Double Lucky (53 page)

“My cousin?” Max said, frowning.

“That is correct, Miss Golden.”

“Oh, my cousin!” she said, giggling as she put the phone down.

“What's going on?” Cookie asked.

“It's Ace,” Max said, a grin spreading across her face. “Y'see, Internet Freak thought that Ace was my cousin, so now Ace is into the game. He wants me to meet him outside the spa.”

“I thought we were all going to the party together.”

“Is it okay if we see you there? You don't mind, do you?”

“Why would I mind?” Cookie said sarcastically. “I'm totally psyched walking in by myself.”

“Not to worry, we'll get there before you,” Max said, excited at the thought of seeing Ace. “Quick, pass me the tongs, I've got to get downstairs pronto!”

“Okay, go have fun.”

“I will,” Max said, pulling on her favorite Seven jeans and a slinky red silk tank. “Do I look hot?” she questioned, staring at herself in the mirror.

“Sizzling!”

“Really?” she said unsurely.

“Go get him, girl. It's time.”

*   *   *

Detective Franklin was still sitting at her desk thinking about her meeting with Anthony Bonar when a male colleague dumped a package on her desk.

“This came addressed to you,” he said.

“What is it, a bomb?” she joked.

There was a running gag at the precinct that anytime an unidentified package appeared, it had to be a bomb.

“No chance. It's kinda soft.”

“Hmm … like you were last night on your hot date,” Detective Franklin said.

The other detectives in the room roared with laughter.

“Who's opening it?” she asked.

“Your turn,” the male detective said.

“Am I the only one with stones around here?” she asked, ripping open the package.

“You said it,” the guys chorused.

The package contained a bloodstained white bathrobe from the Cavendish Hotel. Pinned to it was a crude hand-drawn map, and a piece of paper with cut-out letters from a newspaper spelling out
TASMIN
and
ANTHONY BONAR
.

“Someone get this to the lab immediately and have tests done right away,” Detective Franklin said, adrenaline coursing. “Blood, semen, hair, and anything else they can come up with. I think we got us a body and a killer. Let's go!”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO

“How come
I
didn't get to meet Max's latest victim?” Lennie asked as their private elevator descended to the terrace level.

“Because,” Lucky replied, holding tightly on to his hand, “you were out on the golf course having a great time with Charlie Dollar when they arrived.”

“Is this the boy Max was in Big Bear with?”

“Apparently so. According to her, he saved her ass from a gang of carjackers—or so she says. Personally, I think she came across him online, met up with him in Big Bear, and fell in first love.”

“First love?” Lennie questioned.

“Oh, you know. Or maybe you don't—you're not a girl.”

“Gee, you noticed!” he drawled.

“Anyway, first love is special,” Lucky said, matter-of-factly. “It's all-consuming and usually involves rejection. My opinion is that this boy isn't as into Max as she is into him. He's older and killer handsome, so he'll break her heart, forcing her to realize that all men aren't perfect, and that'll prepare her for the reality of life, so it's all good.”

“Jeez!” Lennie whistled. “My wife the cynic.”

“It's called training.”

“And who trained
you?
”

“I had to learn all by myself.”

“You're a hard woman.”

She reached up and softly caressed his cheek. “Did I tell you how handsome you look in your tux?”

“No. You take me for granted.”

“Lennie,” she chided, “you are the one man I will
never
take for granted.”

“Promise?”

“Bet on it.”

*   *   *

Lord Grant, aka Henry Whitfield-Simmons, left the Cavendish and drove his Bentley to the Keys. He had passes for the reception and tickets for the lingerie show and concert. Tickets he had no intention of using, for by the time the show started, he and Maria would be busy getting reacquainted.

*   *   *

“We should get married, Alex,” Ling said, surprising him in the shower.

“You're not bringing
that
up again,” Alex responded as his beautiful naked Asian girlfriend with the straight pubic hair and inappropriate fake tits sunk to her knees and began doing things to him he could never resist.

He leaned back against the side of the shower as Ling went to work. She was an excellent lawyer, but her real talent lay in her delicate tongue—a tongue that could perform feats resulting in extraordinary sexual pleasure.

“Jesus, honey,” he groaned, giving himself up to the moment. “I don't want to be late…”

Oh no,
Ling thought,
mustn't be late for Lucky. That would never do. Lucky always has to come first. Lucky! Lucky! Lucky!
She was so sick and tired of his obsession.

Soon she had his full attention as she employed her talents to their best advantage. Ling had learned at a very young age how to bring a man to the brink of orgasm and then take him back, just a tad, so that by the time he actually came, it was an orgasm of mammoth proportions.

Alex knew nothing of her early life in China where she'd been raised in a house of ill repute, before managing to escape at the age of fourteen, thanks to a married American businessman fifty years her senior. The man had brought her to America, set her up in an apartment, and financed her education. In return she'd given him the best sex of his life.

He'd died ten years ago a happy man. She'd gone on to pass the bar and become an extremely accomplished divorce lawyer at one of L.A.'s most prestigious law firms.

Meeting Alex Woods was the finest moment of her life. She admired his blazing talent and unbridled masculinity—she'd always been a big fan of his films.

Shortly after moving in with him she'd decided she wanted to marry him, but Alex was forever resistant, in spite of her unusual sexual prowess.

Over the two years they'd been together she'd convinced herself that Lucky Santangelo Golden was the reason for his reluctance to make the ultimate commitment. Without Lucky, there would be no problem.

In Ling's eyes Alex Woods harbored an obsessive love for Lucky Santangelo Golden that was not healthy. It was up to her to do something about it.

Tonight she might get the opportunity to do just that.

*   *   *

The grand terrace of the Keys was the perfect setting for a party: creamy limestone floors and towering Italian marble columns, giant urns filled with a profusion of purple bougainvillea, and thousands of white candles in silver holders.

As Lucky entered, still holding Lennie's arm, the sight of everything took her breath away. She felt an enormous surge of adrenaline as she looked around, realizing that all the hard work of putting this project together had been worth it. Five years ago she'd had an idea. Now, here it was—the Keys. Her hotel. Her palace. She was queen of her kingdom.

“Amazing!” Lennie whispered in her ear before they were separated and she was swept up in a sea of people congratulating her. She went with the flow, accepting the many compliments coming her way, graciously kissing cheeks and shaking hands. It was a whirlwind of activity, and no press. The press were not allowed into the reception—they were stationed outside on the red carpet, which would serve as a pathway to the lingerie show and Venus's appearance.

Lucky had an army of people working for her, and they were all doing a fantastic job. From the P.R.'s to the caterers, security, and management, everyone was in top form, making sure there wasn't a glitch in sight. Spotting Gino, she attempted to make her way toward him, but before she could get very far, Alex blocked her path. “Hey, you,” he said. “I see you got yourself quite a turnout. Shame you're not popular.”

“We're in business,” she said, smiling. “Now I'll have to concentrate on paying back all my investors in record time. Think there's a chance?”

“No hurry on my account,” he said, leaning in.

She took a step back just as Ling appeared, sleek in a white Valentino suit.

“Don't
you
look lovely,” Lucky said to the Asian woman. “How come you're still hanging around with this old fart?”

Ling lacked a sense of humor, especially when it came to Alex. “Good evening, Lucky,” she said, her expression tight and unfriendly. “Please do not call Alex names. He may look like he gets the joke, but I can assure you he doesn't. Later,
I'm
the one who has to deal with his bad mood.”

“Now
wait
a minute—” Alex objected.

“Hey, hey, hey, here's my Lucky lady,” Charlie Dollar, movie icon supreme, drawled, sweeping in between them. “Got a big fat boner this joint's gonna make it.”

“Charlie!” Lucky exclaimed, relieved to move away from Ling's icy demeanor. “I'm so glad you could come.”

“Wouldn't miss a Lucky Santangelo event,” Charlie said, Cheshire cat grin firmly in place. “Gotta tell ya, nobody does it better.”

“Thanks, Charlie, that means a lot coming from you.”

“Gotta give props where props are due,” he said, stoned eyes checking out the possibilities.

“You are
the
most supportive friend, and I love you for it,” Lucky said, kissing him on the cheek.

“Calm down, chickadee, don't go gettin' all sentimental on me. I cry at the sight of emotion.”

Charlie always made her smile. “I'll try not to,” she said.

“Just came from the lingerie rehearsal. Wowee! Hot bods in Technicolor action. Excellent move not bringin' a date.”

“I'm sure you'll have fun tonight, Charlie.”

“Don't I always?” he said, another enormous grin crossing his weathered face.

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “Got no doubts on
that
score.”

Finally she made it over to Gino, who was surrounded by family and friends.

“I'm feelin' the excitement, kiddo,” Gino rasped. “You got yourself another hit!”

“I hope so.”

“I
know
so.”

*   *   *

Anthony Bonar wore Armani. Emmanuelle wore Tramp of the Day. Irma wore a dazed expression. Francesca wore a faded black dress and an embroidered shawl. The Grill wore an ill-fitting suit and a threatening expression.

As a group they stood out.

Irma could not understand why Anthony was doing this to her. Surely he would prefer
not
to see her? Yet he was keeping her close, with The Grill always hovering.

The image of Luis being mutilated refused to go away—it was constant. She could see his face, hear his agonizing screams, while she'd been forced to sit there watching helplessly as her lover was butchered.

Anthony was evil, and the second the opportunity arose she was running.

It didn't matter that she had no money and nowhere to run to. Anything was better than staying with Anthony Bonar. He was a true monster.

*   *   *

Susie wanted to attend the reception at the Keys. Renee wasn't so sure it was a good idea to go, but Susie was insistent, so they went.

The first person they bumped into was Anthony Bonar, swaggering around with his trampy-looking girlfriend in tow, while his wife and grandmother trailed behind him with the hulking bodyguard he was never without.

“What the fuck you two doin' here?” was his opening comment.

“Why shouldn't we be here, Anthony?” Susie replied, speaking up for once, because usually in Anthony's presence she never said a word.

“Renee knows why,” Anthony said. “It don't look right.”

“Nonsense!” Susie replied. “This hotel opening next to us will be excellent for business.”

“Are you fuckin' stupid?” Anthony growled.

“As far as I'm concerned,” Susie retaliated, “there's only one stupid person around here.”

Renee quickly jumped between them. Since when had Susie decided to take on Anthony Bonar? That was
her
job.

“Susie, dear,” she said. “Can you do me a favor and go talk to the mayor? He's over there. I'll join you in a minute.”

Susie threw Anthony a baleful look and walked away.

“Dumb cunt,” Anthony muttered.

“Excuse me?” Renee said.

“Dumb cunt,” Anthony repeated.

“That's my partner you're talking about.”

“Yeah. I know. She's dumb an' she's a cunt.”

Renee stared at the man she'd had so many dealings with over the years. The man who'd bled money from her hotel and given nothing back. The man who'd always made her feel that she owed him everything. The man who'd murdered a woman and showed nothing but a cold indifference.

Payback was a bitch. A bitch Anthony Bonar was about to meet head-on.

 

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

“I want to go over to Gino Santangelo, see if he remembers me,” Francesca said, pulling on Anthony's sleeve. She'd spotted her old love across the terrace and was all set on facing him.

“Are you fuckin'
crazy?
” Anthony responded. “You're not doin' any such thing.”

“
Sí
, Anthony,” Francesca replied, a stubborn gleam in her faded eyes. “You and me, we go over
now
.”

“Aren't you listening to me?” Anthony said, raising his voice. “Read my fuckin' lips: No fuckin' way.”

“Don't you tell
me
what to do, Anthony,” Francesca raged, pointing a bony be-ringed finger at him. “
I'm
the one took you out of Italy, gave you a life, a business.
You
don't tell
me
what to do,
I
tell
you
.”