Читать книгу Secrets Of The A-List (Episode 12 Of 12) - Karen Booth - Страница 9

Chapter One

Mariella’s Halloween masquerade ball was a little more than twelve hours away, and Gabe now regarded the clock as his mortal enemy. Time was evaporating, the calm before the storm going up in smoke. Circumstances today were about to force him to do something he’d never considered—taking a human life.

Vanessa had flown into Vegas two hours ago with the gowns Mariella had ordered for the ball. Like it or not, and he didn’t like it at all, especially since the suggestion had come from Rachel, this was his best window to deal with the Vanessa situation. They were away from Santa Barbara and Casa Cat. The murder would be a sad story, but it wouldn’t cast a permanent pall over the Marshalls and their estate. People would eventually forget about the whole thing.

His sleep had been fitful and fragmented last night, after reaching the conclusion that he had no choice but to get rid of Vanessa permanently. Knowing that it had to happen today put him even more on edge. Every nerve in his body was raw and agitated. That was the most unsettling part. He was the unflappable one. He did not get rattled.

Ever.

To make it worse, his damn phone would not stop ringing, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. After his call from Rachel last night, it was nice to have a break from the business of being the Fixer and deal with something as benign as a party, but this one had become a royal pain in the ass. The list was incredibly tight. Guests couldn’t merely buy their way in. A person had to be somebody. A big somebody. It was Gabe’s job to determine who was in and who was out.

In his suite at the Grecian, he rolled his neck to work away some tension, then stared down his phone’s caller ID. Trudy Binghamton, newly divorced socialite. She’d called twice yesterday. He hadn’t taken either call, on purpose. People like Trudy were accustomed to getting whatever they wanted, but she was a gossip of epic proportions and had been one of the first people to cast suspicion on the true nature of Harrison’s accident. She had to pay for that misstep, even though Gabe ultimately wanted her at the masquerade, sucking down French champagne and stuffing her face with the finest party food MSM had to offer. The Marshalls needed lips flapping about their fabulous party. He needed people with big mouths chattering away that the Marshalls still had it. They were boldly marching forward with business as usual, showing the world that Harrison’s physical state was of little concern, even when it was a worry that never left Gabe’s mind.

“This is Gabriel,” he answered.

“Gabe. It’s Trudy. Trudy Binghamton. You didn’t call me back yesterday.”

Gabe smirked and spun a pen on the desk blotter, glancing out the window, wishing they were on a lower floor and he had a view overlooking the pool. Bikini-clad women to admire would’ve been nice instead of the hard and gaudy landscape of the Vegas strip. Was it too much to ask for a pleasant distraction? “My apologies, Trudy. I’ve been incredibly busy. What can I do for you so early in the morning?”

“It’s the masquerade ball. Everybody’s talking about it and I haven’t received an invitation. I’m a little perplexed, to be honest. It’s tonight. I need time to prepare.”

Gabe despised the way certain people assumed they would be invited. If only they knew how many hundreds of people were clamoring for a nod. “There were no mailed invitations. There is only a guest list. Hold on one minute and let me see if I can squeeze you in.” He shuffled a few papers around, even though he already knew what his answer would be. “It’s going to be tough, but I have space on the list for you, plus a guest.”

“I really could use a plus two. I have friends in town, and they would love to come.”

“I don’t know that I can do that. The list is impossibly tight.”

“What if I tell you my friends are Megan Lowry and her husband? Certainly a major network news anchor will do you some good. She’s a big foodie, and she’d love to meet Mariella.”

Gabe nodded. Things were working out very nicely. Mariella would be pleased. “Okay then. But just for you. At this point, we’re in danger of getting shut down by the fire marshal.”

“Really?” There was so much pure delight in her voice she practically squealed.

Gabe would never let things get that out of hand. Mariella would pitch a fit, and that would not convey the current MSM message: all is under control. “But don’t worry. Your spots are safe.”

“Thank you so much,” Trudy gushed. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Eight o’clock. Black tie for the men. Women are asked to wear dark colors. I’ll send you the flight details, and don’t forget your credit card. We’re hoping to raise a lot of money.”

“And we’re wearing masks, right? Sounds deliciously naughty,” Trudy purred. She’d come on to Gabe last Christmas at a party at the Polo Club, but she wasn’t his type at all. She was all fake nails and phony conversation. Entitlement oozed from every pore of her body. If he entertained a woman with money, he wanted her to be the type who’d earned it, just as he had.

“Yes. Bring your mask. ’Bye, Trudy.” He hung up and typed her details into a spreadsheet on his laptop. Looking at the numbers, that whole question of breaking some occupancy laws really could become a problem. He might need to give the fire marshal a phone call after all. In Gabe’s experience, a bottle of rare scotch and a promise of VIP treatment at one of the Marshall restaurants were usually enough. Luckily there was room on the fleet of private jets they had reserved, so at least one less problem there.

Gabe’s personal preparations for the party were sewn up—his tux was pressed and ready, hanging in his closet near the elaborate mask Mariella had chosen for him. She’d ordered them for the entire family, custom-made in Venice, Italy, at a moment’s notice and flown to the US via jet. She never spared any expense, especially when she was hoping to make a big splash. He quite liked his, which was described as a Roman warrior mask—solid black surrounding his eyes, with silver metal scrolls that curled down on to his cheekbones and two muscled silver horses squaring off above his forehead, backed with black feathers.

Normally, having things in order gave Gabe a sense of calm. Not now.

He’d been bargaining with his conscience, begging it to stop bothering him. He’d done a lot of terrible things, and this had never been a problem before. So why in the hell was it niggling him now? A small voice in the back of his head gave him his answer—Vanessa was innocent. She’d done nothing more than catch the eye of another woman’s fiancé. But trying to apply reason to this situation was futile. The other woman, Rachel, was accustomed to getting whatever she wanted, when she wanted it. In most instances that wasn’t an issue for the Fixer. He kept most of his clients in line by selling them his expectations as their own. That didn’t work on Rachel. She was a venomous spoiled brat, and a connected one at that. She was the one person he’d encountered in his business of fixing who’d dared to tamper with his reputation and threaten to keep doing it.

He couldn’t afford that. Not with Harrison unconscious in Malibu. Not when the Fixer’s reputation now seemed to hang in the balance because his cousin couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. He’d have to cross a line he’d sworn never to step over. There was no way around it.

He unlocked the small box now sitting on the desk and removed the Glock nine-millimeter. The grip was more than comfortable in his hand. It fit perfectly. He didn’t like to brag, but he was an excellent shot. Harrison had gone through a hunting phase when Gabe was a teen. At the time, there was a big movement in the culinary world for chefs to be well connected to the food they prepared. Harrison had started by learning to butcher, but eventually moved on to hunting, taking several trips all over the country with other chefs. The killing part never really took with Harrison, but he did enjoy guns, and while Luc and Rafe often declined an invitation to go to the shooting range with their dad, Gabe always accepted.

He cherished those memories with Harrison, the times when they most felt like father and son. His real dad wasn’t much more than an anonymous sperm donor. Harrison, however, had been eager to fill that paternal role. He’d embraced Gabe and put in the time, which made the accident and the aftermath that much more difficult to deal with, almost two months later. Time had made nothing easier.

As for Vanessa, his plan was simple. She was staying in an economy room on a lower floor and near an exit, where the security cameras were cheap and obvious, and it was easy for anyone to gain access and get out quickly. Using the hotel master key he currently had in his pocket, he’d disable the cameras, and slip into her room right after the family had left for the party. He would dispatch her with a single shot delivered with a silencer. He would then ransack the room, take any valuables, and get to the party right away, where his alibi would be firmly in place. A few rounds of drinks should quickly dull any memory of what he’d done, and then he would move on.

Thus was his job as the Fixer.

Vanessa’s body likely wouldn’t be discovered until morning, when Mariella needed her. In fact, it would likely be Gabe who would be sent looking for her. He could see it now—Mariella furious that Vanessa was not answering her phone or replying to text messages. The police would quickly determine it was a random robbery, and that would be the end of that. Gabe didn’t worry about any negative publicity. If anything, it would most likely only make people feel sorry for Mariella, having to deal with the tragedy of a murdered member of her staff.

And then, Gabe could tell Rachel to go fuck herself.

Yes, he still felt horrible about this job, but he had to remind himself that whoever had sent Harrison off that cliff had upped the stakes and set a new tone. They had shown zero regard for life. Maybe that was the way business had to be done now.

* * *

“No. Absolutely not. It’s awful.” Mariella glared at her own reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom suite at the Grecian, where the family had six suites on the forty-fifth floor for the weekend. “It’s completely hideous. Unzip me now.”

“Yes. Of course. There are other dresses to try.” Vanessa complied with Mariella’s wishes, thinking that she couldn’t look hideous in anything if she tried. She had an enviable figure and the gown she had on was particularly gorgeous—black French lace with a plunging neckline and elegant beading on the slim-fitting skirt. The designer had sent it straight from Paris the minute he’d heard the Marshalls were hosting the Halloween masquerade ball.

“What about this one? The dark red with the sweetheart neckline?” Vanessa asked, pointing to one of the many gowns laid out on Mariella’s bed. Five had been deemed noes in this impromptu fashion show, and there were another half dozen left to be tried. Vanessa had spent hours steaming wrinkles out of them overnight and had them on the corporate jet at 6:00 a.m. as ordered. Mariella had sent most away with a single glance and a flick of her wrist.

Vanessa gently laid out the hideous gown and retrieved the one she’d suggested. “This one will look beautiful on you.”

Mariella smiled warmly at her, which was always a bit bizarre. Most of the time, especially since Harrison’s accident, Mariella was hell on wheels. The other Casa Cat staff referred to dealing with Mariella’s demeanor as their own version of Russian roulette—you never knew what you were going to get. The prospects scared the hell out of most of them.

Despite Mariella’s sometime brusque attitude, Vanessa enjoyed these moments when it was just the two of them and Mariella let down her guard. She could be a warm person when she wanted to be, and Vanessa did sympathize with Mariella’s situation. It couldn’t be easy to go on living your everyday life with your husband in a coma. Truly, any pleasant exchange between the two of them made Vanessa feel as though she might be slightly less invisible than the other members of the staff. Mariella had already asked Vanessa to call her by her first name. To the others, she was still Mrs. Santiago-Marshall. Still, most of the time Vanessa felt as though she floated through the halls of the estate like a ghost. Mariella and the other Marshalls really hadn’t taken the chance to get to know her, nor had they given any indication that they ever cared to.

Except for Luc. He was different, but that made her more nervous than anything. Their first run-in had been innocent enough—a few words in the hall when she’d bumped into him and dropped her basket of laundry on her first day. She’d laughed at one of his jokes, which made him smile, and that had apparently been enough to make him want to keep the conversation going. But when she found out who he was, she backed away. Despite finding him attractive—any woman would—there was a barrier there neither of them could cross. The problem was, she couldn’t tell him anything about it.

As time went by, he began to seek her out, try to steal a few minutes with her. He’d go looking for her in the house, in places the family rarely went, like the laundry area or the butler’s pantry. He seemed happy when he found her. He asked her questions, tried to make conversation. Vanessa had been so unnerved by it, she didn’t know what to do. She’d been wondering, quite seriously, if it was some sort of trick to get her fired for daring to fraternize with a member of the family. As he began to confide in her, they grew closer, but she also became more careful. She didn’t reveal too much about herself, keeping information vague.

Luc’s circumstances, growing up a product of privilege, couldn’t be more different, and yet, they connected. He listened. He seemed to care. Everything on the surface of Luc’s life looked perfect—important career, gorgeous girlfriend from a well-connected family, and of course, the Marshalls were no slouches when it came to providing for their children. He had succeeded in all the ways society valued, and yet he said he felt empty. His plastic surgery career was only fulfilling when he worked for Doctors Without Borders. He felt estranged from his siblings—he and Rafe were always at odds, and Elana was so scattered it was impossible to maintain a connection. Then had come the most telling detail—his relationship with Rachel was shallow. Meaningless. He’d used those exact words.

Once, while driving her to the estate after her own car broke down, he’d asked her if she had siblings. She’d replied that she was an only child and abruptly changed the subject. Revealing more details at that point would be nothing more than opening Pandora’s box. As much as she wanted to match his openness, she couldn’t afford to do it. It would leave her too exposed. So she’d deflected back to him, and that seemed to work.

She’d had no reason to suspect he considered her anything more than a friend. She was a housekeeper, for God’s sake, and he was dating a stunningly beautiful congressman’s daughter. Their lots in life could not be any more different. Perhaps the absurdity of their friendship was the reason she’d allowed it to continue. But then one day he came to the house and there was a look in his eye that stopped her dead in her tracks.

“I’m falling for you, Vanessa,” he’d said. “You’re all I think about. I make up excuses to come to the house, just so I can see you. When I get home, I replay every word between us.”

Vanessa could still remember exactly how hard her heart was hammering when he’d made his confession. “Luc. No. This isn’t right.”

“Why? Because it feels anything but wrong.” He’d reached for her then, and it was hard to keep her wits about her. He was so sincere.

“I can’t tell you why,” she’d said before stealing away upstairs to her room.

She couldn’t tell him then, and she couldn’t tell him now. She needed to tell Mariella first.

“The red dress really is quite lovely.” Mariella smoothed her hand over her hips and swiveled back and forth before the mirror.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” Vanessa said. It was the truth.

“I know I’m supposed to wear dark colors, but I don’t think I have the strength to try on another dress anyway. Plus, it’s my ball. Let’s go with this one. You can take the rest away.”

Vanessa went right to work, gathering the luxurious silk and satin dresses and draping them over her arm. After four or five, she was already feeling weighed down. “I’ll be right back for the rest.” She headed into Mariella’s closet. The boxes the dresses had been shipped in, from Italy, France, Japan and all over the US, were neatly stacked.

“Vanessa!” Mariella called out.

Panicked, Vanessa plopped down the dresses and walked double time back to Mariella’s room. She’d seemed almost happy when Vanessa had left a minute ago. There was no telling what fresh hell had just been unleashed. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

Mariella was standing there holding the dress she’d earlier described as hideous. “Is there any chance you and I wear the same size?” She looked Vanessa up and down, eyebrows lowered in deep concentration, almost as if she was seeing her for the first time.

“Yes, Mariella. I believe so. Is there a problem?”

Mariella smiled. “You know, you really are a beautiful girl. Why don’t you take this dress and join us at the ball tonight? You’ve been such a help to me over the last few weeks, and it’s no fun to sit in your hotel room by yourself. We’re in Vegas. You should come and enjoy yourself.”

Vanessa didn’t know what to say. She’d suddenly lost the ability to speak. Perhaps if Mariella had a more regular habit of saying nice things, Vanessa wouldn’t have been so unprepared. “Thank you so much. I would love to go to the party.”

“Perfect then. It’s settled. You’ll have to find a mask, but I’m sure you can track one down.” Mariella handed over the dress. “You can get back to work now. Please, clean all of this up.” She fluttered her hand at the spate of haute couture littering her room.

Vanessa quickly collected the other dresses, her mind reeling. What in the hell had just happened? She rushed back into Mariella’s closet. She took a moment and ran her hands over the exquisite handwork adorning the dress she would apparently be wearing tonight. How was this happening? Generosity from Mariella was no everyday event. If only Joy was still at Casa Cat, she’d laugh her ass off over Vanessa being invited to the fancy ball. She’d call her Cinderella. But Joy had quit last night. She’d said she couldn’t stand working for Mariella anymore. Vanessa had her own reasons for sticking around. The time was coming for Mariella to find out that Elana wasn’t Mariella’s only daughter.