Chapter Twenty-Five
It was after six P.M. when Ethan stood in the living room of Val’s plush hotel suite. The Four Seasons in Midtown Atlanta was first class all the way. A La Belle model definitely lived the good life.
But a lot was required of them.
By the end of the lengthy rehearsal, Ethan could read the exhaustion in Val’s pretty face, in the way she rubbed the aching muscles at the back of her neck.
The stage setup at the Fox was completely different from the Music Hall in Dallas, which meant there was a whole new routine for the models to learn.
In Dallas, Val had had most of her evenings free, but in Atlanta, she was required to attend several different evening functions.
She had some sort of dinner scheduled for tonight, then a private event tomorrow evening, a charity benefit at the home of a wealthy Atlanta businessman.
In the morning, she had to be up early for a TV interview.
As much as he wanted to follow her into the bathroom and join her while she showered, there wasn’t much time, and he had his own work to do.
He wasn’t getting paid to have sex with a beautiful model. His job was to protect the women and solve the murders that plagued the show.
First he phoned Bruce Hoover, where the time was three hours earlier.
The killer in Seattle was the man Ethan was most worried about.
He’d sent notes to ten women and managed to put La Belle’s top model in her grave.
He was methodical, efficient, and immaculate, leaving not a trace of himself, not a single clue.
Everything about the murder shouted the guy was a pro.
Everything but the notes.
It didn’t make sense. Which didn’t mean the wack job couldn’t be ex-military, ex-cop, ex-spook, or just a skillful serial murderer.
He dialed Hoover, who answered on the second ring. “Afternoon, Detective.”
“What do you want, Brodie?”
“I was hoping to hear from you. Since I haven’t, I figured I’d call. What’s the latest on the Larsen murder?”
“You haven’t heard from me because I got nothing to tell you.
We looked for similar unsolved cases, similar MO, came up with nada.
The guy’s not a serial, or if he is, this is his first time out.
We canvassed the area around the condo again, but nobody was up at that hour.
No one saw a damn thing. For now, we’ve reached a dead end.
How ’bout you? I hear you got a copycat down in Texas. Murdered some poor stripper.”
“That’s right. Guy named Byron Mahler. Lives in Dallas. Completely different MO except for leaving a similar note—which, thanks to our friends in the media, I figure he made up from the ones on TV.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Mahler’s in the wind. Which means he may have followed us to Atlanta.”
“Could well be. Plus our Seattle creeper might just be there, too. You don’t think Boudreau ought to cancel the tour?”
“I’d suggest it if I thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell he’d listen. Too much money at stake.”
“You better do your job, then, my friend. We don’t need any more bodies.”
“You got that right.” Ethan broke the connection.
His next call was to Heath Ford. “It’s Ethan. You got anything?”
“No sign of Mahler,” Ford said. “We got every cop between Texas and Georgia on the lookout for this guy. I do have something for you . . . or I should say someone. Friend in the Atlanta PD. Name’s Rick Melon. Good guy. I gave him your cell number, asked him to keep you posted.”
“Rick Melon. Thanks, Heath.”
“We’re gonna find this guy, Ethan. Sooner or later.”
“Make it sooner,” Ethan said.
Heath chuckled and hung up the phone.
Ethan had one more call to make, this one personal. He hit the contact button for his attorney, Frank Gibbs, in Seattle.
“Frank, it’s Ethan. You get those papers filed?”
“I took care of it. All done nice and legal. The court isn’t likely to give you full custody of Hannah—the mother has to be dangerous to herself or the child, a hopeless addict, or damn near certifiable for that to happen.
But with any luck, the filing will scare the bejesus out of your ex.
You’ve already been granted visitation, two nights a week and every other weekend.
That’s more than reasonable, which Allison is bound to know.
The idea is to press her into abiding by the ruling. ”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“We’ll move forward in whatever way we can.”
Ethan nodded, satisfied his attorney was doing the best he could. “Thanks, Frank.” Ethan ended the call. Beyond the attorney/client relationship they shared, he and Frank were friends. Ethan did PI work for Frank; Frank did whatever legal work Ethan needed.
Ignoring the frustration he continued to feel about his situation with Hannah, he checked the time on his wristwatch. Almost seven thirty. He could hear Val moving around in the bedroom, then the door opened and she walked out into the living room.
For an instant he just stared. She was wearing a simple black dress that showed off her long, pretty legs, but had cap sleeves and a very modest scoop neckline.
Her honey-gold hair, pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck, gleamed in the lamplight.
Only a hint of makeup touched her eyes and lips.
She looked more like a schoolteacher than a model, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it really turned him on.
“You look luscious, baby. Let me grab my pistol and my blazer and we’re out of here. I assume your supper is going to be somewhere downstairs.”
“Actually, it’s . . . umm . . . going to be at the St. Regis.”
He frowned. “Been better if you’d given me some notice. I’ll get a couple of my guys to go over and check things out before we leave. Is your supper in the dining room?”
She bit her lip. “I’m not really sure. I’m hoping it’s in the dining room, but . . .”
Something was off. He could feel it. “But . . . ?”
“But the thing is, Ethan, I’m having dinner with Jason Stern. We’re supposed to discuss my speaking schedule for David Klein.”
Tension slid into his shoulders. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “You’re having dinner with Stern,” he repeated softly, the words requiring his complete control.
“Yes. I don’t want to go, but I signed a contract. Stern is one of my bosses.”
His body went solid. She’s your client, he told himself. Sleeping with her doesn’t change the job.
“I don’t like it,” he heard himself saying. “Stern doesn’t want supper. He wants you in his bed.”
She walked straight to him, rested her palms on his chest. “I’m afraid you might be right. I heard today that Jason and Delilah were having an affair. Now that she’s dead, Meg thinks he’s looking for another mistress.”
“But you aren’t interested.” The words came out as a challenge. Stern was rich and handsome. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Val was extremely interested.
“No, I’m not. I’m definitely not interested in Jason Stern. But I have to go anyway. Meg says Stern can be pushy. If you’re there, I know I’ll be okay.”
He blinked. She wanted him there? She expected him to stay close while she was with Stern? The tension slid out of the back of his neck. He wished it didn’t matter as much as it did.
He gently caught her shoulders. “You’ll be okay, baby—I promise you that. You don’t have to worry about Stern or anyone else.”
As Meg had predicted, Jason was waiting in the lobby to escort Val up to his suite.
“I thought it would be quieter there, more private, easier for us to talk,” he said, as if being alone with him made perfect sense.
In an elegantly tailored navy-blue designer suit, his brown hair perfectly cut and styled, Jason was an attractive man.
To Val, his too-smooth appearance wasn’t a turn-on in the least.
Still, she gave him a smile. “Whatever you think.” Taking his arm, she started walking toward the elevators, crossing the magnificent two-story lobby with its sweeping white marble staircases, past the huge white floral bouquet on the round glass table.
Arm in arm, they walked beneath glittering crystal chandeliers into the elevator, and Stern pushed the button for an upper floor.
The doors were almost closed when a broad shoulder nudged them back open and Ethan walked in. With a nod to Stern, he chose a spot a few feet away, widened his stance, and crossed his hands in front of him.
“That’s my bodyguard, Ethan Brodie.” Val smiled at Jason. “Mr. Carlyle handpicked him for the job.”
Stern turned a hard look on Ethan. “Ms. Hart will be under my protection this evening, Brodie. Consider this a night off.”
Ethan’s mouth edged up, but it wasn’t a smile. “Sorry. That isn’t going to happen. There are two murderers on the loose. Until they’re caught, the women don’t go anywhere without protection.”
“That’s ridiculous. She’ll be safe enough in my suite.”
Ethan made no reply. Clearly, he didn’t agree. Neither did Val. At the moment, she was fairly certain she was in more danger from Jason Stern than anyone else.
The elevator bell dinged their arrival. Val turned and walked out into the hall. Stern followed, and Ethan fell in behind them.
They waited in front of a double-doored room marked Premier Terrace Suite while Jason used his key card to open the lock.
Ethan stepped past him into the entry, walked into the all-white living room with its big glass windows and magnificent marble fireplace, then did a thorough check of the bedroom and baths.
“It’s clear,” he said, tossing a glance at the linen-draped table set with gold-rimmed china and sparkling crystal. A cloth-covered wheeled cart sat next to it, the food beneath the silver domes ready to be served.
“Supper smells great,” Ethan said with false politeness. “The bed’s all turned back. I’d say you’ve got everything ready.”
Val’s skin crawled. Dear God, Meg was right! Stern planned to seduce her. She clamped down on the urge to run out of the room. A glance at Ethan, standing rock solid next to the door, steadied her.