“What did he tell you?”
She turned to face Nick again, hardening herself against the cool disdain in his gaze. “I have to dress. Go back to him.”
“Then, what are you waiting for?”
He was actually more beautiful when he was like this. When his lip had that hint of a sneer and his eyes burned right through her. But she knew better than anyone that beauty was nothing. A trap. A web.
Without giving him the satisfaction of an answer, she headed for the bedroom. Todd wanted her hair down. She’d have to wear full makeup, which she hadn’t done since the day she’d left him. And wear the awful lingerie that was sure to be in her dresser.
The bedroom, as large as her living room and kitchen combined, had been redecorated in the same motif as the rest of the suite. The four-poster was swathed in sheer white drapes, the posts themselves sturdy brass. Looking at the bed made her stomach clench as other memories came back, piling in her head like a car wreck.
When they’d first met, Todd had been a perfect gentleman. He’d courted her with respect, giving her all the time she’d needed to make her decisions. Even after they’d made love, he was patient, showing her a side of him she knew now to be a complete charade.
Only when she was well and truly trapped did he come out, show her his true colors. Sick colors. His cruelty became masterful in the bedroom. What he’d done to her, made her do…
She took a deep breath as she thrust the thoughts from her consciousness. Striding to the closet, she flung open the doors, determined to think of nothing but the task at hand.
The wardrobe was far sparser than she’d imagined. Half a dozen dresses, another half dozen negligees. High heels, of course, and gaudy accessories. Furs, jeweled handbags. Not her taste, not her style. They made her feel cheap, despite their astronomical price tags.
She picked out the skimpiest dress. The night was going to be horrible. Painful. She’d do well to mitigate her circumstances wherever she could, beginning with the slit-up-to-there gold lamé dress that hardly covered her breasts and bared her back completely. There would be no bra, not with this dress, and no hose. In the top dresser drawer she found several pairs of the tiniest thongs she’d ever seen, mere teasing of fabric. She put on the white ones.
As she dressed, she turned it all off. Her repulsion, her fear, her worry for Patrick. She turned it off and went as far deep inside as she could. It had been a long time since she’d taken refuge there, but she found her safe zone waiting, as if she’d never left.
She took her hair down as she walked to the bathroom, there to painstakingly put on the makeup of a showgirl. No. Of a whore. By the time she was finished, with only five minutes to spare, she hardly recognized herself.
Which, she supposed, was a good thing.
She checked her reflection, made sure he’d approve, then grabbed a gold handbag and slipped on the four-inch heels that hurt with her first step. It didn’t matter. That would be the least of her discomfort tonight.
NICK HAD MADE a few phone calls while Jenny was dressing, one of them real. Jed Tyler, his mechanic, told him his Porsche was ready, after having the brakes relined. During the call, and the other two, one to find out the correct time, and the other to a number he knew had been disconnected, he walked around the living room as if studying the decor. His real quest was to find the hidden cameras. As he’d suspected, they had all been moved during the redecoration. It had taken him a long time to find the six cameras before, and so far he’d only identified three.
He’d ferret out the bugs later. He’d be spending a lot of time here while he made Jenny uncomfortable enough to insist he be replaced. Which needed to be damn soon. He had to be free to find out what the hell Todd was planning. It was big. Bigger than anything he’d encountered so far and it had nothing to do with the casino.
Todd was one of the wealthiest men in Nevada—in the world. And still he wasn’t satisfied. What he wanted to be when he grew up was an arms dealer. Like Adnan Khashoggi at his peak, only richer. He wanted to sell big toys like F/A-18 Hornet jets and Black Hawk attack helicopters, but the U.S. government had restricted his ability to play in the billion-dollar playgrounds. Oh, he could sell arms, but he’d have to get out of the casino business.
Todd continued to host the world’s largest arms trade shows, however, with representatives from all corners of the globe. He was the world’s leading exporter of signals intelligence. The interception, exploitation and jamming of electronic communication; a multibillion-dollar enterprise designed to eavesdrop on the conversations and data traffic of U.S. adversaries anywhere on earth. Real James Bond stuff.
The arms shows were more exciting to him than any poker tournament could hope to be. His contacts were world-class, although the meetings were never in Nevada. Rio, South Africa, Kashmir; Todd jetted all over the globe in his pursuit of the highest bidder for his wares. His presence at defense conferences were high-ticket events, where he would dine with presidents and kings, many of whom where high on the U.S. government’s list of unfriendlies.
Nick had gone to several arms shows with the boss and had seen his share of what went on in the world of covert ops. Gambling, even at the level played at Xanadu, couldn’t hold a candle to the stakes that were played on that field.
What Nick had also seen was that Todd was not a man to give up easily. His goal was for the big score, the billions that would make him untouchable. Since the powers that be had told him he couldn’t sell weapons, Nick knew that was exactly what Todd would do. Not conventional weapons. He’d take that extra step, that mass-destruction step that would tell the world exactly who they were messing with. C. Randall Todd was going nuclear. Nick knew it, he just couldn’t prove it. Not yet.
What Nick did know was that Todd had found a supplier, an ex-military from the defunct Soviet Union, and he had two buyers in the wings. Both of whom were enemies of the state, both of whom would have no compunction about using the nuke on American soil. The bidding continued as Todd maneuvered his players. The deal was coming to a close, time was running out.
And what Todd didn’t know, what Jenny didn’t know, what Nick’s own mother didn’t know, was that he was the man responsible for stopping it. So to say baby-sitting Jenny was inconvenient was something of an understatement.
He heard a footstep, turned from the Persian tapestry above the fireplace. Jenny walked in from the bedroom, totally transformed from the woman who’d cradled her son.
She looked like what Todd wanted her to be: the world’s most expensive mistress. The gown looked painted on, what there was of it. The neckline was so low, he was afraid for her to move, and yet when she did walk, nothing showed but what she intended. Her face—God, that beautiful face—was so made up she was almost unrecognizable behind it. Her lashes were so thick he wondered how she could keep her eyes open, and her scarlet lips were as deep and wet as fresh blood.
“You look—”
“Like a whore?”
“Cold.”
She shifted her gaze to his, but she’d shut herself down, made herself unreadable. “Right. Cold.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
She turned her gaze to her handbag. “I have no idea.”
“Wasn’t there something else in there? Something a little more discreet?”
“Yes. But I’m better off in this.”
“Why?” he whispered, ever mindful of hidden microphones. “So you can show off to all his cronies?”
She pushed her hair behind her ear as she turned to skim his cheek with her warm breath. “What do you care? We all know what Todd likes, and what he likes is what I’m here for.”
“What he likes?”
She stepped back. “Come on, Nick. Surely you can’t have forgotten all of Todd’s little games.