One could be Elena’s mystery man. Both held power in the palm of their hands. Something in the back of my mind warned not to trust either until I uncovered my answers.
I glanced over my friend’s living room, looking for something I might have missed. The apartment was small—way smaller than the house we’d shared together back in college. The front door opened right into the living area, which was only big enough for a couch, an end table and lamp, and a wall cabinet that held a TV and several shelves of books. Three rectangular windows looked out toward the dark street. Behind me, a low counter separated the galley kitchen from the living room, with a small wooden table and two chairs under the far left windows. To my right, a short hall gave way to the miniscule bathroom and the one bedroom so tiny it housed only a double bed, nightstand, and a small closet.
My gaze skipped over the paperbacks on Laney’s shelves—medievals, paranormals, contemporaries, suspenses…even a few young adults. From the time I was ten, I could remember seeing Laney with her nose stuck in a book, escaping her unhappy home with stories of bravery, adventure, and love. She’d craved her own adventure. She’d daydreamed about finding a once-in-a-lifetime love like the ones in her books. It was the reason she’d dropped out of college before our second year was even up. The reason she’d moved to New York on a whim. The reason she’d left everything she’d ever known behind when I’d begged her not to go.
I’d never understood Laney’s quest for true love. I might be from a small town, but I knew the world was nothing like a romance novel. It was hard and unfair, and there were no happy endings. Why had she thought she needed a man to be happy? I didn’t need a man. I was perfectly content in Boise working in the boutique I would someday own and expand. That was what mattered—controlling your own destiny—not placing your happiness in the hands of another.
“I want to say no, but I can’t. I need to please him. Need it more than I need air to breathe.”
Laney’s email flashed in my head again. I knew in my heart that she hadn’t overdosed. As a small child, she’d watched her mother slowly die from breast cancer discovered too late. She’d spent the majority of her youth with a father who’d drowned his loss and sorrow in alcohol, with an older brother who’d turned to pot and heroin. But Laney had taken her grief and directed it into something positive. She’d worked out religiously. She’d watched what she’d ate, choosing organic whenever her bank account allowed it, and she’d never touched soda. She’d been determined not to end up like her mother, like her father and brother. When drugs popped out at a party, Laney was the first to politely say no.
Even though we hadn’t seen each other in nearly four years, even though we’d led two very separate lives after she’d moved to New York, I knew my best friend could not have gotten twisted up in drugs. Someone had given the drugs to her. Someone, I suspected, who was the same him Laney had written about.
I pulled my gaze from the books, pushed to my feet, and moved into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed, frustrated and close to furious that there was nothing in the apartment to give me any more clues.
Ignoring the shake in my fingers, I reached for my toothbrush, then glanced at the empty tube of toothpaste I’d found in Laney’s drawer.
Damn. I’d forgotten to get more.
More frustrated than before, I moved into the bedroom and shoved my feet into my Skechers. I didn’t bother changing out of my black leggings and favorite oversized gray sweatshirt, the one with the Boise State bronco emblem on the front that was so big it hung off one shoulder. There was a small market two blocks down where I could pick up what I needed. Twenty minutes, and I’d be back.
I grabbed my credit card and reached for the keys I’d dropped on the nightstand. Thankfully, by the time I got to the market, the place was nearly empty except for a few people buying beer. I quickly located the supplies I needed, paid for them at the counter, and carried the bags and my credit card out onto the sidewalk.
Thoughts of tomorrow flittered through my mind as I walked up the dark street. I was scheduled for a health screening in the morning. I assumed that meant Covet wanted me to provide a drug-test sample. Lots of companies did that. I had nothing to worry about there as I’d never had much interest in drugs. I was more worried about the photo shoot tomorrow in Times Square and what Gio would want me to do for it. He’d figure out quickly I knew nothing about photography or modeling.
Something hard slammed into my back, shooting the air straight out of my lungs and all thoughts from my mind. I lurched forward, tripping on my feet. The bags and credit card flew from my hands. I barely had time to lift my arms before I hit the pavement. My palms scraped along the sidewalk. The corner of my forehead cracked against concrete.
Hurried footsteps sounded around me. Dazed, I looked up to see a figure all in black swoop up my bags and credit card.
“Hey!” Adrenaline surged through my veins. I stumbled to my feet. “Hey, that’s mine!”
The person—I couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman—took off at a run, never once looking back. Panic and helplessness rushed through me as I watched the mugger speed off down the sidewalk with my things and disappear around the corner.
I stood flabbergasted in the middle of the sidewalk, unable to believe I’d just been mugged. Turning quickly, I looked for anyone who’d seen what had just happened, but the street was empty and quiet.
The streetlight above me went out, dousing me in darkness. My heart rate shot up, and my breaths grew fast and shallow. Footsteps sounded close. Whipping around, I looked back the way I’d come from the grocery store and spotted a man—a large, hulking man—dressed all in black with a hood over his head. A man who was striding straight toward me in a way that was anything but friendly.
The flight instinct beat out any inclination I had to fight. Pushing my legs into gear, I raced in the other direction, not waiting to see who the man was or what he wanted. Within minutes, I skipped steps up to the door of Laney’s building, keyed in the code, and didn’t draw a full breath until I was safely back in the apartment.
Gulping in air, I collapsed back against the door and tried to settle my racing pulse. It didn’t work. All I could see was that hulking figure heading toward me. All I heard was Laney’s voice echoing in my head, saying, “He is the most dangerous of men.”
I closed my eyes tight. Breathed deeply. As my adrenaline slowly lowered, a hysterical laugh sipped from my lips. I’d reacted like the naïve country girl Luciano Salvatici thought I was. The figure I’d seen striding toward me was probably just someone who’d watched what had happened and was checking to see if I was okay. Instead of behaving as a mature adult, I’d run like a child.
My pulse regulated, and I opened my eyes, focusing on the familiarity of Laney’s apartment. Wine. I needed wine to calm down. Then I needed to call my bank and let them know my card had been stolen.
I pushed away from the door and headed for the kitchen on legs that were still shaking. My feet drew to a stop as I passed the dark windows and caught sight of a shadowy figure beneath the lamppost across the road. I could only see his shape—no face, no eyes, nothing to identify him in the dark. But I could tell from his posture and the way his face was angled that he was staring up through my windows at me. I could also tell he had a hood pulled over his head and that he looked exactly like the man who’d come after me moments before.
My blood turned to ice. I jerked back from the window, out of his view. Why was he watching me? A mugging was one thing but this...this was stalking. Who was he? What did he want? No one knew me in New York except…
My breath caught.
No one except the two Salvatici men I’d met today at Covet.
For the first time since I’d hatched this impulsive plan to find out what had happened to my friend, I was frightened of the truths I might find.
* * *
“That’s right.” With his dark hair pulled back into a messy man bun, Gio stepped to his right and snapped another
picture as he held the camera to his face. “Up just a little.”
My gaze drifted past Gio and the model in the purple chiffon gown, and I scanned Times Square. I’d never seen a street—or streets, since Times Square stretched several blocks—more crowded. People were everywhere—tourists gawking at the shoot, shoppers carrying bags, professionals in suits cutting across intersections to get wherever they were going. I felt as if I’d stepped into another world, the buzz of activity overwhelming my ears, the flickering LCD screens ambushing my sight, the smells of fried foods, garbage, and, yes, a hint of sewer, filling my nostrils.
It was a far cry from the quiet medical clinic I’d spent most of my morning in. After the scare of last night, that had been an interesting experience. The clinic had been located outside the city, in a wealthy area of Long Island. When I’d checked in at Covet’s front desk as Gio had told me to do, expecting to be given directions to a clinic a few blocks away, I’d been surprised to be redirected outside where a private car waited. In minutes, I’d been whisked out of the city, unsure where we were headed, growing more nervous by the second because the balding driver in the black suit refused to answer my questions.
We’d gone through a lengthy tunnel. I would never have known where I was if I hadn’t seen a Long Island Expressway sign from the backseat window. Once parked outside the clinic, my nerves had gone wild. It was housed in what looked to be a large colonial mansion set off a quiet street. I’d thought for sure the driver had taken me to the wrong place until he’d ushered me up the short walk and opened the opulent door for me.
I still wasn’t sure why I needed a thorough physical to work as an intern at a fashion magazine. The urine sample I’d understood—drug testing—but the blood sample and the four-page health questionnaire had totally thrown me.
I’d ignored several of the questions: Are you a virgin? At what age did you become sexually active? When was your last sexual encounter? Do you have a current boyfriend or significant other? Does he or she know you are seeking employment at Covet? Have you ever had a same-sex encounter? Have you ever participated in high-risk behaviors such as BDSM, anal sex, or multiple partners?
No one had the right to ask those questions, and I’d refused to answer them. When the nurse had finally called my name and taken me back for my exam, the model-blonde woman had frowned at my paperwork, more concerned at my blank pages than the scrape on my forehead from last night’s mugging. When I’d refused—again—to answer the questions, she’d made marks on my chart and comments about my uncooperative nature that had sent my irritation up several notches. Maybe those questions were normal for models in New York—though I couldn’t see how—but they weren’t for me and never would be.
“Nat.”
Startled out of my thoughts, I blinked to my left where Gio stood with his camera lowered and his eyes pinned on me. “Yes?”
“I said not so high. You’re reflecting the light across her face.”
“Oh.” I tipped the round white reflector in my hands down so the light from the umbrella lamp hit across the model’s chest.
“Better.” Gio lifted the camera and snapped photos again as he stepped to his right. “Tip your head back.”
This time, I knew he wasn’t talking to me, so I forced my mind away from the odd exam and focused on the five-eleven model with blonde hair down to the middle of her spine, waiting a few inches behind me in case Gio needed to snap a couple more photos of her.
No time like the present to start getting answers.
“Crazy place,” I said over my shoulder, careful to keep the reflector aimed properly.
The blonde didn’t even spare me a glance. Just shrugged and continued to watch Gio and the other model work.
“But you girls handle it like champs. I’m impressed. All this,” I dipped my head at the chaos around us, “and somehow you keep your cool. I’m afraid if I had to work in this kind of environment all the time, I’d be bashing someone over the head.”
Her light brown eyes finally shifted my way. And the faintest ghost of a smile touched her lips.
“Sometimes it gets hard.” Her gaze lifted to Gio, and her expression darkened. “Sometimes I want to bash.”
“Well, bash away,” I said, moving the reflector as the model in the purple gown preened for Gio’s camera. “I’ll tip this so they can’t see.”
She laughed outright at that, and Gio’s irritated gaze flitted our way for a second before he refocused on his work.
The blonde’s smile instantly faded.
An uneasy feeling rolled through my stomach. I cleared my throat, forcing myself to go on. “My friend sometimes wanted to bash a few heads,” I said as casually as possible, taking a chance. “She was a model for Covet. Elena McCabe. Not sure if you knew her…”
The blonde’s eyes widened and quickly shot Gio way. When he didn’t turn to look at us, she glanced from him to the other model currently twirling in the middle of the street, then to the assistants they’d brought, standing just out of earshot. “No,” she said in a low, tight voice. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
My internal radar went off. “Oh, sure. Well, that makes sense. There are a lot of Covet models. And I’m sure you don’t all work together.”
“No, we don’t,” she said quickly, stepping away.
She knew something. I turned to look after her, trying to think of something, anything, to keep her talking, but froze when a shadow fell over my shoulder.
My head whipped around. Gio stood right in front of me. Only he wasn’t watching me. His narrowed gaze was fixed on the retreating model at my back.
My heart picked up speed. Had he heard us? Had he heard me say Elena’s name?
His eyes shifted down to me. “You’re not holding the reflector properly. Your mind, it is wandering.”
With shaky fingers, I hefted the reflector above my head and forced a smile I didn’t feel. “Sorry. It did wander. But just for a second. It’s all so exciting. I’ll pay better attention, I promise.”
“See that you do,” he murmured, looking at the model again. Turning away from me, he added, “Your only purpose is to be at your employer’s beck and call.”
I didn’t like the way he said “purpose.” And I liked the way he used “employer” even less. Ironically, though, the word “employer” didn’t make me think of Gio. It made my mind shoot right back to Luciano Salvatici. His tall, muscular body, his commanding and intimidating presence, the way his assessing, odd gray eyes hadn’t missed a thing about me when I’d been in his office.
Unease rolled through my belly. Did he like to fuck his models? Was that why he needed to know their most personal sexual secrets? Had he made Laney answer those questions, then used them to his advantage?
The next few hours passed without a single opportunity to corral any other models alone. My arms ached from holding the sixty-inch round reflector over my head. It didn’t weigh much, but it was awkward, and after a day lifting it up and down, my arms felt as if they might fall off.
“Nice. Perfect.” Gio lowered his camera and winked at the strawberry blonde model he’d been shooting for the last thirty minutes. “I think we have what we need.”
The model’s face morphed from warm and happy to cold and bitchy faster than a Porsche Spyder shifts from zero to sixty on the open road. “Where did you get this one, Gio?” She nodded toward me with pure disgust, her French accent dripping with disdain. “She knows less than your last assistant.”
I lowered the flimsy reflector to my feet and bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t respond.
In a low voice, Gio said, “Careful, Antoinette.”
The model’s green eyes shifted to icy daggers as she narrowed her gaze on me. Huffing, she turned and stalked toward her three personal assistants already holding up several drapes to create a changing area for her right on the street.
“Don’t worry about her.” Gio unlaced the camera strap from around his neck and reached for the bag at his f
eet. “She’s hangry. Didn’t eat today. None of the models do when they have a shoot.”
I glanced over my shoulder toward the drapes being taken down by Antoinette’s frazzled assistants. Antoinette was already back in her low-rise, skin-tight jeans, four-inch heels, and a black, lacy camisole top that hit above her belly button to show off a wide swath of skin inked with an elaborate leopard-print tattoo that skimmed the right side of her waist and disappeared beneath her jeans. Her predatory glare was once again fixed on me. “You mean to tell me she doesn’t live off the blood of her victims? That is shocking.”
Gio’s grin widened as he rose from his camera bag and moved toward the umbrella light. “She does have some vampiric tendencies, but the camera loves her.”
“Hm,” was all I said as I brushed a stray curl out of my face, not wanting to read too much into “vampiric tendencies.” I couldn’t figure out why, but I’d never met a person who disliked me on sight more than Antoinette. It clearly had nothing to do with my looks—she was a thousand times more exotic and beautiful than me. But just the same, I sensed something about me threatened her.
I looked toward Antoinette and her assistants—or were they handlers?—fluffing Antoinette’s hair and chatting with her while the model stared across the camera equipment at Gio with that resting bitch face she had to practice to get so perfect.
My gaze followed and landed on Gio, and I watched as he shrank the umbrella light hood and slid it into its case. His head lifted, and he met Antoinette’s eyes across the space. He didn’t stop packing up equipment, but some kind of silent communication passed between the two. I saw it when I looked back at Antoinette. Saw it in the way the model’s face paled, and she lowered her eyes. And I heard it when she murmured, “Yes, sir.”