yes, my darling husband has promised to buy me whatever I want.” A soft chuckle. “And after last night—believe me—I deserve it.”

•

Madison was right, Michael Castelli
was
the best-looking fifty-eight-year-old in Connecticut. Six feet tall, he was slim and well built, with black curly hair, smooth olive skin and the same sharply defined cheekbones and seductive lips as his daughter. They looked alike. This pleased Madison.

Maybe she was prejudiced, but it seemed to her that age suited him—Michael got better-looking each year. He wasn't handsome in the traditional way, not like that soap actor she saw jogging every weekend. No, he had an Al Pacino/Robert De Niro edge—a look of danger—which apparently turned women on, because for as long as she could remember women had always had eyes for her father.

“Hi, Michael,” she said.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, hugging her. “It's good to see ya.”

“You too,” she responded.

“Still living by yourself?” he inquired, strolling into her apartment.

“Why? Would you sooner I had a resident man?” she teased, wishing she'd had more of a chance to tidy up.

“I'd sooner you were
married
to a guy.”

“As opposed to
married
to a girl?”

“Cut the comedy. I'm not joking.”

“I'm only twenty-nine,” she protested. “Why this sudden desire to see me married off?”

“ 'Cause we live in a tough world, sweetheart,” he said. “And I'd prefer to see you protected.”

She found herself giggling. “Protected? You sound like a scene out of
The Godfather.”

He threw her a look.

“I'm making another joke,” she said.

Slammer padded over and drooled on his black Armani pants. Michael didn't appreciate the dog's attention. He took a quick step back. “Keep that animal away from me,” he said, brushing off his pants. “I hate dogs.”

“You sound like Stella.”

“Not me.”

Since it was such a clear and crisp morning, they decided to walk to the Plaza. Madison felt pretty good strolling along Lexington with her father. She wished she could see more of him, but a few times a year was better than nothing.

“So,” she said, as they headed toward the hotel. “When am I going to hear what's going on?”

“Can't you wait until I get a cup of coffee?” he said.

“No,” she replied, unable to hold back any longer. “I'm really pissed, Michael. How could you not tell me you're moving back to the city?”

He looked at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“Anton told me.”

“Who's Anton, and what did he tell you?”

“Anton is Jamie's partner. They have an interior design business. He told me that Stella called him about decorating your New York apartment.”

“Did Stella tell him where she could be reached?”

“I guess so. I didn't ask. What's going on?”

“You're just like me. Impatient. Have to know everything immediately.”

“This isn't exactly immediately,” she pointed out. “I doubt you'd be telling me anything at all if I hadn't busted you on it.”

“You know if I didn't tell you, there had to be a reason. Right?”

“Right. So when am I going to hear?”

“Jesus!” he said irritably. “Take it easy.”

“Okay, I'll be patient. How
is
Stella anyway? And why didn't she come with you today?”

Michael stared straight ahead. “No idea. Haven't seen her in a while.”

Uh-oh, this is not good.
“What do you mean? How could you not see her when you live together?”

“You couldn't wait until we're sitting down, eating brunch like two civilized people,” he said harshly. “No, you have to find out now.” He took a long ominous beat. “The reason I haven't seen Stella is because she left me.”

“She did
what?”
Madison said breathlessly.

“You heard.”

“Stella left you?”

“You got it. Ran off with some twenty-six-year-old kid.”

“I don't believe it!”

“Believe it,” he said flatly. “It happened.”

“But you and Mom, you've always been so close.”

“That's what
I
thought.”

“How did it happen?”

“Who knows?” he said evenly. “I'm merely the guy who got left. Came home one day and she was gone. I haven't spoken to her since.”

“Oh my God!” Madison exclaimed, trying to digest this shocking news.

“That's the story, Princess,” Michael said calmly. “I guess it's
her
who's moving to New York, not me.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Madison suddenly stopped and faced him. “How . . . how can you
let
her do this to me?”

Michael laughed dryly. “Nobody's doing anything to
you,”
he said.

“You're my parents,” she said accusingly, knowing she sounded totally unreasonable but unable to stop herself. “I don't
want
divorced parents.”