Lethal Seduction (30 page)

“What do you
mean?”
she said innocently.

“You'd better not screw around on him,” Chas growled. “He's likely to beat the shit outta you.”

“Daddy, you're so dramatic,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Now remember, if he asks, I'm there, or I'm on my way there, or I've just left. Got it?”

“Whaddya think I am, a moron? I got it.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

She clicked off the phone, took one last look in the mirror and slipped from the apartment.

•

Fortunately for Joel, the hotel was able to oblige him with the suite he requested. Thirty-eighth floor, on the left side, overlooked by the hotel next door.

He waited in the ultramodern lobby until Rosarita put in an appearance. When he finally saw her, he realized that in a strange way he'd kind of missed her. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“You're lucky I'm here,” she said, slightly out of breath.

“Yeah? What makes me so lucky?”

“Because you haven't been treating me very nicely,” she scolded. “I know my being married upsets you, but you could at least treat me a little nicer.”

“How can I treat you any way at all while you're still married?” he complained. “What am I supposed to do—come over to your place an' hold hands with your husband?”

“Don't be silly, Joel.”

“I got a surprise for you,” he said, taking her hand.

“What is it?” she asked, excited to see him.

“You'll see,” he said, leading her over to the elevator. They traveled in silence to the thirty-eighth floor. When they got out, he walked her toward the suite.

She wondered if she should tell him about her pregnancy.

Too soon,
a voice warned her.
Much too soon.

He opened the door of the suite and ushered her in. “Straight into the bedroom,” he said, patting her on the ass. “And open all the blinds.”

“I can't stay the night,” she said. “I got out for an hour. That's all I can manage.”

“An hour will do,” he said. “It's ten after six. I have a meeting downstairs at seven. You'll be safely outta here by that time.”

“What are we doing?” she asked curiously.

“What do you
think
we're doing?” he said with a dirty laugh. “We're about to entertain the folks next door.”

And as she opened the blinds on the side window, she realized exactly what he had in mind.

“Lights on,” he commanded. “Clothes off. We're givin' the out-of-towners a show the likes of which they'll never see on Broadway. Get to it, babe! This is a take!”

R
ELUCTANTLY
, Catherine Lione agreed to speak to her niece. Madison followed the dark-haired woman into a comfortable private office in the back of the restaurant, where there were video monitors on the wall and speakers playing music.

Catherine switched everything off, stared at Madison for a moment, then gave a deep sigh. “I knew who you were when I saw you this afternoon,” she said in her soft, slightly accented voice. “It was smart of you to find me. Although I suppose I'm not that difficult to find if one starts looking.”

“My detective found you,” Madison said restlessly.

“I see,” Catherine said, sitting down on a long, art deco couch.

Unsteady on her feet, Madison sat down next to her.

Catherine gave another long, drawn-out sigh. “You see, Madison,” she began, “after my sister's murder I had to get away from Michael and his evil, so I fled to Miami and married a man who was good to me. My husband put up the money to start this place, then later he was killed in an accident. Lione's began small, then after the big earthquake in L.A., everyone began flocking here—photographers, models, designers—they all discovered South Beach with a vengeance. At first I was
worried, I thought the publicity might put me on the front pages. But the people who cared about me realized I did not desire personal publicity. So Lione's became a force on its own, and I stayed in the background.”

“I'm not interested in the history of your restaurant,” Madison interrupted fiercely. “I'm interested in
you,
and what you can tell me.”

“I see,” Catherine said quietly.

Madison got up and began pacing. “Recently I discovered that the woman I believed was my mother all these years, was not,” she said, watching Catherine for a reaction. “You might have read that she and her boyfriend were murdered.”

“I know,” Catherine said, her face very still. “Stella was shot in the same way as my sister.”

Madison ran her hands through her long hair, wishing she felt more together and able to handle this. But unfortunately too many margaritas had fogged her brain, and she knew she wasn't thinking as clearly as she should. “Are you saying you . . . you think
Michael
could have done it?”

Catherine regarded her carefully. “What do you know about your father, Madison? Did he tell you everything?”

“No,” she said quickly. “As soon as I discovered Stella wasn't my mother, I hired a private detective. She's here with me tonight. Kimm did some investigating, came up with the press clippings, informed me that Michael . . . Oh God, I still can't believe it.”

“What
did she tell you?” Catherine asked gently.

“She . . . she said that Michael was once a hit man for someone in the mob.” Her eyes met Catherine's, and she stared at her hopefully. “That's completely crazy, isn't it?”

“It must seem crazy to you,” Catherine murmured. “To me, it's something I always knew. From the very beginning I warned Beth she was playing a dangerous game, but she loved Michael, and there was nothing I could say to change her mind.”

“Did you try?” Madison asked, sitting down again.

“Many times.”

“And she wouldn't listen?”

“Beth and I came here from Cuba as teenagers. We lived
with an aunt who died shortly after we arrived. Beth met Michael when we were still in high school—they became inseparable.” Another long sigh. “For a while, Michael took care of both of us. He paid the rent on our apartment, and even after Beth moved in with him, he still supported me.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “There was a time I loved him like a brother. I loved him because he loved Beth so much. But when he murdered her . . .” she trailed off, tears filling her eyes.

“So . . . you
do
think he killed her?” Madison said, hardly able to get the words out.

Catherine laughed bitterly. “I don't
think
anything,” she said. “I
know
he's guilty. He got off because he had a powerful attorney—paid for by his mafia boss.”

“Oh, God!” Madison said, her heart pounding. “So it
is
true?”

“I tried to take you away from him—he wouldn't let me. Michael had the power, the money, the lawyers. Me—I had nothing.”

“Why?”
Madison demanded.
“Why
did he do it?”

“He thought she had taken a lover. It wasn't so.”

“I don't believe it,” Madison said sadly, reluctant to face the truth. “It's the same story as Stella.”

Catherine shrugged. “Michael is aware I know the truth about him. He could find me if he wanted to. When he was acquitted, I knew I was probably safe. There was no necessity for him to come after me. But just in case, I keep a loaded gun beside my bed.”

“I don't understand,” Madison said, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to engulf her. “Why didn't you want to see me?”

Catherine shook her head. “It's too painful,” she said abruptly. Her voice softened. “My sister was everything to me. You—I'm sorry, but you're somebody I don't know. You're Michael's daughter.”

“No. I'm
Beth's
daughter,” Madison said, her voice rising. “And I've only just found out all of this. Doesn't that mean
anything
to you?”

“I know it should,” Catherine said, her voice a flat monotone.
“However, I cannot bring back the memories that haunt me.”

“How can you
say
that?”

“I wish you luck, Madison, but Michael is your family.”

“So you're saying you don't want anything to do with me?”

“No,” Catherine said. “I'm
saying
that I can't allow Michael back into my life, and if I accept you, then Michael will follow. I know him; he is filled with enormous jealousy. If he thought you and I were close, his ego couldn't take it. I don't know what it is with him—when he possesses somebody, they have to be his all the way.”

“He doesn't possess me,” Madison said vehemently. “I'm his daughter, but he's always left me free to do my own thing.”

“He's allowed you to
think
that.”

“I really am a journalist—I work for
Manhattan Style.”

“I know,” Catherine said. “I've followed your career.”

“You have?” Madison said, surprised. “How did you know who I was?”

“I have friends,” Catherine said. “They've kept me informed. I know you were raised thinking Stella was your mother, and when she was murdered—well, I expected you to come searching for the truth. I'm surprised Michael told you. It must be his punishment to Stella.”

“Listen,” Madison said. “I'm only here for one night, but I'd love to come back and spend some time with you.”

“No,” Catherine said sharply. “This is impossible for me. You must understand.”

“I need to know more.”

“Then you'll have to find it out elsewhere,” Catherine said, standing up. “I must go, my guests are waiting. Please, Madison, do
not
tell Michael we have spoken or where I am, because if you do—he will try to ruin everything I've worked for.”

“I'd never do that.”

“I wish you luck, Madison.”

“That's
it?”
she said disbelievingly.

Catherine nodded, her dark eyes full of sorrow. “I'm afraid that's all I can offer you.”

Angrily, Madison got up, left the room and returned to her table. The first thing she noticed was that Kimm was taking risks on the dance floor locked in a close embrace with the black woman who'd been coming on to her earlier.

“They look good together, huh?” Juan said, sidling up next to her. “Jealous?”

“No way,” Madison answered recklessly. “Get me another margarita, Juan, then I want to dance. With you.”

“With me?” he said, grinning confidently.

“Yeah,” she said, fixing him with a look. “You're it tonight.”

He fetched her another drink, and she tossed it back fast. Her head was spinning, spinning, spinning. This was all too much. She'd found her mother's sister who did not want to be her friend, did not want anything at all to do with her.

So be it.

She could take it.

She could take anything that was dished out.

And yet . . . she was enveloped in a cloak of sadness. What had happened to her perfect life?

She grabbed Juan and hit the dance floor, soon finding out that he was an accomplished and sensual dancer. The last margarita had made her into a wonderful dancer too, for suddenly she was swaying and twirling to the beat of the music, all else forgotten.

She remembered her last visit to Miami—the sexy male model, their passionate one-night stand.

That's what she wanted more than anything—another one-nighter. Another incredible night of hot, unforgettable sex.

Dangerous sex.

Dangerous anything.

She had an unquenchable desire to get out of her body and into somebody else's.

“What time do you finish here?” she murmured, clinging to Juan as he spun her around the dance floor, making her even dizzier than she was before.

“Any time I want. Miz Lione told me to make sure you are happy. She is pleased you are here.”

“No she's not,” Madison said, holding back sudden tears. “But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore.”

“She enjoyed your company,” Juan insisted. “Said you are an excellent journalist. And as long as you don't write her name, she is pleased to help you.”

“Help
me?” Madison said, laughing derisively. “She didn't help me.
You're
the one who's helping me.”

And then they were kissing, their lips pressed hard together, his tongue exploring her mouth with a great deal of fiery passion.

“Let's get out of here,” she gasped, when they finally parted.

“What about your friend?”

She glanced over at Kimm on the dance floor, still entwined with the black woman. “My
friend
will be perfectly fine,” she said. “Let's go before I change my mind.”

He put his arm around her, guiding her toward the door. “You are sure?”

The hot salsa music and the effect of all the margaritas she'd consumed swept over her. Juan was a conduit to forgetting everything. And he was right there beside her. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “I'm
very
sure.”

And everything was still spinning, spinning, spinning.

And she knew things would never be the same.

J
OEL WANTED IT ALL
—the whole nine yards—and Rosarita was so happy to see him, and so psyched by the knowledge of her pregnancy, that she was prepared to go along with anything he suggested.

With the lights blazing in the bedroom, and the blinds wide open, the hotel guests next door were certainly getting an eyeful. There was Rosarita, in crotchless panties, posed on the bed, legs spread. There was Joel, parading up and down in front of the window with a full erection. There were the two of them, going at it in front of the window.