Deadly Embrace (48 page)

"You
threw
a girl out of the van," Madison said, staring at
him with loathing. "Don't you have any mercy?"

"Shut the fuck up," he snarled. "You talk too much. How d'you put
up with her?" he asked Cole, whose eyes stayed fixed on the road
ahead.

"That poor girl," Madison continued, her voice filled with
disbelief. "You tossed her out of the van like a dead animal."

"Yeah," the gunman said, chuckling as if it was a big joke. "You
got that right. Roadkill! Some fuckin' trip!"

"Your mother must be very proud of you."

"You leave my fuckin' mother outta this," he growled.

"I hope I get to meet her one day, so I can tell her what a fine
son she raised."

"Keep talkin' an' you're next,
bitch
!" he threatened.

His words were ominous. She took a quick look at Cole, who was
still concentrating on his driving.

She remembered watching a movie involving a hostage situation.
Never get in a vehicle with a gunman, because chances are you'll end
up dead
.

One piece of advice had been to crash the car if you found
yourself in such an unfortunate position. That's what Cole should
do—smash the van into the center divider.

Of course, being on a freeway, an accident like that could kill
all of them.

Still, anything was better than this journey of certain doom.

* * *

Leroy Fortuno was an extremely large black man in his thirties,
dressed rapper style, while Darren Simmons bore a strong resemblance
to Snoop Doggy Dogg—tall, thin, and emaciated-looking, with
gnarly dreadlocks and darkly hooded eyes. They both wore Sean John
sweats, Nike running shoes, and big diamond crosses hanging around
their necks.

"My God," Jolie gasped as they approached. "They look like a
couple of major drug dealers."

"They're in the record business," Nando explained. "Everyone looks
like that."

"Are you
certain
you want to be partners with these
people?" Jolie asked unsurely.

"I got no choice. If Vin refuses to come in with me, there's no
way I can swing it on my own."

"You could be making a big mistake."

"It pisses me off when you're negative," he said, shooting her a
look. "I'm offering you a piece of the action here. So be quift, and
be nice."

"Hey, bro'," said Leroy, high-fiving Nando, who came up with the
appropriate response. "Let's go park it in the crib."

"This is my wife, Jolie," Nando said.

"Hey, baby," Darren said, giving her a perfunctory check from head
to toe. "Lookin' hot."

Jolie felt a shiver of annoyance run up and down her spine. She
was not a snob, but these two were the lowest of the low, and it
didn't take a detective to figure
that
out.

* * *

Naked, uninhibited, and wallowing in a coke-induced haze—with
Andy Dale pounding into her and Anais sucking on her
nipples—Jenna lay spread-eagled, imagining herself in a huge
house in Bel-Air, with many servants to do her bidding and several
luxury cars parked in the garage. Of course, there would be an
entourage of famous people, all of whom would want to be her best
friend, because she was Andy Dale's wife.

These fantasies flitted through her head as she murmured an
automatic, "Oooh, Andy, you are
such
a sensational lover."

Even as she said it, she realized that he wasn't. Andy Dale was
not particularly well endowed, whereas Vincent Castle
was
.

However, Andy Dale was a movie star, and that compensated for a
few missing inches.

"You're not so bad yourself, cookie," he said, pounding into her
with as much finesse as a pile driver.

"I'd really love..." Jenna gasped, "to have my photo taken with
you."

"Yeah. Why not?" A long, drawn-out groan. "Spread 'em, baby. I'm
coming!"

* * *

Vincent arranged for a private plane to get Michael to L.A. as fast
as possible. Dani suggested that she go with him, but he told her,
under no circumstances.

"Where can I reach you?" she wanted to know.

He gave her the number of his cell phone.

"Vincent," he said, "you're responsible for keeping your mom safe,
finding Sofia, and getting her back here."

"I've already got people on it," Vincent said. "Are you
sure
I shouldn't come with you?"

"If I need you, that's when you'll hear from me."

Dani put her arms around Michael's neck and kissed him on the
lips. "Be careful," she murmured.

"You know I will," he said. "Because when I get back, there's
things we should discuss."

"What things?"

He gave her his magical grin—the one that made him look
thirty again. "Good things," he said.

And she loved him more than she ever had.

* * *

It was 8 A.M. Wednesday by the time Sofia arrived back at her
beachfront lodging house. Her landlady, Mrs. Flynn, a flamboyant
Englishwoman who drank too much, greeted her in the kitchen, clad in
a bright orange, floor-length caftan.

"Out all night, dear?" Mrs. Flynn said with a saucy wink. "Have a
good time, did you?"

"I had a lousy time."

"Was he cute?"

"No," Sofia said.

"You
do
know you're a week late on your rent," Mrs. Flynn
reminded her. "I'll need something today."

"Do you mind if I use your phone?" Sofia asked. She was suddenly
experiencing a strong desire to speak to her mother. Maybe Gianni was
right. Maybe it
was
time she went home.

"Go ahead, I'll add the charge to your rent," Mrs. Flynn said
obligingly.

I bet you will
, Sofia thought.
You're a mean old
cow
.

She picked up the phone and called Vegas, even though it was
probably midnight there. Dani answered immediately.

"Hi, Mom," Sofia said, as if they'd spoken yesterday. "Hope I
didn't wake you."

"Thank God!" Dani exclaimed. "We've been trying to track you
down."

"Who's 'we'?" Sofia asked, fiddling with the phone cord.

"Your father and Vincent."

"Why?"

"There's an ongoing emergency concerning your father. You must
come home immediately."

"Can't do that, I'm broke."

"You have no money at all?"

"Nada."

"Go to the local American Express office. I'll arrange for a plane
ticket to be waiting for you."

"You can do that?"

"Of course I can."

"Is Daddy okay?"

"It's not something I can discuss on the phone."

"Sounds ominous," Sofia said, adding a vague "Actually, I was
thinking I might fly to Rome."

"Listen to me," Dani said sternly. "I know you don't like being
told what to do, but this is important. Come home immediately. You
could be in danger."

"Wow!" Sofia said, quite intrigued. "You're making this sound like
a James Bond movie."

"Pick up the ticket, Sofia, I'll arrange it now."

"Okay, Mom, I'm on my way."

"Hit the next exit," the gunman instructed.

* * *

Madison had no idea where they were. She knew that they'd been
driving for almost half an hour, and the helicopter had not been in
evidence for a good twenty minutes. That didn't mean it wasn't out
there somewhere—trailing them without lights.

"Where are we heading when we get off the freeway?" Cole
asked.

"Keep drivin'."

"You okay, Nat?" Madison said, stretching her head to see in the
back.

"I'm doing okay," Natalie replied. "You?"

"Oh, we're having a wonderful time," Madison said.

"Did I
say
you could have a fuckin' conversation?" the
gunman said, switching on the radio and pressing the buttons until he
tuned in to a rap station. He turned the volume up high and began
drumming his fingers on the dashboard. "Move this mothafucker!" he
yelled, as Cole began to slow down. "Gettin' off the freeway don't
mean you gotta drive like an old lady. Fuck it!" he crowed. "I'm the
king— the fuckin' king!"

And he laughed. A crazy, stoned laugh.

"Get packed, we're going to Miami for the weekend."

"Are you
serious
?" Madison said, her emerald green eyes
sparkling with excitement at the thought.

"Yup," Michael responded, grinning at his long-legged
sixteen-year-old daughter, whom he rarely saw anymore. "We're doin'
it."

"Wow! Is Stella coming?"

"Stella's not feeling great," Michael explained. "She'll stay in
New York."

"Wow!" Madison repeated. "You mean it's just you and me?"

"Hey—kid. You got any objections?"

"No
way
!"

Madison was especially excited because she was away at boarding
school for most of the year, and vacations were usually spent at
summer camp. Michael was always traveling so much and Stella's health
was somewhat delicate. Stella suffered from bad migraines, especially
when her husband was out of town.

Madison had learned to survive on her own. Early on she'd figured
out that was the way it was. Stella had Michael. Michael had Stella.
She was just around occasionally. The kid. The daughter.

Not that they didn't love her—she was sure that they did,
especially Michael, who was the best father a girl could have. She
adored him, so the thought of spending the weekend in Miami with him
was quite thrilling.

Last week she'd celebrated her sixteenth birthday. No big deal.
Stella had booked a table at Tavern on the Green and sent her there
with a few of her girlfriends. After an early dinner they'd gone to
the theater and seen
Starlight Express
. It was all very
uneventful. Michael was away on a business trip, which was
disappointing, because she would've loved to have spent such a
special day with him. He'd sent her a gold watch from Tiffany's,
engraved with a meaningful message.

Now this surprise—a weekend in Miami with her father. How
radical was
that
!

Michael was pleased to see his daughter so cheerful. Although
Stella assured him Madison was doing well in school, he'd noticed
there were times she seemed quite melancholy, and although her grades
were always high, he wondered if she was really happy being away from
home.

"Don't be silly," Stella had told him when he'd questioned her.
"Madison loves school. She's an extremely well adjusted young
lady."

Michael traveled a lot. He didn't have to, but spending time away
from home had become a habit.

And then there was his other habit—Dani and his second
family. Meeting up with Dani again in 1982 and discovering that he
had a son had turned out to be one of the high points of his life. He
loved Vincent— he saw much of himself in the boy. Although,
Vincent was no longer a boy—he was a very handsome, clever
twenty-two-year-old man who knew exactly what he wanted.

Michael's opinion had prevailed with Dani, so instead of going to
college, Vincent had taken a trip around the world with Nando. When
the two of them got back to America, they'd immediately set to work
trying to put something together. Nando had his inheritance, and
Vincent was catching up fast. Unbeknownst to Michael, his son was a
world-class gambler, the kind casinos eventually banned from playing
in their establishments. Before that happened, Vincent had made a
killing. Like Michael, he was a genius with numbers. And smartly,
he'd invested his winnings.

With a little financial help from his father, Vincent had formed a
partnership with Nando—who'd moved permanently back to
Vegas—and they'd opened a restaurant and bar on the Strip
called The Place. It was a big success with the young hip crowd.

Michael saw Dani all the time. Every few weeks he flew to Vegas to
be with her. He loved her, and she loved him. He had another reason
for spending so much time with her. Six weeks after they'd gotten
together in New York, Dani had informed him that
they
were
pregnant. "You and your magic bullet," she'd said, laughing. "What is
it with you and me?"

"Huh?" he'd said, not quite sure what she was getting at.

"We're
pregnant
, Michael," she'd said, beaming. "And this
time we're doing it together."

Rather than responding with shock and horror, he'd been delighted,
because not only did he want to spend time with Dani and Vincent, he
definitely
planned on being a big presence in his new child's
life too.

Dani gave birth to a daughter in 1983. They named her Sofia.

Dani understood that Michael couldn't marry her. He'd explained at
great length that there was no way he would ever disrupt Madison's
life. "When she's grown, I'll leave Stella.
Then
you and I can
be together," he'd promised.

"I'm not sure it's what I want," Dani had said with a lazy smile.
"I kind of like being the mistress."

"You do, huh?"

"Yes, I get treated better that way."

She'd given up work, and Michael paid for everything, including a
luxurious new house in a gated community and a gleaming silver
Mercedes.

Recently he'd arranged for her and Sofia, who was now four, to
take a week's vacation in Miami. Then he'd thought about flying down
there with Madison.

Not that he planned on introductions, but at least he'd be near
them.

Madison couldn't have been happier. She was a great kid, with a
high IQ and a passion for writing. When Michael thought about his own
humble beginnings, he was filled with pride to see how his offspring
were turning out—Vincent with his successful restaurant and
Madison brimming with so much ambition. It gave him a very satisfying
sense of having done
something
right.

* * *

Jamie came over to the apartment with the sole purpose of helping
Madison pack. She was a natural blond, tall and willowy. "Wish I was
coming with you," she sighed enviously, sorting through a pile of
skirts, jeans, and T-shirts.