Lethal Seduction (26 page)

He left the studio, walked to the corner flower shop and purchased three dozen pink roses.

Bitch or no bitch, women were suckers for flowers. And Carrie was a woman, wasn't she? A supermodel woman, but he had a hunch that it would work with her just like all the rest—roses would signal the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

M
IAMI WAS IN THE MIDST
of a heat wave even though it was way past summer. The airport was crowded and noisy, filled with people of all nationalities rushing in different directions.

Madison looked around to see if she could spot a chauffeur holding up a card with her name on it.

“Why did you book a limo?” Kimm asked, as they made their way through the crowd. “The less anyone knows, the better.”

“I've always found that when arriving in a town I'm not familiar with, a driver is the way to go—otherwise we could end up in the wrong place at the wrong time—y'know, like in
Bonfire of the Vanities.”

“I can look after myself,” Kimm said, staunchly confident.

“You
might be able to,” Madison countered. “But I'm not so sure about me. Lately I've been thinking of buying a handgun.”

“Don't go that route unless you know what you're doing,” Kimm warned.

“I know what I'm doing.”

“Well,” Kimm said, “also consider taking karate lessons. A woman must always be prepared to defend herself.”

“I'd defend myself all right,” Madison said with a short, humorless laugh. “I'd go right for the balls.”

“Very effective if executed in the right way,” Kimm said. “I'll give you a few pointers. I'm an expert.”

“No—what you
are
is an amazing woman,” Madison said. “I'm glad to know you.”

“Thanks,” Kimm said awkwardly, unused to compliments.

“Of course,” Madison added, “I'm not happy about the things you've found out, but then again, I guess I should be—'cause there I was blithely going along, thinking that everything was great. And it wasn't, not at all. So, yeah, maybe God did send you to teach me what's important.”

“You must be nervous,” Kimm said.

“I don't
get
nervous,” Madison answered, still glancing around to see if she could spot their driver. “As a matter of fact, I'm calmer today than I've been for a while. The idea of meeting my mother's twin sister is scary, yet at the same time . . . exciting.”

“You might not get to meet her,” Kimm pointed out. “We could turn up at her front door only to have it slammed in our faces.”

“God, I hope not.”

“You have to be prepared,” Kimm said, the voice of reason. “The woman is obviously afraid of Michael. She ran when her sister was murdered—even changed her name.”

“What
is
her name now?” Madison said, realizing it was the one question she hadn't asked.

“Catherine Lione,” Kimm said. “That's all the information I have—her name and an address.”

“Then let's go find her,” Madison said, finally spotting a uniformed chauffeur holding aloft a big white card with her name on it. “She'll talk to me. I'm sure of it.”

•

Jamie was taking an early morning shower when Peter slid into the glass enclosure, surprising her.

“Peter,” she objected. “I'm all slippery.”

“Slippery when wet, huh?” he said, lasciviously. “Exactly the way I like you.”

“And I'm not in the mood,” she said, as his hands began caressing her breasts.

“Last night you had a headache, now this morning you're not in the mood,” he said, fingering her nipples in the way he knew drove her a little bit crazy. “What's going on?”

“Am I supposed to always be ready and available?” she said, trying not to let his practiced touch affect her.

“You're my wife, aren't you?” he said, squeezing an already erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yes,” she said, shivering as his hands skimmed their way down her body.

“Glad we got that straight,” he said, moving behind her, so she could feel his hardness pressing into the small of her back.

“Peter,” she murmured, suddenly flooded with desire.

“What is it, my sweet?” he asked, nibbling on her ear.

“We're happy, aren't we?”

“Very happy,” he said, gently stroking the inside of her thighs.

“You love me, don't you?” she said, turning around so that she faced him.

He placed her hands at the back of his neck, then hoisting her legs around his waist, he entered her with a sudden ferocity she was not expecting. “You know I love you,” he grunted. “Can't get enough.”

“Love is more than sex,” she gasped, throwing back her head.

“Stop talking,” he commanded.

“You'd never be unfaithful to me, would you?” she murmured.

“Are you
nuts?”
he said loudly. “How could you think like that?”

And as he rocked her back and forth, the memory of the condom in his wallet faded into oblivion.

•

“This can't be right,” Madison said, as their car pulled up in front of a restaurant club along the gaudy strip of ice cream–colored buildings in South Beach.

“We're at the address you gave me, ma'am,” their driver said.

Madison looked at Kimm. “It's a restaurant,” she said.

“I can see that,” Kimm replied. “Take a look at the sign. It's called Lione's.”

“You didn't know this?” Madison asked.

“I guess I'm slipping in my old age,” Kimm said dryly, as they both got out of the car.

“Driver, please wait,” Madison said. “I'm not sure how long we'll be.”

The man nodded.

“At least if she doesn't want to meet you, we'll get a decent cup of Cuban coffee,” Kimm remarked, as they approached the open terrace, where people were sitting around tables, sipping drinks and enjoying the loud salsa music coming from inside. It was four o'clock in the afternoon.

“Here's the way we should play it,” Kimm said decisively. “We're customers. We'll sit down, order something and check out what's going on. Maybe we'll see
her
before she sees
us.”

“This
is making me nervous,” Madison said, biting her lower lip.

“I thought you didn't get nervous.”

“I wasn't expecting a restaurant. I thought we were on our way to her house.”

“She probably lives here,” Kimm said, as they made their way to a vacant table.

A snake-hipped young waiter, clad in tight black leather pants and a white T-shirt, swayed over to them bearing menus. “You ladies here for tea?” he said. “Or how about something stronger? I can recommend the house margarita.”

“I'll have one,” Madison said, totally ready for a drink.

“Make mine water,” Kimm said.

“Ah,” the waiter said, staring straight at Madison, “the beautiful lady likes to live dangerously.”

“Huh?” Madison said, meeting his direct gaze. He was all of nineteen, but full of confidence.

“I am Juan,” he announced. “Anything you need, call for me.”

“This is an interesting place,” Madison said. “I love the art deco theme. Who owns it?”

“Another beautiful lady,” Juan said, flashing his exceptionally white teeth, marred by one gold filling in the front. “She's older, but women are like wine . . . they only get sweeter and more precious.”

“Come
on,”
Madison said, laughing. “You're not going to tell us those lines actually work?”

“Ah yes,” he said with a wide grin. “Especially in the tourist season. Are you ladies tourists?”

Kimm was unamused by this banter. “No, we're not,” she snapped. “We're here on business.”

“Sorry to insult you, serious lady,” Juan said. “I will fetch your drinks.”

“What's with the serious lady crap?” Kimm said as he walked off. “I could kick his skinny little tight ass.”

“Don't get pissed,” Madison said. “He might be the one to tell us about Catherine.”

“Or her husband.”

“No,” Madison said. “He told us this place is owned by a woman, so since it's called Lione's, that must be Catherine, right?”

“It's a helluva place to hide if her plan was to get away from Michael,” Kimm said. “What makes her think he'd never come to Miami? Especially with South Beach being so popular.”

“Who knows?” Madison said, shrugging. “I like it here. There's something free and sexy and kind of . . . welcoming. I'm starting to feel a lot better.”

“No, you're not,” Kimm argued. “You're starting to imagine that your aunt is going to appear, open up her arms and say,
‘Madison, I've waited for you all these years, come live here with me and I will be your real family.' Your imagination is shifting into overdrive.”

“Get real,” Madison said tartly. “Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?”

“You're not stupid at all,” Kimm said. “You are merely experiencing a fact of nature. We all yearn for family, people who care about us no matter what we do. Now that you've found out about Michael, and that your mother is dead, you feel you have no one, so you're reaching out. And right now Catherine is the only person you feel you can reach out to.”

“All I want is to meet her,” Madison said defiantly. “So she can tell me something about my heritage. I know
nothing
about my mother. I don't even have a clue where she was born.”

“Now's your chance to find out,” Kimm said. “I think this might be Catherine heading our way.”

Madison glanced up and caught her breath. Coming toward them was a woman the absolute image of Beth in the photo. The same black curly hair, delicate, high-cheekboned face, full lips and seductive eyes. She was slim, wearing a scarlet dress and very high heels. She was in her early forties.

Quickly, Madison figured it out. She was twenty-nine, so if Beth had given birth to her when she was seventeen, that would make her twin sister forty-six.

The woman walked straight past them to the next table, where she stopped to greet a fat man in a white suit and a Panama hat. They kissed each other on both cheeks and began chatting. “I am so happy to see you,” the woman enthused. “I have missed your smiling face.”

Madison was startled to hear that she had a slight accent.

“She's Cuban,” Kimm said in a low voice.

“How do you know?”

“The accent.”

“Oh my God,” Madison exclaimed. “Does that mean
I'm
half Cuban? That I'm not American?”

“Your mother probably came here from Cuba before you were born. You're American all right.”

“But does it mean I have Cuban heritage?” she said excitedly. “This is something I didn't know about.”

“There's probably a lot you didn't know about,” Kimm said. “How's your dancing?”

“Pretty damn good.”

“Now you know why.”

“Ah . . . not only is she an excellent detective, she has a sense of humor too. Although I have to admit that she keeps it well hidden.”

Kimm flashed a smile. “You're returning to your normal self. I like that.”

“You don't
know
my normal self.”

“I can only imagine. Tough with a soft heart. Intelligent. Loyal friend. Hates stupidity and dumb people. Am I on the right track?”

“I hope so. I sound nice.”

They both laughed.

“I am delighted to see that you ladies are having a good time,” Juan said, returning with their drinks.

“Actually,” Madison said, “we
are
kind of tourists in a way—but not really. You see, I work for a travel magazine, and they've sent me and my colleague to check out South Beach. Y'know, rout out the hottest restaurants, clubs, that kind of thing. I was wondering if you could help us.”

“I'm your man,” Juan boasted with a proud smile. “There is nothing I do not know about Miami.”

“When do you get off?”

“I have a four-hour break at six. Then at ten I am back to deal with the chaos.”

“What chaos?” Madison questioned.

“You are sitting in one of the hottest places in South Beach,” Juan boasted.

“We are?”

“Yes.”

“And you say Lione's is owned by a woman?”

“Madam is over there,” Juan said, indicating the woman sitting with the man in the white suit.

“Can I meet her?”

“Miz Lione does no personal publicity. Write about the restaurant, not her.”

“So, this is where it all happens, huh?”

Kimm was silently shaking her head, her expression saying,
What do you think you're doing?

Madison winked at her. She had a strong hunch this was exactly the right way to approach the situation. “I'll tell you what, Juan, for a hundred bucks can you give us a tour of the place and some of the history?”

“You mean when I get off?”

“We were planning on flying back to New York tonight, but I'm sure we could stay over for one night.”

“I can recommend a hotel for you,” Juan said. “If you're writing about the nightlife in South Beach, you have to live it. I will tell you exactly where to go, and I will make sure you are welcomed in every place.”

“That's very accommodating of you,” Madison said. “But I'd prefer to concentrate on here. Can you book us a table for dinner?”

“Of course,” Juan said. “You and your . . . uh . . . friend. Will there be any gentlemen with you?”

“No, this trip is strictly business.”

“There is no lack of gentlemen who would be happy to spend the evening with you,” Juan suggested slyly.