Deadly Embrace (16 page)

"Sorry," Angela said, pushing up her cleavage.

"Showtime," yelled the stage manager. "Get your asses onstage,
ladies."

No time to call Sam back now; he'd have to wait.

"Don't forget to take a peek at the cute guy," Angela reminded her
as they lined up at the side of the stage. "And remember—you
blew it, so now he's
all
mine."

In the next number some of the girls were topless. Dani had
elected not to go that route, although she was certainly tall enough
and the director had urged her to do it, claiming she would make more
money that way.

"I prefer to stay dressed," she'd insisted.

"Hey, babe, your call," he'd replied. "Although what difference it
makes beats me—you can see everything you got as it is."

This was not exactly true. Minuscule as her costume was, it still
covered certain body parts that she didn't care to put on view.

Angela was contemplating going topless. "I gotta get a tit job
first," she'd said. "My boobs ain't what they used to be."

"You'd actually do that?" Dani had asked, quite shocked at the
thought of parading half naked in front of hundreds of strangers
every week.

"Yeah, maybe. I got me a surgeon friend who promised he'd do it
for nothing, only I gotta do
him
a small favor in exchange."
She'd winked. "Know what I mean?"

Unfortunately, Dani was beginning to realize
exactly
what
she meant.

The girls hit the stage to the sound of Sinatra singing "Come Fly
with Me," a perennial favorite. Dani managed to scrupulously ignore
Manny, who appeared to be leering up at her. However, she couldn't
help taking a quick peek at the guy with him. Angela was right, he
was exceptionally good looking, young, dark, and extremely
handsome.

H« caught her looking and averted his eyes. No sign of
interest there, which was fine with her. Angela could have him; she
couldn't care less.

By the time they finished their third number she was tired and her
feet hurt. Two shows a night was tough and she couldn't wait to get
home.

As soon as they hit the dressing room, Angela was on the move. "I
gotta get going," she said, grabbing her street clothes and hurriedly
dressing. "I'm saying hello to Manny, then he'll have to introduce me
to the stud, and who knows what'll happen then?"

Dani knew exactly what would happen then.

Idly she wondered if Angela would get paid for it, although
Manny's friend hardly looked the type who'd have to pay. He was too
movie-star handsome; girls were probably tripping over themselves to
get near him.

"See you at home, sweetie," Angela called, racing from the
dressing room.

"She's
such
a whore," remarked Ellen, one of the
dancers—a flat-faced, thirtyish redhead.

"What?" Dani said.

"I repeat—she's such a whore," Ellen said, carefully peeling
off her black fishnet stockings. "I can't imagine why you hang around
with her."

"I don't," Dani said flatly. "I share her apartment. And you
shouldn't call people names."

"Doesn't do much for your reputation, dear," Ellen remarked,
wriggling her toes. "You seem like a
nice
girl."

I ama nice girl
, she wanted to yell.
I'm a nice girl
caught in a difficult situation
.

But she didn't say a word.

After she'd changed out of her costume, she called Sam from a pay
phone. He wasn't home.

She couldn't help wondering if he'd found himself a girlfriend.
Part of her hoped that he had, because he deserved to be happy. On
the other hand, she wished that he hadn't, because even though she no
longer lived in his apartment, it was comforting to know that she was
the most important person in his life. Like her, he had no other
family.

Once she got home it was nice and quiet. When Angela was around,
everything always seemed chaotic. She enjoyed having the apartment to
herself; it was cool and tidy.

After fixing herself a can of Campbell's vegetable soup, she
curled up on the couch and watched half an hour of TV before taking a
shower and climbing into bed.

An hour later she was awoken by loud music: "Baby Love" by the
Supremes, followed by Dean Martin crooning "Everybody Loves
Somebody," and then the Beatles' "A Hard Day's Night" Willing herself
not to listen, she finally fell back to sleep, ignoring the noises
now coming from Angela's bedroom.

In the morning she awoke early, jumped out of bed, and wandered
into the kitchen, where she opened the fridge, poured herself a glass
of apple juice, and was just popping a piece of bread into the
toaster when a male voice said, "Uh—'scuse me."

She spun around, cheeks flushing, well aware that the baby doll
nightie she had on was totally transparent.

The guy who'd been sitting with Manny Spiven stood there, the
handsome one from the previous night.

"Who are
you
?" she blurted, crossing her arms across her
chest, soon realizing that it didn't do much to cover her lower
half.

"Uh ... name's Michael. I'm a friend of Angela's."

Sure. I
heard you moaning and groaning last night Did
you have to pay
?

"You startled me," she said accusingly, backing toward the
d»or.

His dark eyes were all over her. "Bein' startled suits you," he
said.

Michael. Nice name. He does
look like a movie
star
.

She hesitated for a moment before taking flight, running past him
to the sanctuary of her bedroom, where she grabbed her robe and
quickly put it on, belting it tightly.

"Your toasts burnin'," he called from the kitchen. "Want me to pop
it out?"

Summoning all the dignity she could muster, she returned to the
kitchen, where he was now pouring himself a cup of instant coffee.
He'd placed her toast on a plate.

"Thank you," she managed.

"Coffee?" he offered.

This was supposed to be
her
kitchen, and he was taking over
like he owned it. He had some nerve. "No," she said stiffly.

"Sorry about walkin' in on you," he said, sitting down at the
kitchen table. "I was lookin' for Max, an' the front door was open."
He chuckled. "Guess they must've been in a hurry."

"Max?" she asked, frowning.

"My pal. He, uh... came home with Angela last night Now I gotta
get him to the airport or we'll miss our flight."

"I thought
you
were with Angela," she blurted.

"Naw, not me," he said, sipping his coffee and thinking she looked
even prettier without all that heavy makeup plastered over her
face.

"So you simply walked in here this morning?"

"I shoulda rung the bell, right?" he said sheepishly. "Only, like
I said, the door was open, an' I didn't know anyone else lived
here."

"I live here," she said lamely. "Angela and me—we're
roommates."

"Oh yeah," he said, nodding. "I know who you are, you're a
girlfriend of Manny Spiven's."

"I am
not
," she said indignantly. "I
hate
that rude
pig."

"You do?" he said, surprised.

"Yes, I do. I had the horrible experience of going on a blind date
with him once. The pig tried to jump me, and when I didn't respond,
he shouted all kinds of insults at me."

"That's not the way
he
tells it."

"Excuse me?" she said, furious that there was a Manny Spiven
version of their one unmemorable date.

"Did you know that he goes around sayin' that he's ... uh ...
gotten it on with you?"

"
What?
!" she exclaimed, blushing a deep red. "That's
absolutely
untrue
."

"Guess he was makin' up stories."

She was so humiliated. How dare Manny Spiven make up lies about
her. "I
told
you he was a pig," she said fiercely. "A lying
pig!"

Michael grinned. He should have known Manny was full of crap.

"Anyway," she said vehemently, "maybe
you
should teach him
some manners, he's
your
friend."

"No," Michael corrected. "Business associate. Sure as hell not
friend."

"I thought—," she said tentatively.

"Manny's an asshole," he said, reaching for an apple and taking a
bite. "Seems like you found that out for yourself."

"At least we agree on that."

"So ...," he said. "Now that we've straightened Manny out... it's
nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?" she said, big blue eyes meeting his.

"I've been watchin' you for a while," he said, mentally kicking
himself for blowing the opportunity of getting together with her the
previous night.

"You have?" she said, surprised and quite flattered.

"Saw you a few weeks back, only just when I was about to make my
move, you ran off with some guy on a motorcycle."

"My sister's husband," she said quickly.

"Glad to hear he doesn't belong to you."

"What?" she murmured breathlessly.

"That he's not your guy," he repeated, giving her a direct stare
that made her go weak at the knees.

Before she could answer, Max staggered into the kitchen
bleary-eyed and bare-chested, clad only in his crumpled boxer shorts,
his hair standing on end as if he'd just put his finger in an
electric socket.

"Jeez!" Michael exclaimed, controlling his laughter. "You look
like crap!"

"Water," Max gasped. "I need water."

"It's the desert air," Michael deadpanned to Dani. "New
Yorkers—they can't take it."

"You're from New York?" she asked.

"Yup," he said, standing up. "An' we're supposed t' be on a plane
any minute."

"Oh," she said, strangely disappointed.

"But I'll be back," he said cheerfully. "Soon. An' next time we
won't let Manny Spiven come between us." He winked at her. "Will
we?"

"No," she said, and for the first time in her short life she felt
a stirring within her that made her want to grab a man and hold on to
him forever.

"Fuck!" the gunman exploded, punching a hole in the wall, his rage
and frustration quite apparent.

Almost an hour had passed and nothing was happening. Every
communication had promised that a van was on its way. So far no
van.

"You!" he yelled, pointing at Madison. "Get over here."

She felt a coldness in the pit of her stomach. Was he about to
make good on his threat and start shooting the hostages? Was she to
be the first victim?

Bravely she stood up and walked over to him.

He thrust the phone at her. "Tell 'em five more minutes or someone
fuckin' dies."

She took the phone and began speaking. The negotiator on the other
end sounded like an idiot.

"They mean business," she said urgently. "Where's the van? Why
isn't it here yet?"

"How many of them are in there?" the negotiator asked, his voice
cold and impersonal. "Are they all armed?"

"Yes," she answered quickly. "Three minutes is good."

"Try to keep everyone calm," he said. "I'm used to these
situations. We're working on getting you all out safely."

Was he kidding? They were locked up with armed men who were
threatening to kill them, and he was telling her to keep everyone
calm. This was insane.

"What's with the three minutes?" the gunman snapped.

"They're trying to get a van here."

"You're comin' with," he decided.

Cole was on his feet in a flash. "You can't take her without me,"
he said urgently.

The gunman looked him over. "You her old man?"

"Yes," Cole lied.

"Get the fuck over by the door. An' you," he said, waving his
weapon at the short redhead in the tight blue dress, "you get over
there, too."

"I want my ring back," the redhead whined. "It's my engagement
ring."

He ignored her, picking out three more hostages to go wait by the
door.

Please God
, Madison prayed,
let them send a van soon.
Because if they don't, somebody's going to die
.

* * *

Jolie was on her third cigarette when she realized that Jenna had
been missing far too long. This was not good, and she wasn't about to
hang around in the ladies' room all night waiting for her.
Impatiently she stubbed out her cigarette and reentered the casino.
The room was still packed with people gambling their lives away. As
she walked through the throngs of people, she glanced over at the
blackjack table where she'd first spotted Andy Dale. He was no longer
there, and Jenna was nowhere in sight.

Oh, shit! It wasn't
her
fault. All she'd done was point him
out,
and
she'd told Jenna to hurry back. Too bad if the ditz
couldn't follow instructions.

"Where's my wife?" Vincent demanded as soon as she returned to the
table.

"Playing the slots, I think," Jolie murmured vaguely, sliding into
the booth.

"Jenna doesn't play," Vincent said. "You're the one who's into
that."

"And I didn't feel like it tonight," she answered coolly.

"You left her in the casino by herself?"

"I'm not her keeper, Vincent."

He glared at her, his eyes hard.

"Maybe she bumped into a friend," Nando offered.

"If she bumped into a friend, she'd bring whoever it was to the
table," Vincent said, getting up. "I'll be back."

Nando shrugged. "Whatever," he mumbled, not happy about his
partner's reaction to the deal he'd suggested. What was so terrible
about hookers and drugs? They were a Vegas tradition. Besides,
everyone else made money with them. Why shouldn't they? Vincent could
be so uptight.

As soon as Vincent was out of earshot, Nando turned to his wife.
"So where is she?" he asked.

Jolie picked up her champagne glass and took a sip. "She spotted
Andy Dale and went running over to him. I couldn't stop her."

"Damn! Vin's gonna beat the shit out of him," Nando warned. "The
kid makes a living with his face. How's he gonna look with a broken
jaw and nose and three black eyes?"