Incriminated (2 page)

Paolo King was sitting at the country club bar, as he often did after a training session with one of the club's tennis students. It was late afternoon. Some kind of mellow jazz played in the background. Paolo had no clue what the tune was. He rarely heard that kind of music outside the club.

This particular student was somewhat older than the usual women who favored Paolo. She was in her forties, with perfectly styled blond hair that settled high on her neck. Her tennis skirt showed off tan, athletic legs that were crossed at the ankles.

He knew her only as “Jimmy's mom.”

Paolo had once played a game of tennis for money with Jimmy, her idiot teenage son. He'd been tricked into swindling the kid out of a forty-thousand dollar Corvette. Even though Paolo had been basically blackmailed into the con by a guy who'd long since hit the road, Jimmy's mom held him responsible. She'd agreed to keep the matter away from the cops, but only if she and Paolo got on
real
good terms.

He'd been doing a pretty good job at keeping up the pretense—minus one small detail. Somehow, her name had eluded him. She'd told him once but he'd forgotten. Now that they'd been intimate it seemed just plain rude to ask her again. Paolo had hoped that they'd never meet again. But no. Today, she'd lain in wait for him at the club.

“Your hair looks great,” Paolo said as Jimmy's mom switched his Diet Sprite with the Tom Collins cocktail she'd ordered for herself. He picked up his new drink. “Are you sure you don't want this?”

“Better not.” She smirked. “I'm driving.”

So was Paolo, but in this woman's company he was wary of saying anything that might annoy her. The subject of Paolo's age—sixteen—was a sketchy one between them, on account of how they'd slept together. Technically, it was illegal, but this wasn't Paolo's first time with an older woman. He was pretty sure she'd drag out the names of all those other women he'd slept with at the tennis club, if he tried to use their relationship against her. He didn't want that.

He took a sip and tried once again to remember her name. She would be annoyed that he couldn't remember.

“I enjoyed watching you play against your coach.” She smiled. “But my dear, it's exhausting. I thought he had you beat for sure.”

Paolo humored her. “Victory tastes sweeter when you snatch it from the jaws of defeat.”

Jimmy's mom would have known that if she'd stuck around to watch the whole match he'd played against her
son. Darius, Paolo's doubles partner that afternoon and the architect of the entire scam, had made sure they'd let themselves be held down, almost until the end. A classic hustle. Jimmy had fallen for it, and hard.

She gave him a long, thoughtful look. Paolo avoided looking back, feeling the full weight of the years between them. He thought back to their last encounter. He already felt uncomfortable, the way you did when a girl came on to you and you knew you were going to deny her in the end. He did it all the time with girls from school who seemed to think he was some kind of trophy—to be snatched up and displayed.

“Are you quite sure that you can't move your class to another evening?” she asked suggestively.

Paolo's fingers closed around his glass. “I really can't. My student's already here—I saw her car in the parking lot.”

She pouted. “Too bad.” There was a hesitation, as though even she had some qualms about broaching the subject of their one-time affair. Then her voice dropped. “I've been thinking about you, you know.” She tried to look him in the eye and couldn't. Suddenly, she seemed almost vulnerable.

Paolo struggled to maintain an even expression. She wanted him to say something similarly flirtatious, he could tell. When she noticed his reluctance, a smile spread across her lips.

“Come along, Paolo, don't be so bashful. We're hardly Mrs. Robinson and Benjamin, now are we?”

His eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “And they are?”

“You never saw
The Graduate
?”

“
The Graduate
?” He shook his head and took a sip. “No.”

Jimmy's mom sighed patiently, as though dealing with a slow but fondly regarded student. “It's a marvelous movie, a classic. Mrs. Robinson is the bored, wealthy housewife and Benjamin is a recent college graduate, the son of her family friend. They get together. Ben's very shy about it all, at first. And then he starts to like it. Just the way you did, Paolo, that afternoon we spent together.”

“How does it turn out?” Paolo asked, dreading the answer.

She shrugged. “Not altogether well. Benjamin runs off with Mrs. Robinson's daughter.”

Paolo fumbled for words. This conversation was getting pretty bizarre. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. “Are . . . you not happy with Mr. . . . with Jimmy's dad?”

She leaned back in her seat, regarding him. “Happy? Paolo, you really believe that a happily married woman takes a sixteen-year-old tennis coach to bed?”

“I guess I don't know a lot about married people.”

She touched his hand affectionately. He found his eyes drawn inexorably to the place where her fingers had lightly landed on his.

“Why would you? You're just a kid. Out of your head with testosterone, maybe, but that'll calm down, in time. I'm guessing you don't have a girlfriend?”

“Why'd you say that?” The words, too defensive, were out before he could stop himself.

She gave a curious smile.

“I don't have a girlfriend because the girl I want isn't interested.”

A flicker of genuine interest. “Ah. Unrequited love, is it?”

“I don't know about love.” Paolo could hardly believe he was talking about these feelings to a predatory stranger. It was as though she'd mistaken him for one of her girlfriends, someone with whom to share a confidence. Just the same, he tried to give a helpful answer. Jimmy's mom could still cause a lot of trouble for him. It was better to keep her on his side.

“I like this girl a lot. We kind of hooked up once and she wasn't into it. I thought I'd be angry. But I dunno. Somehow, it just made me want her more.”

Jimmy's mom gave a satisfied smile. “My, my. Sounds to me like your little girlfriend has you exactly where she wants you.”

“It's not like that.” That didn't describe Lucy Long at all. He'd had enough experience with women to be able to tell when a girl really wanted him. Lucy hadn't shown those signs, not really. Not until she kissed him and it seemed like she finally wanted to get close to him . . . until she didn't.

“What I think,” he said carefully, “is that she didn't like me, not that way, at least. She only wanted to hook up with me to forget about everything else happening in our
lives. The timing was all wrong.”

“Well, now,” murmured Jimmy's mom, evidently surprised. “How unusually perceptive of you.”

She pulled out her credit card as the waiter dropped the check. Paolo craned his neck until he could make out the name on the card.

Meredith Eriksson.

Her name was Meredith. Wouldn't even have been in his top ten guesses. Paolo sank into his seat, barely holding back a sigh of relief.

“Perhaps you need to get that girl out of your system,” she continued. “You know the saying; the best cure for an old love is a new one.”

But you and me, we can't ever be in love
, Paolo wanted to say. It had been a one-time thing only to stay out of trouble, nothing more. He nodded a little and sipped nervously at his Tom Collins, quickly thinking of a way to let her down. “Meredith,” he started, tentative with the use of her name. “You got any daughters? Maybe we can totally Mrs. Robinson this whole situation.”

“Come near my house or my family, and it's good-bye to your tennis career,” she said, with a sharpness that felt like a slap. “And as for law school, a few calls to some lawyer friends of mine would put an end to that,
Mr.
King.”

Paolo played along, pretending it was a joke, but he knew it wasn't. “I'll be sure to remember that,” he managed to say after a while.

“All right,” she said, her tone crisper now, formal.
“Paolo, where would you say this leaves us?”

He glanced up, bewildered. “Us? I thought you said . . . ?”

“I know what I said, but I expect some flexibility, naturally. Given the extent of your misdemeanor, I mean. The total cost of your little scam.”

“It wasn't just me,” he added resentfully.

“Yours and Darius's, then,” Meredith said, widening her eyes. “Darius was rather more effective than you at making a hasty getaway.” She leaned closer and smiled. “He's also far less attractive.”

There it was again, the calculatingly ravenous look that made Paolo feel as though he were a strawberry cream pie.

“You cost me upward of forty thousand dollars, Paolo King. And as memorable as our afternoon was, on reflection, one time doesn't quite cut it.”

Paolo felt himself swallowing his revulsion. He wasn't at all sure that he could make himself go through a repeat performance.

Reluctantly, he said, “What did you have in mind?”

“I have your number. When the mood strikes me, Paolo, I'll give you a call.” Meredith stood. “Don't worry. I could be good for you. I suspect that when it comes to young women, you've a lot to learn. What we have is fun, but I wouldn't be averse to helping you win the girl of your dreams.”

She touched his cheek thoughtfully. After a second or two, it turned into a caress. “Don't look so worried.
I guarantee that you'll have a great time.” She leaned in like she wanted to kiss him but remembered where they were. She brought her mouth close to his ear instead and whispered, “Grow your hair longer, and use a little bit of product. You're looking so good these days, Paolo, I could scream.”

“Candace Deering? This way, please.”

It was too easy, nothing like the other times. No line, no crowd of girls that made her wonder if she was a clone. She'd been escorted to the audition room by someone who actually knew her name, and when she entered, there were only two guys inside.

One of the guys stood behind a desk manning a short tripod and a video camera. The second leaned against the door frame, silent. He was in his midthirties, about six feet tall, dark-haired with greenish-blue eyes. The stubble on his chin lent him an unkempt look. Candace recognized him right away.

He turned, deliberately casual, to look at her. His eyes flicked up, then down. A two-blink checkout. “Thanks for coming to audition for us. I'm Ricardo Adams.”

Candace smiled. “I know who you are,” she said, figuring flattery was the way to go. “I watch
Deadbeat
.”

“Always nice to meet a fan,” he responded with an
artificial grin. He eased aside to let Candace pass. She went to close the door behind her, but Ricardo caught the edge and held it open. “We're not all here yet.” Cool professionalism oozed from his every pore.

Candace practically held her breath until a moment later she heard a cheerful yell from down the corridor,
“¡Oye, asere!”

Into view came a guy, a little under six feet tall, about twenty years old and of African descent. He was lithe and slender with a stylish, layered pattern shaved into short dark brown hair. His features were delicate; high cheekbones, almond-shaped dark brown eyes with curly lashes and a perfectly sculpted jaw. He was ludicrously handsome. Beaming a 100 percent gorgeous smile from a face as sweet as his body was perfect, he sauntered into the room, did some kind of bro-hug with Ricardo, then leaned in and surprised Candace with a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“Yoandy,” he said, his voice low and sultry. He squeezed her right hand.
“Encantado
.
”

His accent
. Light, yet definitely Latino. Was he Dominican? Cuban? Colombian?

“Candace Deering,” Ricardo said formally, “this is Yoandy Santiago.”

She nodded, trying not to look at the muscles playing under the flawless, smooth brown skin of Yoandy's shoulders. Most of his upper torso was exposed by the tight, sleeveless white top that he wore over faded, ripped blue jeans with cream-colored Chuck Taylors, unlaced and with
the tongues pulled loose. There was no sign of any tattoo or other marking on him, but his throat was adorned with a doubled necklace of tiny red and white beads. He had the physique of an athlete or maybe a dancer.

Candace was pretty sure she'd have recognized him if he had been on TV before.

“I like your show,” Yoandy said, amused. “You're Gina! She's so badass.”

“How have you seen
Downtowners
? It hasn't even aired yet.” Candace glanced at Ricardo for confirmation.

“I showed Yoandy some of your work,” Ricardo said. Something about the way he bit off the sentence made Candace wonder. Had Yoandy's approval been important? Required, even? She struggled to remember the name: Yoandy Santiago. Was he already a bigger star than her?

When she focused again, Candace realized that Yoandy was staring at her, looking positively charmed. “I
loved
when you killed that guy with your bare hands.”

Candace pulled herself straight, recovered her poise, and smiled at Yoandy calmly. “He got what he deserved.”

Yoandy burst into laughter. “I like this girl. Ricardo, give her the part.”

“Give her the part?” Ricardo echoed, disgruntled. “
You
haven't got the part yet, so why don't you zip it?”

“Dana will whup you if I don't get to play Sebastian,” Yoandy said with a smirk. “And
I
say you hire Candace for Annika.”

She would have been appalled if anyone else had said
that. But then again, she'd never met anyone quite like this guy. Charm radiated off him like some kind of magical power.

“Uh, hey—who's Dana?” Candace asked, pretending that she hadn't already scoured the internet for details of Ricardo Adams's private life.

“Dana Alexander,” Yoandy explained. “Ricardo's wife. The British movie star?”

“Of course,” Candace replied. “I love her work, especially when she played Lady Macbeth. I'm crazy for Shakespeare movies.”

“Yoandy is a very good friend of Dana's sister, Kay,” Ricardo said. “And Kay has persuaded Dana that Yoandy is the next Jaden Smith. The
Latino
Jaden Smith. So she got Dana to
insist
I get him a part on my show. Which is why you're gonna have to tolerate the lousy bum at least if you want to work on
Prepped
.”

Yoandy beamed another radiant smile at Candace. “You see how he talks to me? And we're almost family.”

Almost family. A very good friend.

Candace made a conscious effort to suppress a frown. Here she was, about to land a huge TV deal and she was getting anxious. Was it because Ricardo mentioned that Yoandy was “good friends” with Kay Alexander? Could good friends mean something more? And did the fact that she cared mean she was jealous? But this
never
happened to Candace. Guys crushed on her—not the other way around.

It was too bad. With every passing moment she was
coming to the conclusion that Yoandy was the sexiest guy she'd ever seen in her life.

“Hi, I'm Lowell, one of the directors.” The other man's voice broke across her thoughts. He'd been standing politely to one side with a clipboard in one hand, observing the interaction between Ricardo, Candace, and Yoandy. But now he spoke up, rather firmly. “A couple of questions. It says here on your résumé that you're emancipated. But you're still in high school, is that correct?”

Candace forced her attention away from Yoandy, who had turned to exchange a few quiet words with Ricardo. “Oh, uh, yeah. I'm at Hearst Academy. We break for summer vacation at the end of the week.”

“That's excellent. We plan to record over the next month, break for about three weeks around July Fourth and be back at work by August. You'd have more lines, so the schedule's gonna be heavier than for
Downtowners
.”

Candace nodded. This was all good news. More work, more money, more face time on TV . . . more Yoandy.

The director put down his clipboard. “If you're ready, Miss Deering, I'd like you to improvise a combat sequence with Mr. Santiago. Then we'll try the second scene.”

Yoandy gave her a reassuring wink. He was taller than her by about four inches, and heavier by at least forty pounds. Taut biceps, the outline of a six-pack clearly visible beneath the thin, ribbed fabric of his shirt.

“You're my combat partner?” she asked.

“Don't worry,
nena linda
, it's just like dancing,” Yoandy
said with affection. “And all Cubans know how to dance.”

“You're Cuban?” she said, secretly wondering what
nena linda
meant.

Ricardo snickered. “I guess she's never heard of you, lover-boy.”

Ignoring him, Yoandy took her by the hand, as if to lead her to the exercise mat on the other side of the room. The skin of his palm was bone-dry, smooth and soft, and his grip was the ideal balance between control and gentleness. A little dazed, Candace found herself following. She wasn't quite sure what was happening. She could feel her breath coming a little faster. She focused on looking anywhere other than Yoandy's face or body, but her eyes were drawn to him with an irresistible pull.

When she finally willed herself to break the trance, she saw the director make a note in his smartphone. Then he glanced up at Candace. “Could you go from the top, do the scene, and go straight into the fight?”

“Improvise the fight?” she asked, eyes widening.

“I never did this before, either.”

“But at least you're a dancer.”

“It's just confidence,” Yoandy said, and placed a palm on her shoulder as he looked directly into her eyes. “Candace, I've seen what you can do on
Downtowners
. You're a fantastic actor, in the physical scenes, too. You can do it. I promise.”

Candace shook the tension out of her hands. Despite her mixed-up feelings for Yoandy, she was a professional.
She kept her features sharp, determined. “Let's get started.”

“I'll give you some basic choreography to rehearse,” Lowell said. “Now, as Yoandy pointed out, we saw some really great physical stuff in your role as . . .” He fumbled for the name of her character on
Downtowners
.

“Gina,” offered Yoandy. He and Candace shared a knowing smile.

“Right. Let's see some of Gina, but with some inner geek. Annika is not just a pretty girl-fighter, she's a scientist, too. Remember, the show takes place after the apocalypse and a de-aging virus has just been released into the water supply. You're a thirty-six-year-old woman who's suddenly back in the body of a teenager. You need to give us a hint of that experience and expertise.”

“Hidden depths.” Candace nodded. “I got it.”

“Don't worry about playing a middle-aged woman who looks seventeen,” Yoandy said in a conspiratorial whisper. “The guy I play is, like, fifty.”

“All right,” said the director, “let's talk choreography. Yoandy, he hits first; a left hook. You duck, then get up, swing in a kick, parry a punch, and then let him roll you over his back.”

“Duck, swing-kick, parry, back-roll.” Candace nodded again. “All right.” She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet.
What the heck is this?
No one had said the combat would be rolled into the same audition. No one had warned her to expect Ricardo Adams, the star of the new show, at the actual audition. Nor that he was already lining up other
roles on the advice of his movie-star wife. Either her agent was totally incompetent, or the studio was playing mind games.

Yoandy continued to smile at Candace. It was a very natural, sexy smile. She made herself look at him from the corner of her eye, like when you tried to catch a glimpse of the sun during an eclipse. She probably should have been creeped out by this guy, who was most likely in a relationship, coming on to her so strong. And yet, she could somehow tell that he wasn't exactly doing that. It was just his natural charm, his unguarded reaction to Candace. Or maybe he had so much charisma that it couldn't be contained, even by the shackles of whatever it was he might have going on with this
Kay
.

Kay Alexander. Candace didn't know who the girl was, but already she couldn't stand her.