Vanity, Vengeance And A Weekend In Vegas Part 12

"I do. But if I can't get out of there by then I'm in the kind of trouble that the police can't make worse under any circ.u.mstances."

"I don't know about this..." Mary Ann hedged as she studied Alex's picture. "You don't know what this address he gave you is..."

"That's why I'm going early, to find all that out before anyone's prepared for me. And yes, it's a little risky but I'm going to great lengths for the man I love. You approve of this kind of stuff, remember?"

Mary Ann nodded. It was obvious she was having second thoughts but not enough to get in my way. She looked at the picture on my Android again. "Okay, I'll look for him...you'll be careful?"

"Totally," I said. Of course careful meant different things to different people.

And as if to prove it, I carefully put my MacBook in its carrying case and draped it over my shoulder. This was coming with me.

CHAPTER 11.

"New studies suggest that, contrary to popular wisdom, IQ scores can change over the course of one's lifetime. I'm pretty sure mine drops twenty points every time I fall in love."

--Death Of The Party My Jamaican cab driver was all smiles and chatter as he drove me away from the strip and toward Alex's home. I liked the sound of his accent. At that moment any accent that wasn't Russian was comforting.

The address took us outside the main part of town. Way out of it. We pa.s.sed rows of houses, half of them in foreclosure. G.o.d I missed San Francisco. I missed the smell of the sea air, the tightly packed houses...h.e.l.l at this point I even missed the homeless and the hookers in the Tenderloin. Anything familiar would have been comforting. But this was a suburban desert inside a city. I didn't know anything about this.

I got a text from Mary Ann: He's here. He seems to be having a meeting with someone at the cafe.

I texted her back a thank you and stared out the window. As we continued our journey the houses got nicer. The foreclosure signs were replaced by For Sale signs and soon even those became less prevalent. With each block the homes got bigger. There wasn't enough land for places like these in San Francisco. But here? It was as if they had so much land they felt the need to fill up as much of it as possible. So they just kept adding pools and guesthouses. One house even had a tennis court. The home we pulled up in front of was modest by comparison but would still shame most houses in Pacific Heights. It also had a security gate.

Was this Alex Kinsky's home? My $250 wouldn't even pay for his air conditioning.

"Do you want me to drop you off here or should I give a name," the driver asked waving at the little box where we were supposed to announce ourselves.

"Drop me off here," I said. I reached into my bag and took out the fare plus $50. "I don't think anyone will ask if you saw me but if they do..."

"I didn't," the driver said with a wide smile as he took the money. "Always happy to help a sister out."

I smiled nervously. It was tricky this instinctive communality between people of the same minority group. Sometimes it held up. Other times it encouraged a level of trust that hadn't been earned or deserved. Just ask the Jews who invested with Bernie Madoff.

I stood on the side of the road as the car drove off and then carefully walked up to the gate. Could I climb it? It seemed unlikely. Still, I was anxious to peek inside the windows before Alex arrived. He said there were things he could tell me, but at the moment I was more interested in what he wouldn't tell me. I walked along the sidewalk as if just going for a stroll. No one in the front yard that I could see. It was a little hard to tell because it was dark, the only illumination coming from the streetlights and...from what I could tell, a porch light. Plus the yard was...well, huge. Neatly trimmed trees shaded benches nestled between rose bushes. It was right out of a Jane Austin novel.

I turned and started to walk along the side of the house. My cell phone beeped. It was Mary Ann again.

He's done with his meeting. I think he's going back to his office. I'll tell you if he takes off.

Again I thanked her and continued my exploration of the perimeter. Everything was enclosed within a tall iron fence but against the fence at one spot was a bench and on my side of the fence there was a large rock. I could climb up on the rock pull myself over the top and then, if I was really careful, I could drop right down on the bench so it wouldn't be such a big fall.

I hesitated a moment. The consequences of breaking into the home of a possible gangster were pretty big and I didn't even know what I was looking for. But it seemed that no matter what I did my life was in danger. One look inside the windows might give me a sense of who I was dealing with and if there was anyone else living there...or even an ambush being set up. These were good things to know before walking into a private meeting.

I leaned my MacBook against the iron bars. If I got over I could easily pull it through. Then I took my shoes off and slipped the straps over my wrists. I climbed up on the rock, which didn't quite give me as much leverage as I had hoped. The rock's ridges pressed into my feet, not enough to cut them but certainly enough to cause considerable discomfort. I stretched my arms over my head and grabbed the iron bars. They were slick. But if I could just somehow pull myself to the top...

I crouched slightly and then leaped up, grabbing the bars with both hands, my whole body banging against the gate.

I missed grasping the top of the gate by about a foot. I tried to move my hands up the bars. My hands did move, as did the rest of me. I was sliding slowly down, back to the rock.

So that didn't work.

But giving up just wasn't an option. I leaped again, grabbing onto the bars.

And I slipped again.

This went on for about five minutes. I was so bruised up you would have thought I was a battered wife. My phone rang in my handbag and in utter frustration I sat down on the rock and answered it despite the unknown number.

"What ?" I snapped.

"Why don't you just announce yourself at the front gate?" Alex asked.

I fell silent.

Seriously?

"Where are you?" I asked.

"I'm at work but I have a security feed. I also have a panicked housekeeper who is d.a.m.n near ready to call the cops. She's waiting for you at the front gate. Go there, tell her you're not a murderer and she'll let you in and make you a cup of tea. I'll be there in about an hour."

"Is this a trick?"

"Look, if you'd rather throw yourself against the fence for the next hour be my guest. All I'm suggesting is that there are easier ways to do this."

"Just so you know, I have mace," I lied.

"Don't mace the housekeeper. Other than that, mi casa su casa. See you in a bit."

Reluctantly I got off of the stupid rock and went to the front gate where a very irritated and very, very beautiful woman was waiting for me.

"Mr. Kinsky says I should let you in," she said. Her Mexican accent was subtle but recognizable.

Mr. Kinsky can shove it, I thought, but out loud I said. "That would be great, thanks."

Hesitantly she pressed the b.u.t.ton that operated the automatic gate. "You want something warm to drink? Mr. Kinsky has very good hot chocolate."

"That would be great, thanks."

She nodded and led me to the front door. She reached into her oversized pocket and handed me a small ice pack. Embarra.s.sed I took the pack and held it to my right elbow.

"I'll draw up an Epsom Salt bath."

"That's really not necessary-"

"Mr. Kinsky insisted." She shot me a withering look as she opened the front door. "He's very kind to his guests. Even one's who try to break in."

"I wasn't trying to-" but one more glare told me that there would be no convincing her of my innocence. Chastened and in not a small amount of pain, I followed her into a foyer that was every bit as opulent as the lobby of my four star hotel.

"Don't touch anything."

I nodded as she disappeared through a door. She was speaking in what sounded like stilted English but she p.r.o.nounced each word perfectly. It was almost as if she was playing a part that she hadn't quite perfected.

Maybe she was.

She was only gone long enough for me to glance around the room and take in the original artwork and dark hardwood floor...the kind of floor that would gleam if it had been properly cleaned and cared for which it clearly hadn't...which once again made me wonder about this housekeeper.

She returned with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. It smelled heavenly and if I hadn't been worried about being drugged again I would have downed half of it instantly. As it was I just used it to warm my hands as she led me up a curving staircase then through the master bedroom and finally to a bathroom that was slightly larger than my hotel suite.

I stood awkwardly in the corner as the woman drew up the Jacuzzi bath, pouring a huge amount of Epsom Salts into the stream. I desperately wanted to go back and take another peek at the bedroom that we had so quickly strode through.

"You don't like hot chocolate?" the woman asked.

"I was going to drink it in the bath," I explained.

She stood and walked over to me. "Mr. Kinsky said that if you didn't drink the hot chocolate I should do this." She took the cup from my hand and took a long sip, smiled and handed it back.

Okay, that was unexpected. "You're proving to me it's not poisoned?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Mr. Kinsky just told me to do that." She returned to the bath and turned off the water.

Tentatively, I took a sip of the chocolate and almost choked. "Rum?" I squawked when I was able to speak again.

"He said you would need a drink."

I nodded and glanced past her to the tub. "Look, I really don't need a bath...I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"I see you banging against the gate!" she snapped ignoring my question. "Over and over again. You need Epsom salts."

There it was again, the stilted English with polished p.r.o.nunciation. Weird.

"When will Mr. Kinsky be home?"

The housekeeper looked up at the wall clock. "In a little over an hour I think. You have time for your drink and bath. There's a robe behind the door," she said, gesturing to a pink terrycloth robe as she walked out. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. I really was a mess. My clothes were dirty and there was a new hole in my pant leg. My cell beeped and I read the text from Mary Ann telling me Alex Kinsky had just left the hotel. No surprise there but I texted back another thanks.

I placed my MacBook carefully on the floor, far away from the bath, and took some time to explore. On the counter were an electric razor, cologne and a single Sonicare toothbrush. I opened the top drawer next to the sink gingerly. Shaving cream, men's antiperspirant, a nail clipper but no nail polish or any other evidence of a woman living here. More drawers revealed mouthwash, aspirin, a comb and some hair gel, nothing all that interesting. Not even a bottle of prescription medication.

Which made the robe the housekeeper lent me a bit more interesting. If it belonged to a wife or live-in girlfriend she certainly wasn't using this bathroom, which implied she wasn't using the room attached to it either.

I took another sip of my drink, savoring the warm and pleasing effects of the rum and chocolate. It was expected that I would immediately get in the bath. That wasn't going to happen, at least not yet. For one thing I wanted to make sure there wasn't a security camera in here. I couldn't see one but that didn't mean much. It seemed to me the best way of ensuring that I was unwatched was to do things I wasn't supposed to do and then wait and see if this broom-wielding-super-model came back in to stop me.

With that in mind I went into the bedroom. It was well appointed and very masculine with its dark earthy color tone and mahogany furniture. On his nightstand was a copy of Simon Singh's latest book about the universe and on his desk a half finished New York Times crossword puzzle. Mounted on the wall was a shotgun. I didn't know much about guns but this one looked old...from an entirely different era. I stepped up to it and let my fingers touch the steel of the trigger. It was a collector's item...but people who collected old guns usually had new guns too. I went over to the nightstand and there it was, a small handgun. I picked it up. A quick check told me that it was still loaded. If there were a security camera this would be the time someone should be coming up to deal with me. But no one did.

Holding the gun in my hand I went back to the bathroom. I placed the weapon and my drink by the side of the tub and, gingerly, took off my clothes. With each piece I removed I found a new bruise or tender spot. I sank into the heavenly bath and closed my eyes.

But I kept my fingers on the handle of the gun...just in case.

CHAPTER 12.

"It's insulting that men think I'm going home with them just because they bought me an expensive meal. If they really want to get me over there they should invest their money in c.o.c.ktails."

--Death Of the Party I only stayed in the bath for ten minutes. As good as it felt I hadn't come here for a spa day. I put my bra and panties back on but hesitated before putting on my clothes. They were such an unholy mess. I glanced at the robe and then, with only a moment of hesitation, slipped it on. It was plush, warm and perfect...and it had pockets big enough to hide the handgun in. I went back into the bedroom and was considering looking through a few more drawers when the housekeeper walked in. "You finished the bath?" she asked sounding slightly surprised.

"I'm not really a bath person," I lied. I looked down at a Marc Jacobs shopping bag in her hand. "What's that?"

"Mr. Kinsky's home. He's waiting for you in the study but he got this for you." She held the bag out for me but I took a step back.

"He's buying me gifts?" I asked suspiciously. "Why?"

"Your clothes are all torn up."

"So he bought me Marc Jacobs?"

"He bought you Marc by Marc Jacobs."

See, right there, what kind of housekeeper puts emphasis on that kind of distinction? Who was this woman?

I took the bag from her and tried to force my lips into a smile. "Thanks for lending me your robe," I said as casually as possible.

She broke out laughing. "It is not mine. Mr. Kinsky likes to have a spare robe around just in case."

"Just in case?" I repeated. "Wait...are you telling me he keeps a woman's robe on hand just in case he happens to get lucky?"

"Each girl gets to keep her robe, he always gets a new one."

"A new robe or a new girl?" I asked dryly.

"Both. I'll wait in here while you change in the bathroom."

"You don't need to wait for me while I change."

The housekeeper simply stood there. It looked like I wasn't going to have the chance to do any more snooping. With a sigh I went back in the bathroom.

I put on the clothes Alex had selected for me. I really hated to admit this, but they were cute. The tank was made from an incredibly soft cotton and it had four little b.u.t.tons at the neckline that I made sure were b.u.t.toned right up to the top. The shorts were elegant and the silk felt luxurious against my skin. He had even gotten me a skinny leather belt to go with them. The only problem was that he hadn't gotten me a bra and the black lace number I was wearing did show through, but not by much. He might not notice. Of course there was no way I could carry a gun in the pocket of these shorts without it being noticed so I put it in the shopping bag and my ripped clothes on top of that. Then, after slipping the strap for my MacBook case over my shoulder, I stepped back out and the housekeeper nodded her approval. She adjusted the collar of her shirt and for the first time I noticed the pendant around her neck. It was made up of very clear diamonds arranged to form three linked circles. It was an impressive piece...particularly since it was hanging from the neck of a woman who supposedly cleaned toilets for a living.

"I like your necklace."

She fingered it gently. "It's very special to me. Three circles of six diamonds."