Читать книгу A Model Spy - Natalie Dunbar - Страница 12

In the secret basement training room at the Gotham Rose Club, mirrored walls surrounded a hardwood floor dotted with mats. Covered with protective gear beneath her loose, white workout gi, Vanessa Dawson flicked back her highlighted ponytail and aimed a long-legged side kick at trainer Jimmy Valentine.

He blocked it with a padded, muscular forearm. “Good kick, Vanessa, but we know your kicks are always good. Move in and throw some punches.”

Vanessa hadn’t planned to spar with Jimmy. She’d arrived early to work off a little frustration and excitement before her scheduled tea with Renee. Once Jimmy had spotted her at the abdominal machine, he’d refused to take no for an answer. She’d been long overdue for a training session. Now here she was sparring with the master of several martial arts forms, while she tried to preserve her fresh manicure.

Knees slightly bent, Vanessa crouched in a ready position. Tonight, she, Madison Taylor Pruitt and Tatiana Guttmann were going out for dinner and a night on the town. That meant she would not have time to sit through another manicure. Wrinkling her nose and lifting her arms, she balled her hands into fists and curled the thumbs underneath. Her fists flew, connecting with his protected forearms more often than she liked.

Jimmy laughed. A lock of shiny, dark hair fell over an eyebrow to lend a rakish appearance to his handsome face. With his good looks and height, he easily could have graced the pages of a fashion magazine. “C’mon, Vanessa, hit harder. You won’t be fighting the girls. You have to be able to trade more than a few punches with a man.”

That got to her. Was he calling her a sissy? A wimp? Vanessa took pride in her ability to adapt the various fighting styles and techniques Jimmy insisted on teaching and make them her own. Because of her family’s wealth and her days spent strutting down the catwalk or preening in front of a camera, most people thought she was eye candy and about as useful as a Christmas tree ornament in the middle of spring. She knew that nothing could be farther from the truth.

With the Gotham Roses and some of her wealthy friends, she raised hundreds of thousands of dollars every year for her favorite charity, The Golden Key Foundation for Battered Women, and several others. The bottom line was that her training, her important charity work and the exciting undercover missions all made her life worthwhile.

Balancing herself, she threw her body into the barrage of punches she aimed at his torso. Jimmy’s corresponding grunts as he scrambled to block the blows were music to her ears.

“Good job!” he called out, mixing things up with a few punches of his own. “Next time, don’t make me ask for it. If you’re in a situation where you have to throw a punch, you need to give it all you’ve got. You might not get another chance.”

At Vanessa’s acknowledgement, his hand snaked out to shift her balance and throw her. She flew through the air to land sprawled on her left hip in an ungraceful heap. Because she knew how to fall, she wasn’t hurt. As Jimmy advanced, two well-aimed kicks kept him from getting too close. She scrambled to her feet, lifting her arms to block.

“That’s enough for today.” Jimmy pulled the Velcro on the pads covering his arms and drew them off. “Good work overall, but you’re a bit distracted, Vanessa. What’s wrong?”

Other than the fact that she’d spent a good part of her morning arguing with her little sister, Michelle, and it had gotten her nowhere, there was the distinct possibility of an upcoming mission. Vanessa met Jimmy’s gaze and smiled. “I guess I’m just excited. I’m having tea with Renee. She wants to discuss a new project.”

“I see.” Jimmy patted her on the shoulder, a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever it is, I know you’ll give it the attention it deserves.”

“Of course,” she agreed. Pulling apart the Velcro on her own padding, she drew it down and off her arms. Her gaze dropped to her index finger and she cursed under her breath. The nail had broken off at her fingertip. In the heat of their sparring she hadn’t noticed.

Jimmy moved close to examine it. “I don’t see any blood,” he murmured, his dark eyes sparkling. “And those beautiful nails wouldn’t look half so good on a corpse.”

Glowering at him, Vanessa threw a playful punch to his wide shoulder. She knew what he was getting at. He’d told her on more than one occasion that her little vanities, which included the highlighted brown hair hanging past her shoulders, her long nails and the four-inch heels she loved, could make it difficult for her to defend herself. Jimmy’s comments had only made her work that much harder to hone her skills. She didn’t need Jimmy to tell her that she was good at defending herself.

“Just keep your focus on your opponent,” he chided gently.

“I will,” she promised.

“And good luck on your project.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” She leaned forward to plant a little kiss on his cheek. He didn’t move, but she sensed him waiting defensively to see if she would try to press herself against him, as had other Gotham Roses who affectionately called him The Heartbreaker.

Jimmy was extremely loyal to his wife, something that many of the wealthy socialites in the Gotham Roses couldn’t understand. Vanessa could. Her father, Manfred Dawson III, was still married to her mother, Lonette, and from all appearances, neither had ever been unfaithful. A number of her wealthy friends’ parents had been married and divorced so many times that fidelity was almost a novelty.

“Tell Linda I said hello,” she murmured, tossing the arm pads into Jimmy’s box of athletic aids. She hurried to the dressing room, excitement building within her. She was ready for a challenge.

By the time Vanessa arrived at Renee’s private dining room, she’d filed the tip of the broken nail and changed into a pink dress designed by DooRi, an up-and-coming designer friend who had been featured in Chic magazine. The dress had a plunging neckline accented with lace, and a drop-waisted skirt with a gathered, asymmetrical hem. She’d twisted her hair into a roll and stepped into her strappy, pink suede Manolo Blahniks to complete her outfit. Slightly distracted, Renee looked fashionably elegant in a fitted, black Sonia Rykiel suit with the trademark knotted bow appliquéd onto the left side of her jacket.

She was already seated at the linen-covered dining table. At the sight of Vanessa, she stood, and they embraced.

“Is everything all right?” Vanessa asked, as Renee commandeered a Verne porcelain teapot with a nautical theme inspired by Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

Pouring tea, Renee flashed her usual, serenely confident smile. “Things are perfect. Of course we’re still trying to catch the Duke, and life is just a little crazy as could be expected with Pres’s return. Then there’s a minor annoyance or two that I’m handling.” Her tone deepened and she cut her comment abruptly.

Vanessa knew that Renee and the Governess suspected that the Duke was a wealthy criminal who controlled most of the corruption that went on in moneyed circles. The members of the undercover organization were determined to bring him down, but so far, he’d managed to keep his identity secret.

Observing Renee, Vanessa hoped that the minor annoyances that Renee was referring to had nothing to do with her or the undercover project she sensed just over the horizon. It took a lot to shake Renee Dalton Sinclair and distract her from her work at the Gotham Rose Club. Whether she admitted it or not, something pretty serious was going on.

Since Renee obviously didn’t want to talk about it, Vanessa accepted her cup of tea and asked, “Did you get a chance to look at my proposal for a fall charity ball at the Waldorf-Astoria? With all of the Gotham Rose charities to benefit, it would be the event of the season. Then there’s the fact that I’ve personally lined up several friends and family members who would love to attend.”

Renee offered Vanessa the tray filled with pastries. “Vanessa, your proposal is an excellent one. Of course it would be good for the Gotham Rose Club. I’ve already asked Olivia to make some calls and gather preliminary dates. With the number of people our members are capable of drawing to such an event, we’re looking at locations that can service a large crowd.”

Beaming, Vanessa leaned forward, careful to keep her elbows off the table. “Cool. I can hardly wait to tell the staff over at my foundation. It’s been a hard year for them.”

“For everyone,” Renee corrected.

Vanessa was certain she was talking about more than the various charities the Gotham Rose Club championed and served. Someone had nearly killed Agent Emma Bosworth at a post-Oscar party in L.A. several months ago. The main suspect was the Duke.

“When we’ve got more information, we’ll meet with everyone and make some decisions. Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes. I can see you’re on top of this.”

“Of course.” Renee smiled confidently. “The work we do is very important.” They sipped tea in companionable silence. “How’s school?” Renee asked a bit too smoothly. “You were working toward a business degree?”

Vanessa explained that if she went full time, she was about a year and a half from getting her business degree at Columbia University. She added that she’d taken the summer off to focus on the charity ball.

Renee threw Vanessa a rueful glance. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, there’s something else I need to discuss with you.” Vanessa nodded and Renee went on. “The Governess has another project and she asked for you personally.”

“Really?” Flattered, Vanessa resisted the urge to hunch forward. She was never quite sure how people got picked for the undercover assignments, but she’d had two within the past couple of years.

On her last assignment she’d worked alone, planting bugs and identifying records and files that proved that one former classmate’s father’s business was illegally dumping chemicals and poisoning the environment. Now she was hoping for something more exciting.

“So tell me about this assignment,” Vanessa prompted, anxious to hear the specifics. It wasn’t like Renee to hold back on the details.

“As you know, our assignments are important and involve real danger.” Renee paused, her blue eyes full of concern. “It’s a modeling assignment. If you accept,” Renee explained, “it’ll take you back to the world you left a couple of years ago. It’s even been arranged for you to get a contract to model swimsuits in the coveted Inside Sports Swimsuit Fantasy Edition.”

Vanessa’s chest constricted. She found it hard to swallow past the thickness in her throat. Considering the fact that she hadn’t modeled for two years and there were many younger models clamoring for the Inside Sports swimsuit edition, the contract was quite an achievement. However, after she’d left the glittering yet caustic world of modeling and spent months recovering in a private clinic, she’d promised herself that she never had to go back. She’d modeled from the time she was fifteen until she was nearly twenty-five, and between the job, the people and life she was exposed to, she’d nearly died at least twice. Others hadn’t been so lucky.

Was she really strong enough to go back into that world and stay focused enough to complete a successful undercover mission? She’d never told anyone about everything that had happened to her, everything she’d done, but there had been rumors. Regarding Renee carefully, Vanessa bit the inside of her mouth.

It was more than likely that Renee knew all about her exploits. She might even have pictures. Renee had a number of resources at her fingertips. When she’d asked Vanessa to join the Gotham Rose Club, she’d told her that all the club’s members underwent background checks. Vanessa had been admitted, but that didn’t mean Renee knew about her struggle with drug addiction.

“Vanessa?” Renee prompted.

Vanessa stood. There was a polite knock and the dining room door swished open as the maid came back with more hot water. Vanessa felt the blood pound in her ears.

Renee extended a hand to briefly cover Vanessa’s. “Perhaps you should speak to the Governess’s representative and hear the details before you make your decision.”

Vanessa nodded. Excusing herself, Renee whispered instructions to the maid. With a nod, the maid refilled the teapot and left the room.

Vanessa forced her body back down into the chair. Lifting her dainty, gold-and-blue accented cup, she took a large sip of the hot liquid, grimacing as it scalded the inside of her mouth.

The dining room door swished open once more. “Excuse me, ladies,” a strong male voice projected from the doorway. “Mrs. Sinclair? Ms. Dawson? I’m Cody Mackenzie from the DEA’s Miami Field Division and I’ve been sent by the Governess.”

Vanessa set the cup back into the saucer. Her gaze riveted on the handsome, golden brown man standing in the doorway. The blue, off-the-rack designer suit he wore enhanced his muscular build. Apparently the DEA was attracting better-looking agents these days.

He took in her carefully made up face, the plunging neckline edging her full breasts and the long length of leg revealed by the asymmetrical hemline of her dress. Was that censure in his gaze?

Nodding, Renee regarded him calmly. “Mr. Mackenzie, I’m Renee Dalton Sinclair and this is Vanessa Dawson. Please join us. Tea?” When he declined, she gestured him to a chair. “I wanted Vanessa to meet you and get a rough idea of the mission.”

Mackenzie walked to the table to regard Vanessa with dark, combative eyes. “Have you seen the newspapers? Did you read about the two models who were stabbed to death and their apartments ransacked? The DEA thinks that both models were mules in a powerful drug ring.”

Pushing her back against the chair until it was ramrod straight, Vanessa answered that she hadn’t. She’d become so depressed by the things she read in the news that she avoided it, like an ostrich with its head stuck in the sand. She turned to face Renee, ready to stop Mackenzie from springing the trap she saw closing around her.

“I—I’m not interested, Renee.” I can’t go back.

Mackenzie kept talking. “Both models lived in apartments on Ocean Drive. The first was a new model named Bianca Moore. The second was a veteran model named Gena Chadwick,” he said. He pointed his finger at Vanessa. “You knew her. She was a friend of yours.”

Vanessa gasped at the names. Her eyes burned. Gena had been her roommate and companion on several assignments when she modeled for Echelon Models.

In her mind’s eye, she could see the vivacious Gena with her thick, chestnut-brown hair and her vivid, green eyes. They’d been good friends, but fear of being pulled back into the modeling life had kept Vanessa from maintaining contact with Gena. Had some crazed maniac gotten hold of Gena and Bianca, or had the women been involved in something as dangerous as smuggling drugs? And why? A mixture of grief, anger and outrage burned in her stomach.

Standing, Renee rounded the table to put a comforting hand on Vanessa’s shoulder. “There’s still time to help the other models being drawn into this and the people who get hooked on the drugs brought into this country,” she said. “I hope you can suspend your grief long enough to reconsider. Many lives are at stake.”

Renee’s words hit Vanessa hard. She had to do something, didn’t she? She’d been wild in her modeling days, and had developed a coke addiction between partying and trying to stay thin. Vanessa was ashamed, but knew she wasn’t unique with her problem. Many of her wealthy friends and fellow models had abused drugs. At least Vanessa had sought help and recovered.

“I can understand why you might hesitate to put yourself back into such a situation,” Renee said carefully, “but you’re stronger now and more mature. You’ve learned a lot through your training here.”

Vanessa closed her eyes and considered what was at stake. She risked being drawn back into the drug scene. Investigating the drug ring also involved the personal risk of being killed, like Gena and Bianca. But with the vicious murders of those models and the fact that her little sister Michelle was hell-bent on a modeling career, could she really refuse the assignment?