She rubbed her ankle, which was blistered and red. “I need disinfectant,” she said. “I can barely walk.”
“I’ll see what I have,” he said, leaving the room, locking the sturdy door behind him.
Immediately after he was gone, she jumped off the bed and made it to the window. It was boarded up with strips of plywood on the outside. A quick exploration of the room did not give up anything that looked even remotely useful.
Crap! She’d been hoping for something—anything that she could use as a weapon when he returned. Smash him over the head and run. He wasn’t holding his gun, and he looked like a weakling with his gimpy leg and scrawny build. She was sure she could take him.
Yes. She didn’t need a weapon. She was strong, she’d taken self-defense classes.
Her plan was to catch him off guard, kick him hard in the balls—and run like hell.
Chapter 37
The villa in Acapulco was Anthony’s favorite home. He’d designed every detail of the three-story waterfront villa himself, from the Italian marble bathrooms (six) to the sunken black-bottomed infinity swimming pool overlooking Acapulco Bay.
The grounds consisted of a magnificent landscape of coconut trees, giant palms, and fragrant walls of many different colors of bougainvillea. There were several areas for dining alfresco. Anthony’s favorite part of the outdoor design was an all-glass elevator that descended from the top floor of the house to the lower-level entertainment area. He’d been inspired by the movie Scarface.
Another feature Anthony was particularly pleased with was his own personal boat dock and heliport, where a select few of his business acquaintances could come and go without the outside world checking on their activities. It was a very convenient way of conducting business.
Anthony kept a full staff in residence, including Manuel and Rosa Sousa, a married couple who ran the estate when he was not there. Rosa was a magnificent cook, while Manuel oversaw everything else. They had worked for Anthony since he’d built the villa ten years previously.
One day Emmanuelle had seen pictures of the villa and begged him to take her there. “It’s so beautiful,” she’d sighed longingly. “And very sexy. We could make love in every room.” A seductive pause. “Maybe even in the elevator. What do you think, honeybun? Will you take me there?”
He’d thought it was quite an appealing idea, but he had yet to invite her. It was one thing entertaining his mistresses in other cities, but to bring them into one of his homes … maybe not. Even Anthony observed some boundaries.
Irma had been startled to see him, even more startled when he’d informed her they were flying to Acapulco the following morning.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” she’d asked. “Nobody is prepared.”
“What? You don’t like surprises?” he’d responded, fondling his two large dogs, and deciding that his wife looked as if she’d lost weight. Not that Irma was ever fat— quite the contrary—but she was looking particularly sleek and attractive. Hardly Emmanuelle-style attractive, nor Carlita, but for the mother of two children, she wasn’t bad.
That night he’d given her the pleasure of blowing him, and the next morning they were on their way to Acapulco, accompanied by two other couples he didn’t mind spending time with. Fanta and Emilio Guerra were rich Mexicans in the clothing business. And Innes and Ralph Masters were Americans who lived in Mexico City. The two men greatly admired Anthony, while their wives lusted after him. It amused Anthony the way the two couples glorified him. They laughed at his jokes, took full advantage of his generous hospitality, and clapped at his singing prowess.
All in all they were an adoring entourage, and who didn’t enjoy being adored?
Irma shuddered when she realized how close she’d come to getting caught. God! What if Anthony had walked in on her and Luis? It was scary and unthinkable. She’d had a narrow escape, and it had shaken her, made her think about the risks she was taking.
Anthony turning up unannounced was most unusual—in fact, she could not recall it ever happening before. There were always the calls to warn her of his imminent arrival, and then much activity would take place in the house as everything was cleaned and scrubbed to a spotless finish, the dogs were groomed, the friends were alerted, and by the time Anthony arrived everything was in place.
This time not only had he arrived home unexpectedly, but he’d announced that they were leaving for Acapulco the next day. Irma had no wish to go to Acapulco with her husband, but she could hardly say no, especially when he informed her that the children were meeting them there. At least that was some kind of consolation.
Later that night, lying in bed, he’d started pawing her for a few seconds before pushing her head down until it was on a level with his penis. She knew what he wanted, and she was forced to oblige, for the consequences of not doing what Anthony wanted were not pretty. So she’d shut her eyes and pretended it was Luis she was servicing, and somehow or other she’d managed to get through it.
In the morning they’d boarded the plane with his friends in tow.
Under different circumstances she might have quite liked Fanta and Innes—they seemed to be pleasant enough women. But circumstances were such that all they did was buzz around Anthony, hanging on to his every word.
Ralph Masters was a lecherous creep. Whenever Anthony’s attention was elsewhere, Ralph managed to make suggestive remarks toward Irma—remarks she would never dare repeat to Anthony. Emilio Guerra, on the other hand, chose to totally ignore her, treating her as if she didn’t exist. As far as Emilio was concerned, she was just a wife, and therefore hardly worth his attention.
The plane ride was excruciating. Champagne and caviar flowed, while Anthony’s sycophants agreed with everything he said.
It wasn’t where Irma wanted to be. She’d allowed her thoughts to drift, wondering how Luis would feel when he came to work and found she wasn’t there. Someone would probably mention that the master of the house had arrived home, and Señora and Señor Bonar had left for the Acapulco house.
She’d asked Anthony how long they would be staying in Acapulco. “What does it matter?” he’d said. “We stay as long as I wanna stay.”
That was Anthony Bonar. He never told anyone what he was doing from one day to the next.
Anthony’s two large Dobermans traveled on the plane with them. The dogs always made Irma nervous, so much so that when Anthony was not in residence she insisted that they stay outside with the guards. When he was home, Anthony allowed them to sleep on the bed, and it terrified her, but when she complained, her husband simply laughed at her fears.
The Acapulco villa was Anthony’s domain. The couple who worked for him, Manuel and Rosa, kissed his ass big time.
Upon their arrival Anthony picked Rosa up and swung her around for the benefit of his friends. She was a short woman, and quite plump. Placing a fake smile on her face she tolerated the manhandling, but Irma sensed she loathed the way Anthony treated her.
“How’s my Rosa, huh?” he’d crowed, pinching her cheek with a not-too-gentle touch. “Rosa’s worked for me ten years, but I could fire her tomorrow, huh, Rosa? Would I do that? No, ’cause you’re the best little cook in the whole of Acapulco.”
Anthony was showing off in front of his friends, flexing his control.
“Okay, Manuel,” he’d said. “Get your lazy ass to the airport, go meet my kids. They’re coming. It’s good, huh?”
Yes, Irma thought, it’s very good. At least she would get to see her children.
And back in Las Vegas, an investigation was about to take place concerning Tasmin Garland’s disappearance. Her babysitter reported to the police that Tasmin had not returned home on Friday night. Her ex-husband, a croupier at one of the hotels, followed the babysitter’s concerns by filing a missing-persons report. He was about to get remarried, and much as he loved his son, he did not plan on having the boy live with him.
Where was Tasmin Garland? Forty-eight hours had passed since she was last
seen; it was question time. Diane Franklin, a tenacious, twice-divorced black detective in her mid-forties, was assigned the case.
After talking to the babysitter and the ex-husband, the next person she had on her list to question was Renee Falcon.
Chapter 38
Playing with Billy on his home turf was a revelation for Venus. Instead of staying in her fortresslike mansion, where she felt safe away from the adulation of her rabid fans, she and Billy were out and about. First the ride on his motorcycle, which she’d never done before, then the delightful lunch at Geoffrey’s, and after that they’d stopped at the Cross Creek shopping center in Malibu, where she’d purchased a shady sun hat, a pair of blackout sunglasses, and a nondescript track suit.
“Disguise time,” he’d informed her.
“I have plenty of disguises at home,” she’d assured him.
“I know, but you’re not at home, are you?”
“We’ll never fool the paparazzi, they’re out in droves.”
“Trust me,” Billy had said, grinning. “I got a plan.”
Carrying her purchases, she’d hopped on the back of his bike and they’d taken off again.
There was something very sexy about riding on the back of a motorcycle. It had to do with contact—the way her breasts felt pressed up against his back, the wind in her face, the warmth of his body. She’d held on tightly as they’d sped down the Pacific Coast Highway, several paparazzi still in hot pursuit.
“Why can’t they leave us alone?” she’d breathed in his ear.
“ ’Cause they got a job to do, an’ my job is losing ’em,” he’d answered, before making an illegal U-turn and roaring off in the opposite direction.
Venus couldn’t help laughing. It was highly dangerous but unbelievably exciting—it made her realize just how much she’d been missing out on the fun side of life.
Being married to Cooper could do that to a girl. Cooper Turner, legendary movie star, legendary cocksman, and very boring when one was married to him. That’s why their marriage had failed, because Cooper had forgotten how to have fun. He’d turned into the reformed playboy. Marriage had changed him, but it hadn’t changed her. She’d always had a rebellious streak, and just because she was a few years older than Billy, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t bring it out in her.
“I think you’ve lost the paparazzi,” she said breathlessly. “I think they’re history.”
“You just gotta have the moves,” Billy boasted, making a sharp left turn toward Paradise Cove. “I want you to go to the ladies’ room an’ put on your disguise.”
“That’s a bit pointless, isn’t it, since everyone will still recognize you?”
“Not unless I want ’em to,” Billy said. “I got the kinda face that blends in.”
“No you don’t,” she said, laughing.
“Yes, I do,” he insisted.
“How about the woman who came up to you in Geoffrey’s? It wasn’t me she recognized, it was you.”
“I have that effect on women,” he joked. “If they look me in the eyes, they got me.”
“You can be such a punk.”
“Think so?”
“Apparently Alex does.”
“How do you know that?”
“ ’Cause he complained about you to Lucky.”
“Oh, that’s great. What did he say?”
“He thinks all your success has gone to your head.”
“Maybe Alex should move with the times,” Billy said irritably. “I’m not about to be his puppet an’ jump every time he tells me to. I have my own ideas. I’m gonna direct one of these days.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“I know I will.”
The rest of the day was equally blissful. They’d walked along the beach holding hands, fooled around on the sand, and paddled in the surf. It had been a long time since she’d felt so totally carefree—that is, until the paparazzi discovered them again, and then it was over.
On the ride home she said, “I think I’ll stay at your house tonight.”
“That’ll be a first,” Billy shouted, roaring down the fast lane. “You’ve never wanted to stay there before.”
“Tonight I do,” she answered, hugging him even tighter.
Arriving back at Billy’s, they discovered Kev stretched out on the couch with a bottle of beer in one hand and a carton of popcorn in the other. He was busy watching motor racing on TV.
“Venus,” he exclaimed, abruptly sitting up and brushing popcorn off his jeans.
“Kev,” she responded. “How’s it hangin’?”
“No complaints,” he said, hurriedly getting off the couch.
Billy threw him a look. Kev was no slouch in the getting-the-hint department. “Guess we won’t be watchin’ the game tonight,” he said.
“That’s right,” Billy replied.
“Okay,” Kev said, sliding toward the door. “Think I’ll be movin’ on.”
“See ya, dude,” Billy said. “Come to the location Monday.”
“I’ll do that,” Kev replied, and then he was gone.
“Doesn’t it bother you, him coming and going as he pleases?” Venus asked once Kev had left.
“ ‘Course not,” Billy said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Kev’s like my brother.”
“We could be making love, and he could walk right in on us.”
“Lucky him.”
“Seriously, Billy.”
“Stop bitchin’ and come over here, babe,” Billy said affectionately, dropping down onto the still warm couch and holding out his arms.
So she did, and everything was great.
Sunday morning they awoke late, read the papers, and lounged around the house. Billy put on college football, while Venus attempted to make scrambled eggs in the kitchen. She hadn’t cooked in a while, and they turned out mushy, but at least she’d tried.
“Do we have to go to that party tonight?” Billy asked, trying to pretend he was enjoying the eggs. “I’m not in a party mood, and I have a real early call tomorrow.”
“Yes, we have to go,” Venus said. “It’s for Lucky’s father, and since she’s my best friend, I can’t not go. Anyway, Gino’s a great character.”
“He is?”
“You’ve met him, haven’t you?”
“I might’ve, but that would’ve bin a few years ago when we were making Seduction.”
“Then tonight you’ll see him again,” she said, standing up and ruffling his hair. “Here’s a thought—how about developing a movie about Gino’s life? It would make quite a story. Way back his nickname was Gino the Ram—seems he was quite a stud in his day.”
“Would I get to play Gino?” Billy asked, stifling a yawn.
“Are you five-foot-eight, dark-haired, and an Italian American?” Venus said, smiling.
“No, but I’m a stud, aren’t I?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Well …”
“Billy, this party is important to me. Don’t give me a hard time.”
“Okay, babe, we’ll go.”
She hugged him. “That’s my Billy.”
Later, when it was time for her to go home and get ready for the party, she’d called a cab, taken it to the Beverly Hills Hotel, then waited five minutes before coming out and getting in her car.
Fooling the paparazzi was a full-time job.
Ling wasn’t talking to Alex, and he didn’t give a shit. She was annoyed that he’d gone to Vegas without her. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d come back the same night—she was in full nagging mode.
“You know, Ling, I don’t need this,” he said, giving her a warning look as he walked into his study overlooking the ocean. “I got work to do.”
“I don’t need it either,” she responded, following him. “You’re very cold toward me, Alex. You never pay any attention to me. I sit in your house all day—”
“Don’t give me that,” he interrupted. “You’re a lawyer. You go to work.”
“And then I come home
and cook dinner and you’re never here. You show up anytime you want, usually drunk.”
“Then why do you stay?”
“Because”—her voice quavered—“I love you, Alex.”
Love. The L word. Christ! What had he done to deserve this?
“I’m sorry, Ling,” he said, not really sorry at all. “This isn’t working out for me.”
“And don’t think I don’t know why,” Ling said spitefully. “It’s because of Lucky, isn’t it? Every time you see her you’re like a different person. You turn into a puppy dog. If you had a tail it would wag.”