arm on a strap.
What kind of modeling agency required that much fire power?
“Follow my lead.” Morrissey gave me a final look and stepped out of the car. He circled the Lincoln and opened my door. Like a good chauffeur, he offered his hand to help me from the car.
I took it. His skin felt rough, a man used to doing more than driving for a living. Jacob hadn’t told me anything about him, but most likely his work was similar to mine. Though I didn’t let on, I liked that he noticed my dress. After all this, maybe we’d have an opportunity to get together. There was no room in my life for a real relationship, but that didn’t mean I had no needs. Someone like him might be just the ticket. No strings, no complications.
He hauled me out into the sun and released my hand. I allowed myself to look him over as I followed him up the steps. The stillness I’d noticed earlier left his body, and his stride took on the swagger of a man who fancied himself a player. He tossed a look over his shoulder, pride with a hint of ownership in his gaze, as if he’d just won a hand of blackjack in Vegas and I was his prize.
I had to wonder if I changed that drastically when settling into character. Probably. It was hard to know who another person really was, but in this line of work it was damn near impossible.
I’d be smarter to stick to the usual outlet for my sexual energy; random men picked up in bars.
Morrissey stopped in front of the burly sentinel and cocked one leg. “Hey, Udelhoffer. How’s it going?”
The behemoth eyed me. “Who is this?” His accent carried hints of Eastern Europe but with Brooklyn overtones, suggesting to me he’d been in the States for a while.
“Nice, huh?” Morrissey said, continuing with his schtick. “Your boss said if I found girls to model, he’d give a bonus. If they had something special clients liked, a little extra.”
“This is a closed shoot.”
“Not what I heard.”
The big man gave Morrissey a dead-man’s stare. “You heard wrong.”
I kept silent. A young girl in my situation wouldn’t dare be too forward, not with her dreams on the line. If Morrissey couldn’t pull this off, I’d find another way.
Morrissey thrust out his hand, palms up. “So, what? You expect me to turn around and drive all the way back to the city?”
Another stare for an answer, silent this time.
Morrissey shook his head. “Not gonna happen. I was given promises. I stuck my neck out here. This one?” He motioned to me, “A favor for Tony D’Angelo.”
The man didn’t even spare me a glance but kept his attention on Morrissey.
“You know who D’Angelo is, right?”
A nod from the hired help.
Morrissey continued, punctuating his words with thrusting waves of his hands. “I said I’d help her get a job, know what I mean? He’s not going to like it if I don’t come through on my word. He might even call some of his friends, you know? And I ain’t going to take all the blame.”
Udelhoffer let out a heavy sigh. “Wait here.” He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.
I did a quick scan of the doorway and eaves. No closed circuit cameras. Probably not needed with an armed guard at the entrance. Even so, I kept my voice low, paranoid about bugs.
“D’Angelo? Let me guess. Gambino family?”
Morrissey gave a curt nod. “I needed to make it easier to let you in than turn you away.”
“And you think they’ll buy that I’m some mistress he needs to get rid of?”
“That depends on how well you sell it.”
When I’d assumed a cover identity in the past, I had prided myself on preparation. Knowing everything about who I was supposed to be and who I was dealing with had saved my ass more than once. This operation had been rushed from the beginning, and now I was supposed to be the pawn of a mob figure I knew nothing about. I had to wonder if, in getting me in the door, Morrissey had just handed me a death sentence.
“I can sell it.”
I would have to. Not only was my life dependent on it, but so was a girl’s future.
The door swung open and Udelhoffer motioned me inside. As soon as I stepped into the marble foyer, he held up a hand, blocking Morrissey. “You’ll hear from me if she works out.”
Morrissey nodded and the door closed in his face.
I was on my own.
The man stared down at me with the dim look of hired muscle. “You wanna be a model, huh?”
I channeled eager. “More than anything.”
He shrugged a shoulder and heaved another sigh. “Yeah. We’ll take care of you. Purse.”
“Huh?”
He grabbed it without asking, digging a paw inside, fingering my phone and make-up. If he noticed I was conveniently missing a wallet or any kind of ID, he didn’t give me any indication it made him suspicious.
“Come with me.”
I followed Udelhoffer to the back of the house, taking note of my surroundings as I went. The house was furnished in a modern, generic style, the pieces and arrangements big on price tags but low on originality or warmth. I smelled gardenias from the back porch, a hint of some sort of animal musk, and the distinctive oniony, deep-fried smell of McDonalds coming from the kitchen and breakfast nook. A police scanner erupted in fits and starts, blending with a faint Latin beat drifting from somewhere in the house.
“How many girls are you shooting today?” I said without selling the obvious irony.
Udelhoffer kept walking, not bothering to answer. He led me out to a patio surrounding a kidney-shaped pool. The air smelled of salt water and fish, and beyond the pool, sunlight shimmered on Long Island Sound. Three other men stood near the diving board. They weren’t armed that I could see, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they had weapons nearby. The blonde in Jacob’s picture perched on a chaise lounge, dressed in a miniskirt and tee, a small carry-on suitcase on the paving stones in front of her sandaled feet.
No one even pretended to be snapping photos.
Udelhoffer stopped in front of a swarthy man with a hawk-like hooked nose, and they shared a few hushed words. Too quiet for me to hear, but I’m a fair lip reader. I saw
Even though the big man towered above, it was clear from their body language that Hawk Nose was in charge. Dressed in a button-down open at the neck, he looked more like a South American businessman than a thug, except for the shoulder holster under his jacket.
The third was average height and skinny, yet judging from the sinewy muscles in his arms, as strong as steel wire. He had ex-military written all over him and reminded me of a man I’d killed in Columbia. Tight shirt, and I didn’t spot his carry until I noticed the bulge on his right ankle.
The fourth was portly, with sweat stains in the armpits of his Hawaiian shirt. He wore khakis and loafers, no socks, and I couldn’t spot a pistol on him. An investor, maybe? Or a perspective buyer?
Udelhoffer finished his briefing, and Hawk Nose slowly walked over to me, a smile on his face that was pure mockery. “So … you ever model before?”
I pegged his accent as Venezuelan. “I’ve done some—”
“Then you know how this works.”
I had no clue. But since I doubted he did either, I gave him what I hoped was an enthusiastic nod and motioned to Julianne James, the real reason I was there. “Should I go sit down with the other model while you get ready?”
“In a minute.”
His smile widened. He grabbed a nearby bag, rummaged inside, then held up a skimpy bikini.
“Put this on … for the pictures. And since you’re a model, you should be used to dressing and undressing at the shoot.”
These men might not be overly concerned about selling their modeling agency cover, but they weren’t stupid. Making me strip in front of them provided more than a cheap thrill. It let them check if I was wearing a wire. Or a weapon.
“Sure.”
I unslung my purse. Leaving my heels on, I pulled the dress over my head. Next I slipped off my bra, stepped
