As she handed the squirming dog over, Cara’s eyes filled. Vivi tried to take Stella, but she squiggled away.
“Listen, Cara, I don’t think this is a smart plan. I should know where you—”
“No!” Stella jumped at Cara’s sharp reprimand, but it wasn’t directed at the dog. “You listen to me”—Cara pointed a white-tipped talon at Vivi—“I’m not getting on that plane. And neither are any of the people who work for me. Except you, obviously.” She leaned across the space and put two hands on Vivi’s knees, getting very much in Vivi’s face. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not watching you.”
An unexpected chill danced up Vivi’s spine. “Excuse me?”
“Or listening to every word you say.”
Vivi leaned away, eyes wide. “You’ll be spying on me?”
“Did you forget the nondisclosure you signed?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Well, how else would I know you haven’t told anyone?”
“You could trust me. With your life.”
“I am trusting you with my life, but there will be law enforcement people and—others.”
Vivi frowned. “I’m not going to lie to the police or FBI about who I am.”
Cara’s teary eyes grew narrow and harsh. “You will tell no one or I will consider it a breach of the nondisclosure.”
“Even the police? The FBI?” Vivi choked softly. “They’re on our side, Cara.”
“No one is on our side, Vivi,” she said darkly. “I know from experience that the police create the worst media leaks. The worst. They refuse to sign nondisclosures.”
She blew out a sigh. “The pilots?”
“No one,” Cara said. “There’s a private bedroom cabin in the back of the plane. You go straight there, and don’t come out. Believe me, no one asks questions when I want to be alone.”
“And in Nantucket?” Vivi asked.
“I told you my housekeeper, Mercedes, will be there to meet you,” Cara said. “She knows I’m sending a decoy. You can’t tell anyone else you aren’t me, and that is final. And believe me, I will know.”
She’d be under constant observation. “I wish you trusted me.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s them. The FBI, everyone.”
“Have you talked to the FBI?”
“Briefly,” she said. “After I won the Oscar.”
“And?”
“They’ll be around, but you’ll fool them.”
Not all of them. “What did they say?”
“Just that they wanted to send someone to protect me, but I told them I already had private security.”
The FBI might lurk, but they wouldn’t force their way onto the property. If they did, could she fool them? Only if whatever agents arrived didn’t know her. Would FBI agents on Nantucket work with the Boston office?
With the ASAC of the Boston office? “Cara, I have contacts in the FBI—”
“No one can know!”
Joellen opened her eyes at the sound of Cara’s raised voice, yanking an earbud out. “What the fuck is going on?” she asked.
“Vivi needs some acting lessons,” Cara said coolly. “She’s wondering what to do if the FBI recognizes her as an impostor.”
Joellen’s blue eyes, small and close together, absolutely nothing like her sister’s, widened as she leaned forward. “You convince them they’re wrong.”
Had Joellen had been following the conversation all along? “What if I can’t convince them? What if one of the agents knows me?”
“Avoid that agent,” Cara said.
“Or be ready to part with ten million dollars.” Joellen’s smile was smug.
“One good look at me and—”
Cara reached over and pulled netting down over Vivi’s face. “Don’t let them get a good look at you,” she said harshly. “And if they do, then your job is to do whatever it takes to convince everyone you are me. Whatever. Be creative, but get the job done. Clear?”
Joellen dropped back on the seat and replaced her earbud as the car came to a stop.
“It’s showtime,” Cara said. “Go walk across that tarmac the way Bridget taught you, look like an exhausted and very self-involved Oscar-winning actress, throw a few waves of the statuette, blow them some kisses, hang on to Stella, get your ass on that plane, and keep your mouth shut. Please?” She went soft again, as if some inner director had just reminded her she was supposed to be scared. “For me?”
No wonder she’d won an Oscar.
The noise of the crowd had already penetrated the limo. “How can I reach you in an emergency?” she asked.
“Just call Marissa. And, remember, I’ll be watching. I chartered that plane days ago, and Leon has specially prepared it.” She underscored the not-so-subtle message with a tight smile. “So be convincing.”
Surely she could convince the pilots, then hide in that back cabin for the duration of the night flight. Once she got to Nantucket, she’d figure out what to do about the FBI.
“Fine,” Vivi said. “I have no issue with being monitored. It’s not being trusted I don’t like.”
Cara reached out a hand. “In my business, you can’t trust anyone.”
The car slowed and they peered out the darkened windows. The crowd was cordoned off, about forty feet from the plane, but the limo couldn’t get any closer than it was to the plane, leaving a long walk of fame for Vivi.
Cara let out a slow whistle. “The most I’ve ever seen.” She turned back to Vivi, giving her a critical up-and-down. “I know it’s a little over the top, but the Now, Voyager costume was pretty smart on Bridget’s part. It’s so distinctively me and, honestly, you cannot see your face through that net.” Once more she reached over and adjusted the screen of material over Vivi’s face. “You realize this was the actual hat Bette Davis wore in the original movie?”
Could she have cared less? Unlikely. All she cared about now was doing this job, and doing it right.
“Cool,” she said, her focus outside as the bodyguards reached the limo. Someone got her luggage from the trunk. But nothing was cool. Not her skin, not her nerves, not her client.
One of the guards tapped four times on the window.
“That’s the signal,” Cara said, her expression softening. “Break a leg and keep your phone handy. We’ll text you.”
The door opened to a blast of noise, along with enough camera flashes to bathe the tarmac in near daylight.
Vivi’s pulse thudded as she took a deep breath and pulled the heavy designer bag they’d given her up on her shoulder. The skirt she wore was slit thigh high, but tight enough to make getting out of the limo a challenge.
“Let ’em see the tattoo,” Cara whispered.
Vivi nodded, placing her left leg out of the limo door, letting the slit skirt ride high to reveal the temporary tattoo that every photographer in Hollywood wanted to snap: the Ferrari logo in deep purple, high and on the inside of “Cara’s” thigh, leaving no doubt that this woman was Cara Ferrari.
“Wave!” Cara ordered from the limo. “And for God’s sake, don’t forget Stella!”
Vivi turned into the limo cab again, reaching out for the dog, who yelped mightily but let Vivi take her.
“Vivi, look at me,” Cara demanded, forcing Vivi to dip low and stick her head back through the door.
Cara put her fingers to her mouth, zipped her lips, and twisted an imaginary key.
“Got it,” Vivi said.
“Remember.” She stabbed her finger in the air, inches from Vivi’s face. “I’ve got eyes and ears.”
Vivi gave her a tight smile and backed out. The bodyguards flanked her as she started her march, squirmy pet under one arm, sweat-dampened statuette under the other. Stella was heavy, but the Oscar was surprisingly light, making Vivi wonder fleetingly if the impostor had gotten an impostor. Fitting.
From behind the chain-link fence the crowd screamed for Cara.
She waved and made a show of cuddling the dog, keeping her face
in Stella’s short-cropped fur. She walked as quickly as she could, considering she had on four-inch heels and a tight skirt. The noise of the screams and hundreds of cameras snapping was barely drowned out by the engines of a sizable private plane waiting with the stairs open.
The pilot stepped forward and smiled, the first person Vivi would talk to as “Cara.” She climbed the steps, paused to give one more wave to the cameras, then slipped inside, daring direct eye contact from behind the protective netting.
“Welcome aboard and congratulations, Ms. Ferrari.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Captain Wahl. My copilot is Captain Klossberg, and we are delighted to have you on our flight this evening.”
She nodded, easing the dog to the ground. The instant she was out of her hands, Stella bolted toward the door, and Vivi spun for her with a little shriek. But damn if the little beast didn’t shoot right back down the steps and tear ass across the tarmac like freaking Toto escaping the Wicked Witch.
“Get her!” she hollered to one of the bodyguards headed back to the limo, just as an uproar of laughter from the crowd made the poor little dog run faster. “Oh my God, she’s going to kill me,” Vivi whispered into her hand, still covering her mouth in disbelief as the dog ran right to the limo, the birth defect obvious in a clumsy stumble of a gait that slowed her down.
The crowd exploded with a scream of “Stelllllllaaaaa!” sounding like two hundred bad imitations of Marlon Brando, and Vivi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream with them.
“Maybe she hates to fly,” the pilot suggested, eyes crinkling with laughter.
Vivi bent down in time to see the dog reach the limo and jump toward the door, finally caught by one of the bodyguards. This elicited another roar from the onlookers and another six billion flashes. Stella’s attempted escape would be on every blog in the world before their plane landed in Nantucket.
Vivi’s cell vibrated. That would be Cara, no doubt. Pointing her little finger from four hundred feet away. She pulled out the phone, expecting a text of chastisement, or maybe something simple like You’re fired. But the screen was blank except for Lang’s phone number. He’d texted nothing?
Vivi scrolled down to see if she just missed his message, but there was nothing. Why would he text nothing?
She stepped away from the door, turning to the main cabin. Her gaze settled on a man reclining in a leather seat, his legs up and ankles crossed, a phone blocking his face.
Who the hell was…
No—oh, God, no. This was not possible. This was not happening.
He inched the phone to the right, just enough to reveal half his face. Enough to confirm her worst nightmare. “How many times are you going to fall for the same trick?” he asked.
What the holy hell was he doing here?
She stared through the netting, the thin black gauze of her hat’s veil not doing enough to temper the heat of his gaze as it took a slow, easy trip over her, from shiny black extensions all the way down to the peekaboo toes and ankle-strap shoes. Back up to her face, he lifted one brow and barely nodded in appreciation. “This is a good look for you, Vi—”
“Who are you?” Please, Lang, don’t say my name.
For a moment, he was fooled. She could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, then his mouth set in one of his most humorless expressions. “FBI. Who are you?”
Her knees weakened at the thought of hidden cameras and secret microphones, the conversation being played into the back of that limo right this minute. She’d be fired before takeoff.
“I’m the one who calls the shots on this plane.” She channeled every nuance of Cara’s inflection and personality into the words, even lowering her voice to the actress’s more throaty register. “So let’s get something straight. I don’t want to talk to anyone until we land and I’m home in Nantucket. I’ll be in the back cabin for the duration of the flight and I do not want to be disturbed for any reason.”
His jaw unhinged just enough to know she’d nailed the sultry voice and diva attitude. Maybe he was unsure who she was. More likely, he saw through the disguise and was humoring her.
So before he could whip off her hat and confirm whatever suspicions he might have, she waltzed right past him, opened the back door to the bedroom cabin, and slammed it closed, locking the door with trembling fingers. Then she fell against it.
Now what? She had to do something, and fast. Lang would be pounding on the door any second, calling her by her real name, demanding she come out and reveal her true self. Every word would be transmitted to Cara, who’d have the Guardian Angelinos out of business before this flight landed in Massachusetts.
She couldn’t let him say her name. But how could she stop him? She could text him. Would a camera see her send a text and see him read it?
Do whatever it takes to convince anyone you are me. Cara’s voice rang in her ears. What would it take?
Be creative.
A soft tap, much too gentle to be Lang, made her back away from the door. “What is it?” she demanded, matching Cara’s superstar arrogance.
“Uh, Ms. Ferrari?” It was Lang. Calling her Ms. Ferrari?
She swallowed hard. “What?”
“I have something I think you want.”
“Unless it’s privacy, I don’t want a thing.”
A small whining sound squeaked through the door. “Your dog is crying, Ms. Ferrari. I think she wants you.”
Doubtful she wanted Vivi, but Cara would never ignore her dog. Slowly, she turned the latch, then inched the door open. Lang stood just on the other side with a tiny dog curled against his chest.
Stella let out a low, hateful growl at Vivi.
“Or maybe she doesn’t want you,” Lang said, fighting a smile. “Why don’t I just bring her in?” Before she could stop him, he muscled the door open and got inside, instantly closing the door behind him.
She shook her head, hoping the plea in her eyes would keep him from opening his mouth. He wasn’t fooled by the disguise, that much she could tell by the amusement and amazement in his eyes. But he couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t say her name. She had to pray there were only listening devices, not cameras, embedded in the plane.
Be creative.
He took a breath, ready to launch into a speech. “Listen to me, V—”
She put both hands on the collar of her shirt and ripped it open, popping the buttons and tearing the fabric, revealing a wisp of lace that Cara called a bra.
That shut him up.
“I told you I want privacy.”
“I see…” Breasts. “That.”
“So if your job requires you to stare at me, then fine. Have a seat, I’m going to change out of this ridiculous costume. My stylist is absolutely over the top sometimes, dressing me from the movie.”
Colt couldn’t move, so he remained rooted to the floor, the dog folded in his arms like she never wanted to leave. He knew the feeling. Nothing could get him to move as he drank in the sight of Vivi Angelino doing something she’d only done in his imagination. Strip.
It was Vivi, wasn’t it? He’d bet everything he had that behind that black net, underneath two feet of fake hair, and just inside that lacy piece of nothing was a woman he thought he knew very well. So what the hell was she up to? This was the last thing he’d ever expect from her.
The jacket fell, followed by the torn blouse, revealing curves and cleavage he didn’t think Vivi had. A thread of doubt wrapped around his always certain brain.
He tore his gaze from the beautiful body to peer hard through the netting. Under it, he could see midnight eyes that should be Vivi’s, could be Vivi’s, but they were heavily disguised by black eyeliner and a broom’s worth of thick lashes and a smear of shadow that shimmered when she looked down. Her lips, glossier and fuller than he’d ever noticed, tipped in a whisper of a smile as she gave all that hair—all that glorious, sexy, amazing, long hair—a purposeful shimmy behind her shoulders so it couldn’t block an inch of her nearly na
ked torso.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his throat surprisingly dry.
“I told you.” As she reached behind her, in a move that jutted out her breasts even more, a zipper scraped and the skirt loosened. She waited a beat, almost as if she wanted the dramatic effect, then slowly maneuvered the material over her hips, inching it down to reveal a taut, flat belly, an adorable inny navel, and the skinniest scrap of more white lace between her legs. “I’m changing.”
The skirt hit the floor, and his pulse tripled. Her legs were forever long, muscular, sleek, and—holy shit—she had a tattoo on her inner thigh, three-quarters of the way up, a palm’s-width from the patch of white lace.
Wordlessly, she pivoted, and as if the front weren’t stupefying enough, she offered a shot of her ass: tight, high, round, and bare but for a thong strap that nestled between her cheeks and rested just under the dimples of her lower back.
Vivi?
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Of course. All blood necessary for brain function had cascaded south, already gathering in one about-to-be-obvious place.
A suitcase had been delivered while he’d waited on the plane, and it lay on the bed. She leaned over to open it, propping her ass a little higher, spreading her legs a little wider, killing his ability to think a little more.
She unzipped the bag and pulled out something yellow, which she threw on the floor. Then she dug around and dragged out one long, shiny black boot, then the other.
She wouldn’t put those on. She wouldn’t.
Would she?
Still unable to talk or breathe, he slowly set the dog down, letting her scamper away toward the en suite bathroom. Colt leaned back against the door, crossed his arms, and did the only thing a red-blooded human male could do. He watched.
She stepped away from the bed, her back still to him, as shockingly at ease with her body as any woman he’d ever seen. She lifted one knee and pointed her toe, slowly sliding it into the boot. She eased it up to her thigh, then folded practically in half, the hat staying pinned in place. With her knees locked, ass up, tits visible from between her legs, nearly falling out of the bra as she held the position, she speared him with a look of pure sex from between her legs.