Deadly Embrace

  “I can’t do that without telling Sam first,” Dani explained.

  “I thought you did tell him.”

  “No. After I threw him out I didn’t see him again. It seemed pointless to contact him when he obviously had no plans to visit Vincent. I was under the impression he didn’t care.”

  “Apparently he does, so now you have to hire your own lawyer and only speak through him.”

  “Surely that will cost a fortune?”

  “Isn’t protecting your son worth it?” Gemini asked.

  “Of course it is.”

  “Anyway, Dani, you should ask Dean’s advice. He’s a smart man, and rich, I’m sure he will help you.”

  “You once told me that money isn’t everything.”

  “This is true,” Gemini said. “However, Dean is not only rich, he also cares about you. The wise move would be to snap him up before someone else does. You’re keeping him at a distance, and no man enjoys that. He’s probably already beginning to feel rejected.”

  “I’m not responsible for how he feels,” Dani said, wishing that Gemini would stop pushing Dean at her. If anything, it was making her back away even more.

  Dean King lived in Houston, where he was president of a large oil company. He was thirty-three years old, unmarried, and extremely wealthy. He was also attractive, charming, kind, adored Dani, and was very fond of Vincent.

  What more could she ask for? And yet there was something within her that prevented her from allowing him to get too close.

  “The man is crazy about you,” Gemini pointed out. “Why are you holding back?”

  “I’m scared,” Dani said, shivering at the thought of being intimate with another man.

  “Of what?” Gemini asked, picking at her salad.

  “Scared of him leaving me,” Dani admitted.

  “Leaving you?” Gemini exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I know I’m being foolish,” Dani said, speaking fast. “I also know that I have to give it more time.”

  “How much more time?” Gemini asked as the waiter refilled her waterglass. “Dean won’t stay around forever. I mean, how much longer do you think he’ll wait before you sleep with him?”

  “I can’t do it,” Dani said, panicking.

  “Why not?” Gemini demanded. “It’s a perfectly natural act. You’re not a virgin. You’ve been married, you’ve had a child.”

  “You don’t understand,” Dani explained. “Michael was the first man I slept with.”

  “Who’s Michael?”

  “Vincent’s real father, the man I told you about. Anyway, Michael was my first, and after I married Sam, then he and I . . . well, we only did it once.”

  “This cannot be true,” Gemini said, genuinely surprised.

  “It is.”

  “Are you telling me that you’ve only made love twice in your life?”

  Dani nodded. “I’m afraid sex is not for me.”

  “Oh my God,” Gemini sighed. “You poor girl. You need professional help. And you also need a man who is gentle. A man like Dean. Now that I know this, I shall encourage it even more.”

  “Please don’t,” Dani said quickly.

  Gemini had an endless supply of male admirers. Unlike Dani’s former roommate Angela, Gemini was very picky. She would go out with a man once, and if he didn’t measure up to her exacting standards, he was history. Dani admired the way she dealt with men. Personally she couldn’t do it.

  “I suggest you don’t wait too long before asking Dean’s advice,” Gemini said, signaling for the check. “You’re having dinner with him tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, he’s in town for the weekend.”

  “Then do it.”

  Gemini was right—if she didn’t cement their relationship soon, it was quite possible she might lose him.

  It didn’t matter, because one of these days he’d leave anyway. Men always did.

  They dined in Dean’s penthouse suite atop the Stardust Hotel. Dean was extremely romantic, and tonight especially so. There were candles and a bowl of pink roses on the table set for two on the terrace, while a violinist played classical music quietly in the background.

  “What’s the occasion?” Dani asked.

  “You’re the occasion,” he replied, kissing her on the cheek. “You’re always the occasion.”

  It was late, she’d performed two shows, and she would have preferred going straight home to Vincent, who was no doubt fast asleep. She’d hired a capable woman who lived in and took care of him. Although Vincent was quite fond of the woman, he’d told her that it wasn’t the same as having his mommy around.

  Vincent had never asked for Sam. Not once. Perhaps he sensed that Sam was not his real father.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Dean said, “while I pour you a glass of champagne.”

  “I don’t drink,” she reminded him.

  “Tonight is a special occasion,” he said, removing a bottle of Cristal from the ice bucket.

  “Is it your birthday?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t forgotten.

  “No, it’s not my birthday. You’ll see,” he said, filling her glass. “You can have champagne once in a while, can’t you?”

  “I suppose so.”

  He sat down opposite her and clinked glasses. “You know, Dani, for someone so beautiful and, I thought, sophisticated, you’re really just a homebody at heart, aren’t you?”

  “What made you think I was sophisticated?”

  “You’re one of the leads in a top Vegas show. Onstage you come across as so statuesque and glamorous.” He looked at her quizzically. “That’s not you at all, is it?”

  “No, Dean, it’s not,” she said, dazzling him with her smile. “Gemini’s the sophisticated one. I’m just a mommy.”

  “Which makes you a very lucky woman indeed.”

  “Why?”

  “To have given birth to a child at such a young age. . . . I’ve never found a woman I want to be with.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Until now.”

  She knew what was coming, hence the romantic setting. And much as she liked him, she dreaded allowing him to get any closer.

  “I’ve ordered all your favorite foods,” he said. “Caviar to start, lobster, and then a chocolate soufflé—the chef’s specialty.”

  “Those are not my favorite foods,” she said, toying with her glass.

  “They will be after tonight.”

  “I’ve never tasted caviar.”

  “Then this will be a first, won’t it?”

  Over dinner she brought up the subject of hiring a lawyer.

  Dean listened to her carefully. “Are you divorced yet?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He leaned forward, watching her carefully. “Do you want to be?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unfortunately, your ex will have some visitation rights.”

  “He will?”

  “Of course. He’s Vincent’s father.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “What if he isn’t?” she ventured.

  “Excuse me?” Dean said, looking puzzled.

  Should she tell him her whole sorry story?

  Why not? She had nothing to lose.

  “Dean,” she began. “I’ve only ever told one other person this, and that was Gemini.”

  “What is it?” he asked, anxious to hear what she had to say.

  “Here goes,” she said, taking a long, deep breath. “Sam is not Vincent’s father.”

  “He’s not?”

  “No.” And then she proceeded to tell him everything.

  “So,” he said when she’d finished, “I could be the father figure Vincent never had.”

  “He already thinks you’re the best.”

  “Yes?”

  “That’s because you spoil him.”

  “I know. He loves it, and so do I. He’s a great little kid.”

  “All those toys,” she scolded. “What were you—a deprived child?”

  “Not at all. I simply
enjoy giving.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Now,” he said slowly, “rather than waiting for the soufflé, I have something to ask you.”

  “You do?”

  “Dani,” he said, fumbling in his pocket and producing a Cartier ring box, “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

  He popped the box open, and she found herself gazing at a magnificent emerald-cut diamond solitaire ring.

  She’d suspected it was coming, and yet it was still a surprise. After all, she’d done no more than kiss this man good night, and now he was asking her to marry him.

  “I can give you the life you’ve always dreamed of,” he continued, taking the ring out of its box and offering it to her. “And not only you—Vincent too. He’ll attend the best schools, the finest college. He can do whatever he wants. He can become a lawyer, a scientist, a football star, whatever.”

  “I . . . I’ll have to think about it,” she murmured, holding the ring.

  Yes, I’ll have to think about it, because my sex drive is in neutral—and I’m not sure I ever want to be with another man.

  “What is there to think about?” he said, looking perplexed. “Put the ring on, see if it fits. Let’s get engaged at least.”

  “You have to give me time, Dean,” she said, handing him back the ring. “I’m not even divorced yet.”

  “I’ll get you the best divorce lawyer in town.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Please know that I’m very flattered you’ve asked me.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “It’s a maybe.”

  He smiled. “I can live with that.”

  “I hope so,” she said softly, “because that’s the way it has to be.”

  “For now?” he said, taking her hand in his.

  “Yes, Dean, for now.”

  Tuesday, July 10, 2001

  Get the damn van here!” Madison yelled into the phone. “Stop screwing around. We’re in a life-and-death situation. Two people are dead. Can you understand that? They’ve killed two people. Get it here now! Or believe me, you’ll be damn sorry. I’m a journalist, and I can promise you that I’ll make sure your screwups will appear on the front page of every newspaper in America. Now do it!”

  “Hey, baby,” one of the gunmen said, loping over and staring at her admiringly, “you got stones.”

  The ringleader shot him a warning look. But the gunman, who’d followed his leader and also removed his ski mask, was not to be stopped. “Smokin’ body, too,” he said, rubbing his crotch in a suggestive manner. “This shit’s makin’ me horny.”

  “You’re not here t’ get laid,” yelled the ringleader. “You’re here to get the fuckin’ money. Now look in the sack, see what we scored.”

  “We did good,” said the third bandit, the one who’d been collecting the loot in the black plastic garbage bag. “There’s a coupla Rolexes, eight cell phones, jewelry, an’ plenty of—”

  “We gotta get the fuck outta here before they hang our asses,” the ringleader interrupted.

  “They don’t hang people anymore,” Madison said, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “They fry them in the electric chair, and that’s where you’ll all end up if you shoot anyone else.”

  “You think I give a shit?” he said. “We could waste all you mothafuckers now, an’ it wouldn’t make no difference t’ me.”

  Madison realized they didn’t care. This was just another day on the job to them, and if people got killed—too bad.

  “Is this some kind of gang initiation?” she asked, noting that they were all young, white, and stoned. “Because if it is—you’d be better off hitting a bank.”

  “You dumb rich people make me laugh,” he sneered. “Why bust a bank when you’re all sittin’ here with your rings an’ your bracelets an’ all your fuckin’ shit?”

  “Have you done this before?” she asked, ignoring Cole, who was over in the corner with the other hostages, silently signaling her to shut up.

  “It’s so fuckin’ easy,” the ringleader boasted. “Walk in, zoom a few bullets in the ceilin’, everybody on the floor, grab whatever they got—an’ take off. If it wasn’t for that mothafucker cocksucker pullin’ a gun, we’d be gone.”

  “Well, you’re not,” she pointed out.

  “So who’m I gonna take out next?” he said, his stoned eyes boring into hers. “You?”

  She refused to allow him to intimidate her. “The van’s on its way,” she said, keeping her voice strong and steady.

  “You better be right.”

  “I am,” she answered confidently.

  “What shit you write anyway?” he said, leaning across the bar and helping himself to a pack of Lucky Strikes.

  “I write for a magazine,” she said.

  “What kinda crap magazine?” he asked suspiciously, rubbing his ear, which she noticed had three studs in it. Cancel out any kind of neo-Nazi group—these kids were operating on their own time, which made this situation all the more alarming.

  “Manhattan Style,” she said, looking him right in the eye. “Can I get a cigarette?”

  “You got big balls, lady,” he said, but he handed her a cigarette anyway.

  She felt that was a step forward. “You should tell me your story,” she said, appealing to his ego. “If I were to write about you, people will be interested to hear why you do this.”

  “It’s pretty simple,” he said, tossing her a packet of book matches. “I wanna get the shit I see on TV—the fuckin’ car, the Rolex, the house, an’ the fuckin’ vacation in Hawaii.”

  She studied his face—long, thin, and pale, with pointed features. “Are you American?”

  “What the fuck you askin’? ’Course I am.”

  “Where are your parents from?”

  “You a shrink too, like I seen on The Sopranos?”

  Hmm . . . so he lived in a house or apartment that had cable. Probably with his parents, who had no clue what he did when they weren’t watching.

  “My guess is your parents are Russian or Polish,” she said, lighting her cigarette even though she’d given up smoking.

  “Russian, bitch. That make you happy?”

  “Why ya talkin’ t’ this ho?” the second gunman said, coming over again. “This ho is tryin’ t’ suck you in so’s you’ll let ’em all go.”

  “You think that’s what she’s doin’?”

  “Yeah,” said gunman number two. He had mean eyes, and the tattoo of a black snake halfway up the side of his neck.

  All the better to identify you, Madison thought. That’s if we ever escape from this nightmare.

  “Get over there with your old man,” the ringleader growled, snatching the cigarette from her hand. “How come you married a black dude anyway?”

  “This is America,” she said. “In America there’s a freedom you don’t have in your mother country.”

  “Don’t gimme that mother country shit,” he said, getting agitated. “I’m an American, came here when I was five.”

  “Which means you’re Russian by birth.”

  “I’m no fuckin’ Russian,” he yelled, flushed with anger. “I got nothin’ t’ do with that Bolshe shit my mom carries on about. I’m an American, and this, lady, is the American way. If you ain’t got it—take it. Fuckin’ works for me.”

  Finally she was getting through.

  Jenna did not know which would be the most effective ploy to soften Vincent up. Should she cry and sob? Beg forgiveness? Or should she be cold and nasty?

  Since he wasn’t talking to her anyway, it didn’t matter.

  They stood side by side in the elevator, traveling up to their penthouse apartment. They lived at the top of the hotel in an apartment she hated. When she’d married Vincent she’d imagined they would live in a magnificent house in a guarded and gated community like Jolie and Nando. But no, they had to live at the top of the hotel, where he could keep an eye on her at all times.

  What had she done that was so terrible? She’d sat
in a Jacuzzi with a movie star. Other people would think that was a sensational coup!

  She wished she could’ve had her picture taken with Andy Dale. If Vincent wasn’t such a pain in the neck, she could have gotten out her disposable camera and asked him to take a few shots.

  She couldn’t wait to call her girlfriends and tell them that she’d spent half the night in a Jacuzzi with Andy Dale—star of all their favorite movies. They would be sick with jealousy.

  Damn Vincent. He’d spoiled it. He always spoiled everything.

  They entered their apartment in silence.

  “Vincent,” she began, determined to have her say.

  “I don’t want to talk to you tonight,” he said, dismissing her coldly. “Go to bed. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

  “You’re not my daddy,” she said heatedly. “Sometimes you talk to me as if you are.”

  “Act like a child and get treated like one,” he said. “How would you react if you found me in a Jacuzzi with Cameron Diaz or Catherine Zeta-Jones?”

  “You don’t even know them,” she said scornfully.

  “I could arrange to meet them tomorrow. Then how would you feel?”

  “You’re just jealous,” she said, pouting.

  “It’s not a question of my being jealous, Jenna. It’s a question of respect. This is my hotel, and when people see my wife acting the way you did tonight, it’s not proper behavior.”

  “You’re so old-fashioned,” she said, continuing to pout. “Anyone else would be thrilled to have a movie star in their hotel. And I’m sure they’d be even more thrilled if their wife entertained them.”

  “And I suppose your idea of entertaining includes screwing the jerk?”

  “Vincent! You are so crude! I was not screwing anyone.”

  “You were sitting in a Jacuzzi with your tits out. That’s not crude?”

  “I’d look pretty foolish sitting in a Jacuzzi with my clothes on, wouldn’t I?” she retaliated. “And anyway, in the south of France everyone goes topless. They’re not ashamed of their bodies.”

  “I hate to remind you, Jenna, but we are not in the south of France.”

  “Well, when we were there on our honeymoon,” she said sulkily, “all the girls was topless. You didn’t seem to have any objections then.”