Lethal Seduction (49 page)

“Such crap!” Rosarita exclaimed. “You sound utterly stupid.”

Pregnancy had certainly not softened her.

M
ARTHA OOHED AND AAHED
all the way to the hotel, totally getting on Rosarita's nerves. Couldn't the woman
ever
shut up?

Chas led the way into the hotel, with Varoomba close behind. Rosarita hung back, embarrassed to be seen with the Stripper Slut, as she'd nicknamed Chas' girlfriend.

At the check-in desk, Martha spotted Leonardo DiCaprio and a group of his cronies. She nearly fainted on the spot. “Oh my God!” she wailed. “Look—look who that is! I've seen Tony Curtis in Beverly Hills, now Leonardo DiCaprio in Las Vegas. My girlfriends in our book club will never believe me! I wish I had my camera!”

Rosarita rolled her eyes, although she had to admit that seeing Leonardo DiCaprio
was
impressive. He was shorter than she'd expected, and much too young. But all the same, he
was
a major star.

She held on to Dexter's arm. At least he was a personality of sorts. Not a very famous one, but he did have a half-assed name, recognizable to anyone who watched daytime soaps.

She waited until Chas had finished talking to the desk clerk, then she sidled over. “I'm Mrs. Dexter Falcon,” she announced.

The desk clerk glanced up. “What can I do for you, ma'am?” he asked politely.

“I thought I should make you aware that my husband is staying at the hotel. Dexter Falcon, the TV star. Perhaps you can inform your PR department. I know you have many celebrities here this weekend for the fight, and if there're any parties we should be invited to, I'd appreciate the invitation being sent to our room.” Satisfied, she turned away from the reception desk.

“What were you doing?” Dexter asked.

“Securing our position,” she answered, a smug expression on her face.

“What
position?” he muttered.

•

Carrie made Joel wait. He sat in the coffee shop, pushing scrambled eggs and bacon around his plate, wondering what time she was planning on putting in an appearance. Her promise of a half hour soon stretched into an hour. He was severely pissed.

“Jesus, Carrie,” he said when she finally turned up. “I thought you were a professional.”

“What?” she said unconcernedly.

“Why are you so late?”

“Am I?” she said, glancing at her watch.

“How was Baby Face last night?”

“Satisfactory,” she replied, casually inspecting the menu.

“We're supposed to meet the old man and the prison guard for lunch,” he said. “What were you an' Leon talking about yesterday? He didn't stop whispering to you all day. What the fuck was
that
about?”

“Confidential,” she replied.

“Are you kiddin'?”

“Leon wouldn't want me to repeat our conversation,” Carrie said, dismissing Joel's curiosity. “Now where is Mr. Scorsese? I thought you said he'd be here.”

“I told you he had a meeting. I mentioned you to him. He's interested in getting together with you.”

“I don't do auditions.”

“Who's talking auditions? I made him aware you're into
being a serious actress, not some tits-and-ass chase movie queen.”

“He knows who I am?”

“Jesus Christ, you'd have to be an alien
not
to know you. Your goddamn face is on the cover of every magazine in America.”

This pleased her. She gave a satisfied smile. “When do I meet him?”

“Later. At the party before the fight.”

“Good,” she said.

•

“What do you want to do today?” Jake asked.

“What do
you
want to do today?” Madison retorted.

“I've taken enough shots of Antonio, so no need to go back there. Did you get everything you need?”

“I'd say so. Enough dumb quotes to fill a book. The guy is a walking disaster—his own worst enemy.”

“So what
would
you like to do?”

“I'm easy.”

“I found
that
out last night.”

“Hey—” she said, throwing a pillow at him. “No sexist guy remarks around here.”

“I have an idea,” he said, grinning. “How about we rent a boat and go out on Lake Mead?”

“Mmm . . .” she said, stretching languorously. “That sounds great. Just let me check in with Natalie and Jamie.”

“Why? Do they have to come too?”

“Of course not. Natalie's working, and Jamie—well, I'm hoping she'll get on a plane back to New York and confront her husband.”

“Is she in the mood to do that?”

“I think so.”

“She's a truly beautiful woman.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Madison asked mildly.

“You're not the jealous type. You're too secure.”

“I am?”

“That's the impression you give, although . . .”

“Yes?”

“I
have
noticed a vulnerable side.”

“You don't say?”

“Oh yeah.”

She smiled and reached for the phone. There was no answer from Jamie's room. “Did Ms. Nova check out?” she asked the operator.

“No, ma'am,” the operator replied.

She then called Natalie. “What's going on?” she asked.

“Met a guy,” Natalie said. “An actor. Well . . . not
really
an actor—more like a model. Black and gorgeous! Exactly my type. We ended up in the pool at 1:00 a.m.”

“What were you doing in the pool?”

“Everything!” A slow beat. “What time is it now?”

“Past ten.”

“Jeez, I gotta roll out of bed, meet with my producer and decide what assholes we're talkin' to today. What are
your
plans?”

“I'm with Jake.”

Natalie chuckled softly. “That's good news.”

“We're renting a boat and going out on Lake Mead.”

“Veree
romantic.”

“I'm sure it will be.”

“So I'll catch you later. Don't forget there's a party before the fight tonight.”

“What party?”

“The VIP party. One of those big-deal events. I'll get you invited.”

“No thanks.”

“Hey, girl—you're in Vegas, what else you gonna do?”

“I can think of
plenty
of other things to do.”

“So check in later.”

“I will.”

“Are we on for Lake Mead?” Jake asked as soon as she put down the phone.

“Let's do it,” she decided, leaping out of bed. “I feel like taking the day off.”

“This time I
will
go get my camera,” he said, moving toward the door.

“Why do you need your camera?”

“ 'Cause I never go anywhere without it. And today, Miz Castelli—whether you like it or not—
you
are having your photo taken.”

•

Rosarita was not happy with their accommodations. “I hate this room,” she complained, stamping around in circles. “It's too small.”

“We're only here for two nights,” Dexter pointed out, opening his suitcase.

“Who cares if it's two nights or a thousand?” she said. “I want to see what kind of room Chas has. I bet he's got himself a luxury suite, and he's stuck us with this pokey little deal. I'm not standing for it.”

“Nothing you can do about it,” he said, hanging up his suit.

“Ha! You'll see,” she said, picking up the phone and calling the reservations desk. “This is Mrs. Dexter Falcon,” she announced grandly. “Mr. Falcon, the star of
Dark Days,
was supposed to be getting a suite for the same rate as a room. There's obviously been a mistake. Can you please send someone up to move us.”

“You'll never get away with it,” Dexter said when she hung up.

“I just did. What have we got to lose? They'll either move us, or they won't.”

“You're using my name.”

“What have you
got
a name for if we can't use it?”

“It's embarrassing. They probably don't even know who I am.”

“I agree with you, Dex—that
would
be embarrassing. But then, you've been an embarrassment to me for our entire marriage.”

He stared at her, hurt and angry. If she wasn't pregnant, he would be granting her the divorce of her dreams.

•

Sober and awake, Jamie wasn't sure
what
she wanted. But she dressed anyway, then took a cab over to Kris' hotel. In the elevator on the way up to his suite, she started wondering
what
she was doing? Did she really want to go to bed with a rock star merely to get revenge on her cheating husband?

Yes. Why not? She had to do
something.
She couldn't sit around like the poor, hard-done-by wife. And after she'd completed the deed, she
would
tell Peter. “Oh, by the way, Peter, while
you
were out with your
boyfriend, I
was screwing Kris Phoenix.”

One thing she knew about her husband—he was insanely jealous.

She wished she had a drink to fortify herself. Doing this while drunk was one thing. But sober, she wasn't sure if she could carry it off. Besides, her hangover was kicking in with a vengeance.

Kris greeted her at the door of his suite wearing a white terry-cloth robe and not much else. His hair was wild and sticking up, and he looked older in the sunlight, but still cocky and cute. And very English.

“I thought you didn't get up until lunchtime,” she remarked.

“Like the sweater,” he said, pulling her through the door.
“Veree
sexy.”

She'd worn a baby-blue angora sweater, the color brought out her eyes, the fabric made men weak.

A room-service table was set up in the center of the living room, with two large jugs of freshly squeezed orange juice and a pot of coffee.

“Can't stomach food in the mornin',” Kris said, making a face.

“Where's Amber?” she asked.

“We had kind of a fight last night. So, like I told you, she's run off in a huff to ride a horse, or somethin' stupid.”

“What was the fight about?”

“She doesn't want to be seen with me. She doesn't get that you gotta use publicity like it uses you. Amber's young—she doesn't realize you gotta put out. Know what I mean?”

“How
old
is she?” Jamie asked, pouring herself a cup of strong, black coffee.

“Twenty-two.”

“I'm twenty-nine; does that mean I'm too old for you?”

He gave a cocky grin.
“You,
my little darlin', are not too old for anybody. C'mere an' gimme a hug.”

“Can I ask you something?” she said, taking a step back.

“Ask away.”

“What exactly do you have on under that bathrobe?”

“A hard-on an' a smile!” he said with a cheery wink. “Anythin' wrong with that?”

N
OT ONLY DID
R
OSARITA
get their room changed for a suite, but she also received a printed invitation to a VIP party in the Marigiano Leopard suite at six o'clock that evening. She fingered the white-and-gold card triumphantly. Having balls was good; it paid off every time.

“Look,” she said, waving the invitation under Dexter's nose. “We're invited and we're going.”

“What about the others?” Dexter said.

“They're
not
invited, so they're
not
going.”

“That isn't fair,” Dexter said. “You know how my mom would love it.”

“God, Dex, you're
such
a mommy's boy,” she jeered. “Grow up. They can go do something else while we party. We'll meet them later.”

“You're
sure
you can't get them invited too?” he asked, certain she could if she put her mind to it.

“No, Dex,” Rosarita said, pursing her lips. “This is a VIP party.”

“You're positive?”

“Oh for God's sake!” she snapped. “I'm going shopping.”

“You went shopping yesterday, in Beverly Hills.”

“Are
you
paying the bills?” she asked testily. “Is
that
the problem here?”

“No, but I thought we might all hang out together today.”

“Not me. I'll meet everyone later for lunch.”

“Chas mentioned Spago. My mom's all excited.”

“Christ! A tube of
toothpaste
would excite her!”

“Don't be bitchy, Rosarita. You were never like that when we first met.”

“That was a long time ago, Dex.”

“It hasn't even been two years.”

“It seems like twenty-two.”

It was pointless to argue with Rosarita. She always made sure she had the last word.

“I'm going jogging,” he said. “I'll meet you at Spago in Caesar's Palace at one o'clock. Don't be late.”

“Can't wait,” she muttered.

As soon as he left the room, she hurried into the bathroom and extracted the bottle of lethal poison from its hiding place at the bottom of her makeup case. Now that the time was drawing near she was beginning to get nervous. What if the poison didn't work? What if Dex
didn't
die and she was stuck with him forever?

She couldn't stand it. It
had
to work. Why wouldn't it?

The next question was how to do it? Her original plan had been to slip it into his drink before they went downstairs. But if she did that, then she'd be the only one around, therefore she could be accused at a later time.

No, the place to do the deadly deed was at the VIP cocktail party. That way she could slip it into his drink while they were surrounded by people, and she would never be a suspect.