The Killing Edge. Heather Graham
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silicone helps the puppies stay right up where they’re supposed to be. And I’ve yet to meet a man who objects, and most seem to prefer it. What do you have to say to that, Mr. Smith? I’m right, aren’t I?”
She was fishing for a compliment, he realized, leaning closer and actually coming on to him.
He lowered his head, trying not to smile and betray his amusement. She no doubt expected him to take her up on her not-so-subtle offer. There was a time in his life when he would have, those days of his youth when he was eager and raw, thrilled by the prospect of shagging just about anything that moved. But those days were long in the past. It wasn’t that his life had come to fruition with a deep relationship. In fact, his deepest relationship had ended bitterly. He didn’t know what he wanted yet, but he knew it wasn’t what Jeanne LaRue was offering.
No sharp edges, no daggers, no bartering. Not in the bedroom.
As he considered his response carefully, he was jolted—literally—by the arrival of someone at his side.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to push you out of your seat.”
He turned, saved from having to make a reply by the arrival of the all-natural assets in question.
Chloe Marin had come up on the other side of him, and he couldn’t have been more surprised by the effect she had on him, her eyes wide and intent, the soft and ethereal scent of her perfume sweeping over him. She was different from the others. He had an impression of the world’s most sinuous and elegant cat. It wasn’t overt, and yet she had an amazingly sensual allure.
She continued to stare at him with those cool jaguar eyes, and he realized he was being studied.
She accepted two beers from the bartender and slid one in front of him, then leaned close to ask softly, “Do you need rescuing?”
“Well …”
“It’s not a complex question. You may not want to be rescued. If that’s the case, I’ll slip away and let you enjoy Jeanne’s … company. If not …”
“I’ll slip away with you, if I may,” he returned, his own voice low.
She didn’t smile flirtatiously. She hadn’t been flirting, had simply noticed his plight and given him a chance to escape if he wanted to.
She spoke more loudly. “Mr. Smith, Victoria’s cousin Brad has arrived. I mentioned him to you earlier.”
He turned to Jeanne. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss LaRue. Miss Marin has pointed out someone I need to meet.”
“It’s Brad,” Chloe explained. “He’s going to need to rent transportation for his catalogue shoot.”
“He should just hop on a company boat,” Jeanne said.
“He’ll want his own transportation. Anyway, the more boats, the more fun,” Chloe said.
Jeanne frowned, as if wondering what experience Chloe was drawing on to support that statement, but Chloe didn’t wait for the other woman to continue the conversation, just slipped an arm through his and steered him away. “Brad owns a fleet of rental boats. And if you’re going to be going back and forth to the island while we shoot, you’ll be glad to have your own transportation.”
She was friendly, helpful, and yet she was also aloof. There was a contradiction somewhere in Chloe Marin that aroused his suspicions.
“Is Rene Gonzalez going to be part of the calendar shoot?” he asked.
She glanced over at him sharply. “Rene? I’m not sure.”
“I would have expected her to be here tonight.”
“Really? And what do you know about Rene Gonzalez?”
“I’ve heard that she’s very exotic looking, perfect for what I want for my catalogue,” he said.
“She is lovely,” Chloe said, and offered nothing more.
At the far end of the pool, they found Victoria standing with two men, both of them late twenties or early thirties, dressed in the appropriate Miami-chic attire, handsome jacket, open-neck shirt, no tie, creased slacks, everything with a designer label. One was a sandy-haired man with a short, spiked-and-gelled cut, and the other was darker, his hair a thick fall that slashed across his forehead. They might have been a pair of rockers on their way up.
“Mr. Smith, you’ve met Victoria, and I’d like you to meet Jared Walker and Brad Angsley. Brad is Victoria’s cousin,” she added, nodding toward the dark-haired man.
“Nice to meet you,” Luke said. “Call me Jack, please,” he added.
“Jack’s one of the up-and-coming designers here tonight,” Chloe explained. “He wants to do a catalogue shoot for his new line while we’re shooting the swimsuit calendar down in the Keys. And I’ve told him that it’s simply no fun being out on an island if you don’t have a boat. A nice little cabin cruiser. And who but you to hook him up?” she asked Brad.
“It’s what I do,” Brad told him, smiling with boyish charm.
Luke was startled when Victoria shivered. “That island—we shouldn’t be going back out to that island.”
Jared slipped an arm around her shoulders. There was sincere affection in both his eyes and his tone as he said, “Victoria, there’s nothing evil about the island.”
“It’s where Colleen disappeared,” Chloe said flatly. She was addressing Jared, but she nodded toward Luke. “Mr. Smith—Jack—is a new client for the agency. We should be hyping the shoot, not scaring him off.”
Brad smiled at Luke. “She’s right. And you’ll love the place. It’s the agency’s own little piece of pristine heaven. Not to mention that it’s three miles from Islamorada, which you must have heard of. It’s the sportfishing capital of the Keys, for sure, maybe the world.”
“Still, it’s true. It is where Colleen suddenly went missing,” Chloe said. Push-pull. She had said they shouldn’t frighten him, yet here she was focusing on the other woman’s disappearance. Clearly she didn’t want to let the conversation drop, and she kept glancing at him, which definitely struck him as strange.
“I did hear about that,” Luke said. “Are they sure nothing happened to her? I mean, why would she just disappear?”
Jared shook his head. “Who knows? Models tend to be emotional and just plain crazy.”
“Hey!” Victoria elbowed him.
“Most models. Some models,” Jared said. “Not you, Vickie. You’re totally sane.”
“But, honestly,” Brad said, lowering his voice, though with the conversations going on around them and the pulsing music playing in the background, it was unlikely anyone could hear them. “Tell me that Jeanne LaRue isn’t a bit on the wacko side.”
“She’s … blunt, that’s all,” Victoria said.
Jared snorted. “She’d walk over her own mother in spike heels if it would get her where she wants to go.”
“But she’s honest about it,” Chloe said. “I like that. What’s that saying? Something about the enemy I can see being less dangerous than the friend I trust?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Brad agreed. He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and produced a card for Luke. “While I’m thinking about it. We’ll get you set up for the shoot. Lots of people fly in, but you’re not even talking fifty miles, and a boat gives you a lot more control over your schedule. You know anything about boats?”
“Actually, I do,” Luke assured him.
Brad nodded. “Then it will be up to you whether you want a captain to come along or not. Depends what you’ll find more relaxing.”
“Are you associated with the agency?”