Dangerous Kiss

  ‘And I’m startin’ to think you should let ’em see their father,’ he responded gruffly.

  Why was everyone ganging up on her at the same time?

  ‘Has Lennie been phoning you?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘You gotta let him see the kids, Lucky,’ Gino said. ‘It ain’t fair.’

  ‘Why?’ she demanded, more than a little irritated.

  ‘’Cause if you don’t, he’ll get a fuckin’ lawyer to make sure he does. Tell him he can drive to Palm Springs this weekend.’

  ‘You mean you’d have Lennie stay at the house?’ she said furiously. ‘Maybe he should bring the Bonnatti girl? Would you like that too?’

  ‘Don’t get cunty with me, kiddo. He can come an’ stay, an’ if he wants he can bring the other kid.’

  ‘Fuck you, Gino!’ she yelled, and slammed down the phone, almost rear-ending a truck.

  What was going on here? Didn’t anyone get it? Didn’t anyone understand how Lennie had betrayed her?

  She was mad as hell. Yet . . . she knew she wasn’t being fair to little Gino and Maria. They should see their father, she had no right to deprive them of that.

  Feeling guilty, she called Gino back. ‘Okay,’ she said guardedly. ‘If you want to see him so much, you call him. He’s shacked up at the Chateau Marmont with the Sicilian. Invite him down, I don’t care. But you’d better not invite her.’

  ‘Calm down,’ Gino said. ‘It don’t suit you to be hysterical.’

  ‘And it doesn’t suit you to be on his side,’ she retorted sharply. ‘And, for the record – I am not hysterical.’

  ‘Hey, what’s right is right.’

  ‘I hear you, Gino. And if you think what Lennie did was right, then your opinion is crap!’

  ‘Well, anyway, kid,’ he said, ignoring her outburst, ‘I’m lookin’ forward to seeing the little ones. An’ since it’s okay with you, I’ll give Lennie a buzz.’

  ‘I repeat. As long as he doesn’t drag along that – that woman.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I got the message. Is it all right with you if he brings the kid?’

  ‘Why not?’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘You can all have a nice time with the little Bonnatti brat. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful.’

  She slammed down the phone again, immediately regretting she’d told Gino it was okay. How could she allow little Gino and Maria to meet Leonardo, or whatever the stupid boy’s name was? They might even like him. This was impossible.

  She imagined the situation in reverse. What if she’d got pregnant after her one night with Alex? What if she’d said to Lennie, ‘Oh, here’s a little Alex Woods junior for you.’ Would he have accepted that? No freaking way! He didn’t like Alex as it was.

  Ha! He should like Alex. Alex was the one trying to persuade her to take him back.

  God, she was so furious! And, on top of everything else, she’d had to sit in court all day listening to the lawyers’ opening statements, and watching the girl with the thin pointed face and the black boy with his rich fat-cat white Beverly Hills lawyers, who were so sure they were going to get him off just because his daddy was a famous person.

  If it was up to her, she would’ve hauled Mila Kopistani and Teddy Washington outside, and given them both a taste of what they’d given Mary Lou.

  She called her service. There were several messages, the most important one from Boogie in Rome. She had no desire to hear more bad news but, then again, she needed to know what was going on with Brigette.

  She called him back, even though it was three in the morning in Italy.

  ‘Hey,’ Boogie answered, sounding alert. ‘Knew it was you.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Other people are thoughtful, Lucky. They’d wait until six at least.’

  ‘Don’t criticize me, Boog.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve had it with criticism today. What have you found out?’

  ‘It’s not good, not bad.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Carlo flew back here with Brigette and took her to live at the family home – some kind of rundown palace just outside Rome. They holed up there for a while, and when I went looking for them, Carlo’s mother, who barely speaks English, informed me they’d gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  ‘I’m worried about her, Boog. You didn’t see her when she was here, it wasn’t our Brigette.’

  ‘I’ve made a solid connection so hang in there. You’ll hear from me as soon as I have something.’

  ‘I’d get on the next plane if I could, but I’m in court every day and my movie starts shooting in four weeks.’

  ‘If I need you, I’ll call.’

  ‘Yes, and if it’s an emergency I can be there immediately.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  At least Boogie knew what he was doing. Lucky felt confident that if anything was going on with Brigette, he would find out. She drove home with a lighter heart.

  * * *

  ‘How do you feel it went today?’ Howard asked, driving his maroon Bentley along Wilshire.

  Sitting next to Howard in his fancy car, Teddy wondered how Price’s stuffy lawyer had become his new guardian. Why couldn’t he come and go with his dad every day? What was so terrible about that? ‘’S all right,’ he said carefully, although it wasn’t all right at all. He’d had a terrible day, listening to the attorneys present their case, painting him as some drunken jerk who’d aided and abetted Mila on her bloodthirsty mission.

  ‘You like Mason, huh? He’s a good man?’

  He’s white. You’re white, Teddy thought. What’s not to like? Both of them were working for his dad. Both of them were highly overpaid. This whole deal must be costing Price a shit-load of money.

  ‘Yes,’ he lied, although the truth was he considered Mason Dimaggio to be a bossy asshole. What was with the ridiculous suits and hats he wore? And why were they forcing him, Teddy Washington, to look like such a geek?

  ‘Your mother’s something else,’ Howard remarked, a derogatory sneer on his smug, pampered face.

  ‘She used t’ be beautiful,’ Teddy said defensively.

  ‘Price showed me the wedding pictures the other day,’ Howard said, checking out his appearance in the rear-view mirror. ‘She was a beauty, all right. Shocking how people let themselves go.’

  ‘Do I havta drive to court with you every day?’ Teddy asked, fiddling with the radio control.

  ‘It’s the way your father wants it,’ Howard replied, swatting Teddy’s hand away.

  Sure, Teddy thought. It’s what my dad’s paying for. That’s the only reason you’re doin’ it.

  As they proceeded down Wilshire, two police cars raced up behind them. Howard drew into the kerb, allowing the two cars to scream their way past. ‘This will not be a pleasant experience for the next few weeks, Teddy, but you’ll come through it,’ he remarked. ‘All the wiser I hope.’

  ‘’S’pose so,’ Teddy mumbled, staring out the window at a girl on a bicycle wearing red shorts and a tight tank. She reminded him of Mila.

  ‘Remember to be yourself,’ Howard lectured. ‘You’re a nice boy, not a wild kid. You were led astray. That’s our case and we’re sticking with it. But you have to back us up. Your demeanour in that courtroom means everything.’

  Teddy shifted in his seat. Driving to and from court every day with Howard Greenspan was going to be torture. Fortunately, they were almost home.

  As they neared the house, Teddy noticed the two police cars that had roared past them a few minutes ago were now parked outside. ‘Why’re they here?’ he asked.

  Howard slowed his Bentley, took a look out the window and groaned. ‘It’s probably something to do with the press,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ve told Price to control his temper. Let’s hope he hasn’t hit anybody.’

  ‘Why’d he do that?’

  ‘Because your dad is angry about all the publicity,’ Howard said, pulling up behind the second police car. ‘H
e’s angry and frustrated. Have you any idea what this is doing to him?’

  What about me? Teddy thought. I’m the one sitting in that courtroom getting accused of all kinds of shit.

  They got out of the gleaming Bentley. Howard locked it and hurried over to a uniformed cop standing outside the house. ‘I’m Mr Washington’s lawyer,’ he said officiously. ‘What’s happening here?’

  The cop shrugged. ‘You’d better go inside,’ he said.

  ‘Was Mr Washington involved in a fight?’

  ‘There’s been a robbery,’ the cop said. ‘And a rape.’

  ‘Christ!’ Howard exclaimed heatedly. ‘More bad publicity! This is all we need.’

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  The realtor was a petite bottle blonde clad in an expensive Escada suit, diamond-stud earrings, and extremely high heels. In her fifties, she had a permanent smile and an overly friendly manner.

  ‘Mr Golden,’ she gushed, as he got out of his car, ‘or can I call you Lennie?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said, walking up to the front door of the house she was about to show him.

  ‘This is a most delightful house,’ she said, inserting a key and letting them in. ‘It’s up for rent, but the owner has said that because it’s you he might be prepared to sell, furnishings and all. The house was once rented by Raquel Welch. And last year a very famous young television star lived here for several months.’ The woman lowered her voice. ‘She insists we protect her privacy, so I’m not allowed to reveal her name.’

  Big deal, Lennie thought, checking out the spacious front hallway.

  ‘Do look around,’ the realtor continued. ‘I think you’ll find this is an excellent house for you, with the added advantage of a panoramic view of the city. And, of course, all the rooms offer a terrific flow for entertaining.’

  He followed her around the one-storey house located high up on Loma Vista. It had three bedrooms, all with bathrooms en suite, three entertainment rooms, a large country-style kitchen, a pool, and a tennis court. It was really too big and fancy for what he wanted.

  ‘How much is the owner asking?’ he enquired.

  ‘Three million,’ she said, as if this was a bargain price. ‘However, I’m sure we can get it for less.’

  ‘And the rental is?’

  ‘Twelve thousand per month.’

  ‘I told you over the phone I was looking for something in the six to eight thousand range,’ he said, annoyed that she was wasting his time.

  ‘Yes, indeed you did, Mr Golden – Lennie. But when I saw this house, it seemed so perfect. You mentioned wanting three bedrooms and a view, and after all, Suzanne Sommers did live here.’

  He threw her a quizzical look. ‘I thought you said Raquel Welch.’

  ‘They both lived here,’ she said, not batting an eyelash at her obvious lie.

  This woman was beginning to irritate him. He’d clearly told her over the phone that eight thousand was his limit, which to his way of thinking was far too much anyway. However, he did not want to spend all his time searching for houses for months on end. His priority was getting Claudia and Leonardo settled and out of his life.

  ‘How about making the owner an offer?’ he suggested, checking out the kitchen.

  ‘What kind of offer?’ she retaliated, dollar signs lighting her eyes.

  ‘Seven thousand a month.’

  She laughed politely. ‘Mr Golden – Lennie – they’re asking twelve.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, wandering into the dining room. ‘How about compromising at nine?’

  ‘I can put in the offer.’

  ‘I suggest that you do that.’

  ‘And shall we make a provision that if you wish to buy?’

  ‘Yeah, throw that in. Although for three million they don’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Property values are rising all the time, Mr Golden,’ she lectured. ‘I sold three houses this month, all of them fetched over four million.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ he said impatiently. ‘Anything else you want to show me?’

  ‘No. I’ll put in your offer and let you know.’

  He felt like he was being taken because he was a celebrity. Shit! Twelve thousand a month! Who was she kidding?

  When Lennie arrived back at the hotel, Leonardo was already in bed, and Claudia was in the kitchen fixing pasta. He wasn’t hungry, but what the hell? He sat down anyway.

  One thing about Claudia, she was a fantastic cook, her Bolognese sauce was beyond delicious and he found himself stuffing down two heaped bowls of pasta without even thinking.

  She didn’t eat. She hovered, making sure he had everything he needed. Thick crusty garlic bread; a mixed green salad; a cold beer.

  Hey, living with Claudia he’d grow fat as a hog. Especially as he wasn’t working out because all his equipment – Stair-master, weights, et cetera – were at the beach-house. Along with Lucky.

  His Lucky. The one love of his life.

  And what was he doing to get her back? Because if he didn’t move fast, he knew that Alex Woods was ready and waiting. The bastard.

  * * *

  Duke awoke with a start. He’d fallen asleep behind the wheel of the comfortable green Chevy, parked on the street near the entrance to the garage of the Chateau Marmont. And who could blame him? He’d had a tough day. Stealing two cars. Ransacking the Price Washington mansion. Raping the maid.

  He allowed his mind to focus on the maid for a moment. A juicy little piece. She’d squealed like a baby pig at the moment of rear entry. He’d liked that.

  A faint smile flitted across his face at the memory. He got off on fear. Other people’s. Especially women’s.

  The truth was he’d done enough for one day and he was genuinely tired. Too tired even to consider offing Lennie Golden. There was always tomorrow. And, besides, he had to think this thing through in a more business-like way.

  Maybelline had made a deal with Mila, her cell-mate. The deal was that he got to rob the Washingtons’ house in exchange for whacking Lennie Golden. Mila had given Maybelline details about the house – alarm code, safe location, layout – which Maybelline had passed on to him during his last visit.

  So what? He could’ve got in without any of that information. And once he was in, he could’ve persuaded Consuella to tell him anything he wanted. Especially when he’d had her bent doggie-style over the bathroom stool, and was dousing her big juicy ass with various aftershaves and colognes.

  That had been some kick. Especially when the mixed scents had hit the tip of his cock, stinging the shit out of him.

  Ah . . . but he’d liked the pain. It added to the adventure, and every gig was a new adventure.

  So . . . this was not a fair deal. Why should he risk jail-time – not that he’d ever allow himself to get caught again – for such small rewards?

  Jesus Christ. Was Maybelline getting soft? He could score big for putting a hit on someone.

  Full of these thoughts, he consulted his watch and decided it was way past time to dump the Chevy. Removing a small chamois cloth from his pocket, he dusted every surface he’d touched, then left the car and made his way down the hill on foot, heading for home.

  Since Maybelline had screwed their chance of living in the big house with step-grandma Renee, home was now a one-bedroom apartment situated off Hollywood Boulevard. It was not Duke’s ideal choice. He knew where his rightful place was – back in the house their grandfather had left them.

  Damn Maybelline and her vicious temper.

  If only she’d waited for him to come home, it could have all been so easy.

  * * *

  Irena sensed trouble long before it happened – she’d always had an antenna for such things. So when she saw the police cars parked outside the house, her first thought was that they’d finally come to arrest her. They’d discovered she’d entered the country with false papers, and were preparing to deport her. She wasn’t Irena Kopistani. She was Ludmilla Lamara, a known criminal in Russia.

  She’d been wai
ting twenty years for this to happen.

  She walked up to the front door dragging her feet.

  A uniformed cop blocked her way. ‘Yes?’ he said, in a none-too-friendly voice.

  ‘I live here,’ she said, studying his broad, beefy face for clues regarding her imminent arrest.

  ‘Your name?’

  She hesitated a moment. ‘Irena Kopistani,’ she said, rubbing her hands together. ‘I’m Mr Washington’s housekeeper.’

  ‘You’d better go inside.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked tentatively.

  ‘Detective Solo will fill you in.’

  ‘Where’s Mr Washington? Is he all right?’

  ‘He’s in the house, ma’am.’

  Sometimes she had nightmares that something bad might happen to Price before she could tell him how much he meant to her. She couldn’t bear it if he was hurt in any way. He was her only reason for living. The one true love of her life.

  Her heart was beating much too fast. She walked through the door into the front hallway, where there was a gathering of unknown faces. She saw Howard Greenspan talking to a tall, haggard-looking man with greasy hair.

  ‘Who’s this woman?’ the haggard-looking man asked, as she came into view.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Price said, emerging from the living room. ‘Irena’s my housekeeper.’

  ‘Good,’ the detective said. ‘She’s the one I want to speak to.’

  Irena’s heart sank. Irene Kopistani. Ludmilla Lamara. Who did he think she was?

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  When the news flashed across the TV screen, Mila was sitting with a couple of Puerto Rican hookers whom she found quite entertaining. Anything to take her mind off her day in court. They were teaching her all kinds of things she hadn’t learned in school. Like how to give the mother of all blow-jobs in the back of a moving car, and how to recognize a vice cop when he tried to entrap a girl. Obviously they weren’t too good at the second one, because they’d both been arrested during a recent vice bust.

  Pandora, one of the hookers, was busy telling stories about her famous clients, when the news broke.