Dressed in a pink nightie and a party hat, the woman was obviously not there for a porn shot. Probably didn’t even know her husband was dirty. The wives were always the last to know.
Farther down the hall, Rick noted another studio to the right, followed by a service door to the parking lot, then a tiny office, which he was staring into when Sawyer stopped short.
He bumped into her full on, enjoying her firm backside, and got a blast of flowers. Her thick red-brown hair snagged in his chin stubble.
She turned and looked up at him, her burned-in blue eyes wide with surprise. “Well, hello there,” she breathed, trying to act cool, but flustered. Very flustered.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Oh, don’t be.” Her eyes gave him a once-over, her pink tongue peeking out. “It was nice.” She dragged a medallion on a chain, which drew his gaze to her spectacular set of nature’s own.
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Yeah. Very nice.”
For just a second, case or no case, he wished he’d met her before he’d decided to settle down, start a family, back when he was content with an occasional night with a warm and willing female.
“Here’s Bianca,” she said, waving him into the next studio, where Sylvestri’s wife was rummaging around in the fake fur, pillows and vases on shelves. The room looked like backstage at a strip club, with elaborate furniture in animal prints and a black metal arch, along with photo equipment and three rolled backdrops.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Samantha asked him, her eyes twinkling. “It’s nothing like snapping a sunlit vista, you know.”
“I’m up for anything,” he said, letting the sexual undertow tug at the sand beneath their feet. He would have to tactfully backpedal if she went for what he was hinting at, but for now he had to keep her interested.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Set up two reflectors and the tungsten. I’ll bring in the Hasselblad when I’m finished with Misty.”
“You got it, boss.”
She held his gaze for a second, turned away, then glanced back at him, biting her lip, as if she was in over her head. Pretty charming and he found himself smiling at her back as she walked away.
Maybe that was what had happened with Sylvestri. She just got in too deep. Wanted a studio and closed her eyes to the crimes that made it possible. It was a shame when bright people turned their talents to bad ends. Genetics, upbringing or something big went south in their lives. It wasn’t his job to feel sorry for the perps, though. It was his job to stop them.
“Grab that chaise, Rick, will you?” Bianca said, calling him back to the task at hand. Right now, he’d learn what he could from Sylvestri’s wife. He moved the chaise to where she wanted it, then two plaster columns, which were so heavy he felt like Samson in that old movie tearing down the pillars he was chained to.
Bianca tossed two velvet pillows at him. “Fluff those up and arrange them, please. See if you can wrap that red silk around the arch like a curtain, hanging down, but swept back.”
Good Lord. If Mark and his squad could see him now—fluffing pillows and draping curtains. He wanted to laugh.
When he’d finished, Bianca surveyed the results. “Not bad.” Then her gaze landed on him and stuck. “So, Rick, you’re a friend of Samantha’s?” She looked him up and down, like she was checking out a daughter’s prom date.
“Actually, I applied to be her assistant. This is kind of an audition, I guess.”
“So you need me to put in a good word.” She tapped her lip. “I’m glad she’s so busy she needs an employee. I’ve sent in all my friends and family to get their pictures taken.”
So the mobster’s wives and mistresses trotting in for photos over the last few weeks had been referrals from Bianca. The task force had assumed they were doing business for Darien out of the studio. Maybe not. Hmm.
“Samantha took a photo of me that saved my marriage.”
“A photo can do that?”
“When Sammi takes it, you bet. That woman knows how to yank out your beating heart and wave it under your nose.” She smiled. “That sounded positively Aztec, I know, but what she does is a pure miracle.” She sighed, adjusting a pillow.
“I can imagine,” he said, thinking she had to be exaggerating. It was just film, angle and light, after all.
“We still need something,” Bianca said, eyeing the set. “I know. Put the fat candles around that table, which should go there.” She pointed at each item in turn and Rick moved things as indicated.
As they worked, Rick asked questions and Bianca was happy to explain that she and Darien had come from Chicago to retire and that the “dear, darling man” was setting her up in the knit shop she’d always wanted.
Before long, Rick knew about the horse property they’d purchased and the electronics store Darien wanted to open on the second floor of this building. He memorized everything as best he could, wishing he’d requisitioned a mini recorder. First chance he got, he’d slip away to take some notes.
Mark ribbed him about how scrupulous he was about notes and reports, but being thorough and organized kept his head straight when he was undercover, helped him remember who he was, kept the lies in order.
Again, Bianca stepped back and examined the set, then beamed at him. “Nice work, Rick. I’ll definitely tell Samantha how helpful you were. And so easy to talk to. I’ve blabbed on and on….” She pondered him, speculating. Wondering why he asked so many questions? He braced himself to deflect her suspicion.
“Would you do me a favor, Rick?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Convince our Sammi not to work so hard. She needs to get out more. My Darien has a nephew who would be perfect for her—handsome and successful…he’s in vending machines and concessions, I believe. There was a tiny misunderstanding with the authorities, but that’s been straightened out.”
“Sounds interesting.” And criminal, actually. The mob was all over the vending world. He wondered if Bianca even knew she was surrounded by wise guys. She seemed completely guileless. People were always harder to read close up, when you saw things from their side, heard their rationalizations, their hopes and dreams and plans to change, to go straight….
“So, with you taking over some of the work, maybe Sammi can go out with him. I’m not thinking marriage necessarily, but…you understand.”
“You bet. But first I have to get the job. If you could help her see I’m the guy she needs…” That hadn’t come out quite right.
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” she said, another speculative look on her face, as if she’d read a little too much into what he’d said. “For now, we need to light the candles.”
He patted his pockets. Pointless, since smoking was a habit he’d quit along with so many others when his brother Brian had died.
The door buzzer sounded.
“That’ll be the happy couple,” Bianca said. “You get matches from Samantha and I’ll get them in here. Hurry back. I might need you to convince Joey to cooperate.”
God, would he have to hold the guy down and strip him? Samantha was right. This was nothing like snapping sunlit vistas. Wildlife didn’t primp and preen and prance around in costumes. Getting a load of Joey in his undies sounded like a bad breakfast.
He headed for the studio where Samantha was photographing Misty Simone. The woman’s breathy gasp made Rick wonder if they were shooting porn after all, but once he stepped inside, he saw that she was watching a slide show on a computer monitor.
Each image appeared, then faded, accompanied by music.