Catching the Bad Guy (Book Two) (Janet Maple Series) (7 page)

Once he saw Wyman drive away in the cab,
David signaled for another taxi. He might be required to deliver sexual
pleasure to Aileen Finnegan for the foreseeable future, but that did not mean
that Aileen would be the only woman receiving his attention.

David checked his watch: he was right on
time. In a few minutes, Mila Brabec would be in his arms. A look of longing
came over David’s face as he thought of Mila’s long, slinky legs and the way
she wrapped them around his shoulders when the two of them united in
all-consuming passion. Mila’s blue eyes were like deep pools of water, not tiny
slits like Aileen’s, and Mila’s breasts fit gracefully into the palms of
David’s hands instead of sloppily spilling over like Aileen’s. Mila’s skin was
unblemished ivory, as opposed to Aileen’s never-ending freckles that were
splattered over her face and her forearms, and Mila’s long hair was as dark and
smooth as onyx, not at all like Aileen’s frizzy red mop. Until he had met Mila
Brabec, David Muller had been proud to say that he had never really been
attached to a woman. But now he knew that all those years of idle sex were
meaningless. At the age of thirty-nine, he had fallen in love for the first
time.

He had started seeing Mila when his
scheme with Bostoff Securities had been in full swing. At the time, David’s
world had seemed complete: he was rolling in dough and bound to make more of
it. David bit his knuckles. Just when things seemed to be going your way, life
turned the tables on you and spat you right in the face. He dreaded the thought
of Aileen and the many nights and days he would have to spend with her. In a
way he felt sorry for the girl: a twenty-nine-year-old virgin! The idea seemed
ridiculous but in Aileen’s case it had been true. Had a different woman been
involved, David might have been flattered, but with Aileen he was merely
reminded of how dire his circumstances had been. Apparently, no man had
considered Aileen to be a worthy conquest. Still, as much as he griped, he knew
that being sentenced to Aileen was better than being sentenced to jail. He had
bartered his freedom to achieve his aims before.

David’s father was a shopkeeper, but he
had wanted more for his son. He made David a deal: David did not have to work
in the shop after school as long as his grades were good enough for him to make
it into top colleges; if he failed, he would have to work off his allowances
retroactively, with interest. David did not need a greater encouragement and
was accepted into Cambridge. With a Cambridge degree in hand, David had been
able to secure a position in London working for a U.S. investment bank. A few
years later, he had convinced his supervisor to send him on an assignment to
New York.

From the moment that he had arrived in
New York, he knew that he wanted to make this splendid country his home, and
not just in any of its cities but the city: New York. There were none of the
stuffy class distinctions of his homeland; the air felt freer, lighter, with
opportunities lurking behind every corner. There was, however, just one
problem: unless David found a means of obtaining legal documentation to stay in
the U.S., his presence in New York would be at the mercy of his employer. He
had been in his mid-twenties at the time, which was far too young for marriage,
but David knew what had to be done. Girls fell all over him, but he was careful
in his choice. He was not marrying for love but for a purpose.

He picked the most easygoing of the contenders
for his affections: Linda Johnson was an accountant at a major accounting firm
and was as bland as her name. The two of them led a fairly happy marital
existence, which was helped by the fact that both worked long hours. Of course,
David’s late “work” hours included activities other than work, but Linda either
remained blissfully oblivious to the fact or simply did not feel the need to
object. Five years later, David became a citizen of the United States. A month
later he moved out of his and Linda’s apartment and filed for divorce.

He had come a long way from a hopeful
wannabe to his current station in life, and he was certain that a man as
enterprising as himself would not be currying Cornelius Finnegan’s favors
forever. Yes, most likely he would have to marry Aileen, but that did not mean
that he would have to stay married to her forever. Despite Tom Wyman’s
cautionary words, David knew for a fact that no human being remained powerful
indefinitely—politicians especially so.

***

In her ground-floor, Lower East Side
studio apartment, Mila Brabec was busy finishing her makeup. After applying the
last coat of mascara, Mila examined her reflection in the mirror. She was
wearing David’s latest gift to her, a black lace teddy with black lace
stockings, both from La Perla. The man sure loved giving her lingerie, but as
far as Mila was concerned these gifts were for David: she could just as easily
bang him in a T-shirt. They had been seeing each other for a while now. It was
high time for more generous gifts; jewelry would be a good start. But what she
really wanted was a better place to live. She was sick and tired of this dump.
The windows of her sunless apartment—if a two-hundred-fifty-square-foot hole
could be called an apartment—were facing the pavement, and the bathroom was out
in the hallway and had to be shared with three other tenants on her floor. At
least she did not have to walk up the rickety stairs, which made the
ground-level location of her apartment a major plus. It was not the Upper East
Side, but it was far better than the apartment Mila shared with her parents and
grandfather in Prague.

She had dreamed of becoming a model,
thinking of the women from her country who had made it big: Petra Nemcova,
Daniela Pestova. These glamazons too had been hopeful girls once, vying for
their place in the limelight. There was no reason why Mila Brabec should not
find her own spot under the sun. Boys and men had been lavishing her with their
attention ever since Mila turned twelve. In Prague, men threw wistful glances
at her every time she walked down the street, but in New York beautiful women
were an everyday occurrence. It had taken a little over three months to rid her
of her illusions. After canvassing every modeling agency in town, Mila learned
that at twenty-two she was considered too old as she was competing against
nymphets of fifteen, and her perfectly normal weight of one hundred twenty
pounds on a five-nine frame was deemed to be borderline elephantine. So, no
modeling contract for her but she kept her spirits up. The way she saw it, she
had a year in New York: that’s how long her visa was for, and she might as well
use it. Who knew? She might meet an American prince tomorrow and have her
fairy-tale ending. After all, her cousin Ania had managed to find her prince
charming, and Ania was not nearly as good-looking as Mila.

It was because of Ania that Mila found
herself in New York. Cousins through their fathers, Ania and Mila had never
been close back in Prague. The five-year age difference between them was partly
to blame, but more so was the difference in their temperaments: Ania had always
thought Mila to be too wild, and in exchange Mila was irked by Ania’s timidity.
But when Ania had snagged her American documentary producer husband and established
herself in their Upper East Side penthouse residence, she was compelled to
boast her new lavish lifestyle to her relations, which led to her extending an
invitation to Mila. Mila did not have to be asked twice. There was nothing
holding her back in Prague. She had just received her degree in Finance and was
slated to start work as a teller in the local bank. The day after she received
Ania’s invitation, Mila informed her future employer that she would not be
commencing her employment. The way she saw it, there would always be time
enough to go back to Prague and get a job as a bank teller or a secretary,
which was all one could hope for even with an A average from the best
university in Prague, at least not without influential connections paving one’s
way. And with her mother working as a secretary and her father employed as a
factory worker, Mila did not have anyone to help her but herself.

A month after Mila’s arrival, Ania
started asking questions about Mila’s plans. Determined to milk her stay at
Ania’s luxurious digs for as long as possible, Mila avoided concrete answers
until Ania started dropping forceful hints about Mila moving out. Sure, she was
happy about Mila extending her visa, but newlyweds Ania and Daniel needed their
privacy. As if a six-bedroom penthouse lacked privacy. But Mila had no choice
but to start looking for a place to live. When the ground-floor apartment in
the crappy Lower East Side building became available, Mila moved right in. At
least, no matter how small the place was, she did not have to share it with
clothes-and-food-stealing roommates. Ania had been kind enough to co-sign the
lease for her, and Mila had just enough savings from her college summer jobs to
pay the first month’s rent and one month’s deposit. Then, she got a job as a
waitress.

Six months ago Mila’s luck finally
changed. She met David Muller at one of those late-night fashionable lounge
bashes the girls at her job were always fluttering to, and things started to
look up. When she first heard David’s British accent, Mila had been wary. What
use would dating another foreigner be to her? But once she learned that David
had lived in New York for almost twenty years and had his citizenship, she
relaxed: as far as she was concerned, David was as American as Washington.
Still, she had to play her cards right. Her U.S. visa was only good for another
five months. If she did not get David to commit, off she would go, back to the
motherland.

Not that Mila’s attention was committed
exclusively to David. With his busy work schedule, David saw her no more than
three times a week, which left her plenty of time to fish, but so far David had
been the most attractive catch Mila had secured.

The sound of the ringing doorbell
brought Mila back to reality. It was time to go and rock David Muller’s world.

“I will see you later, honey pie,” David
Muller whispered into Mila’s ear.

“Do you really have to leave now?” Mila
pouted.

As David’s eyes traveled along Mila’s
long, shapely legs, graceful arms, the valley of her abdomen, and her lovely
breasts, he was tempted to stay. But he knew that he was in no position to
cancel his dinner with Aileen. At least for now, Cornelius Finnegan held way
too much clout over him.

“Yes, baby, I do,” David whispered,
tracing the outline of Mila’s long neck with his lips.

“If you’re not in too much of a rush …”
Mila’s hand slid down his stomach.

David glanced at the clock on the
nightstand: it was a quarter after seven, and he had to make it to Long Island
by eight p.m. to pick up Aileen. “No can do, baby. Sorry, I’ve got to run. But
I will take a rain check.” David nibbled Mila’s breast.

“Ouch!” Mila squealed with mocked hurt.
David knew that she loved him using his teeth on her when they made love. “I’ll
hold you to it.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll be here to
collect.”

David rose from the bed and wondered if
he should shower before leaving, but decided against it: there simply was not
enough time. Besides, it was not as though he planned to take Aileen back to
his place tonight. After making love to Mila it would be simply impossible.

“Honey bear?” Mila pouted.

“Yes, baby?” David felt himself melt
with tenderness toward her. He loved it when she called him honey bear. It was
a nickname Mila had invented especially for him.

“Oh, nothing,” she murmured, lowering
her eyes. “I know you’re in a hurry. We’ll talk later.”

He rushed toward her. “What is it, Mila?
You know you can tell me anything.”

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.
“It’s just that I was thinking of renting a different apartment, and I was
wondering if you could help me find one. Would you know of a good real estate
agent?”

David understood the hint at once. How
could he have been so pigheaded? He had been seeing Mila for months, and aside
from a rich assortment of lingerie, she was none the better for it. Sure, he
wanted her to love him for himself, which was why he had been cautious. But now
that she had stuck by him, he could become more generous. Besides, it would be
nice to be able to see Mila in surroundings that matched her looks.

“Say no more, baby. I’ll have my agent
find a nice place for you.” David kissed Mila’s hand. “I’ve got big plans for
us, baby. You just wait and see.”

With that, David put on his jacket and
headed for the door. With any luck he would make it to Aileen’s on time.

***

Aileen Finnegan sat down at her vanity
table and took out her makeup kit. There had been many times in the past when
she would feel discouraged to go on with the process, confronted with her pasty
white, freckle-splotched skin, thin lips and small eyes ringed by short, pale
eyelashes, and stringy red hair. Even as a girl she had always known that she
would never be beautiful. Why was it that some women were beautiful and some
not at all? Shouldn’t there be some fairness when it came to divvying up good
looks? Aileen often wondered. But when it came to good looks, genes and luck
determined the outcome.