Читать книгу A Model Spy - Natalie Dunbar - Страница 14

Tired from a late night out with her friends, Vanessa dragged herself out of bed at eleven the next morning and began to pack the clothes Kristi had sent over. The rest would be shipped to her new apartment in Miami.

After giving her word to Renee and signing the magazine contract, Vanessa was prepared to go through with the assignment, no matter what. As she showered and got ready for an early dinner at her parents’ home, she rehearsed how she would tell her father that she was going back into modeling. She was an adult, already twenty-seven, and her career choice shouldn’t be his business, but she knew he wouldn’t be happy.

Manfred Dawson tried to run his family the way he ran his successful real estate business, with mixed success. Her mother was good at appearing to toe the line while managing to get exceptions for the things she really wanted to do. Michelle, Vanessa’s fourteen-year-old sister, was Daddy’s girl. She generally got what she wanted, but she could forget getting anything that might grant her a measure of independence.

Vanessa was the rebel in the family. She’d gone head to head with her father about her modeling career and had proceeded against his wishes at the age of fifteen. He’d considered having his daughter in the modeling business tantamount to her selling her body for money. When the barely eighteen-year-old Vanessa’s affair with the head of Savoy Models was exposed, she was cut out of her family allowance for her refusal to quit the business as her father demanded. She thanked God that her father knew nothing about her cocaine addiction and recovery in the private clinic in upstate New York.

As Vanessa expertly applied foundation and blush, she gave up on finding any magic words to break it gently to her father. The best option lay in finding the right moment, dropping the bomb and going for damage control if he did explode. Coating her lips with Raspberry Ice gloss, she blotted them and spread her mouth into a smile. What was the worst he could do, anyway?

Using the remote to send the clothes in her closet whizzing by for her inspection, she answered her own question. Her father would use the big threat he always used. He’d threaten to cut her off from the family fortune. His threat and her determination to be independent had prompted her to enroll in Columbia University and work fulltime toward a business degree.

Going to college had given her that much more confidence in her ability to take care of herself and eventually it had gotten her back into her family’s good graces. After going year round and taking extra classes, she had only a year and a half more before getting a bachelor’s degree in business administration. The only problem was that she had no idea what kind of business she wanted to be in.

After halting the parade of clothes and selecting a silk, ruby-colored Versace camisole and a soft, flowered silk Cavalli wrap skirt, she stepped into the shoes closet on her left and found a matching red pair of Manolos.

Crossing the room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She usually liked more meat on her five-foot-eleven-inch frame, but she was just about the right size for the cameras. Maybe catching a bug on that family cruise to the Mediterranean last month hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. Now all she had to do was watch what she ate.

By the time she’d dressed and styled her sandy brown, golden-streaked hair and attended to some charity matters in her home office, her father’s chauffer was waiting in the car downstairs. Stuffing her lipstick and keys into her Gucci Hobo bag, she hurried downstairs to the car.

At her parents’ home in an exclusive section of Scarsdale, Vanessa greeted Robert, the butler, and made her way in. Her parents were relaxing and getting ready for dinner in the large living area they used to entertain guests.

“You look wonderful,” her mother said, moving from her place on the sofa in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows to hug and kiss Vanessa.

In a classic, pink Chanel suit, Lonette Dawson was gorgeous. The highlights in her sandy brown hair were subtler than Vanessa’s, her eyes were sienna brown instead of hazel and her figure was more rounded, but they looked like sisters.

“You look beautiful, too, Mama,” Vanessa murmured, returning the kiss on the cheek. She approached her dad, who was leaning back on the sofa in a navy, checked Perry Ellis suit. The financial and real estate sections of the paper were close to his fingers, but he was making an effort to give the family all of his attention.

“Daddy, how are you?” she said, kissing his cheek.

“I’ll be better when this deal I’m working on goes through,” he noted irritably. He paused and a charming, apologetic smile transformed his face. “Sorry, sweetheart, that has nothing to do with you. How’s school?”

“You know I took the summer off to concentrate on my charity work with the Gotham Rose Club.”

“Vanessa will have her degree in another year and a half,” her mother said, taking Vanessa’s hand and urging her to a spot on the couch. “Want something to drink?”

Vanessa wet her lips. Tonight she needed all her faculties. “Ginger ale?” At the bar, Robert was already filling a glass for her.

Her father’s hazel eyes regarded her thoughtfully. “So what will you do when you get this degree from Columbia? You want a job with the company?”

Vanessa felt the walls closing in. Working for the family business would put her right under her father’s thumb. “No—at least not right now. I was thinking that I could manage my portfolio.”

“There’s not much in it, is there? Nothing except for the stock you’ve gotten for Christmases and birthdays,” he remarked. “You don’t get control of the trust fund until you’re thirty and I’m pretty sure you haven’t saved any of your family allowance.”

“There’s the money my mother left her,” her mother put in quickly.

“That wasn’t enough to cover Vanessa’s clothing allowance for more than a few years,” her father countered.

Normally, it would be true, but Vanessa had plans for independence that went a long way towards helping her pass up on that extra pair of designer shoes or the latest bag. “Actually, I used some of the family allowance toward the Gotham Roses and for schooling and living expenses.” Using the condo she’d inherited from her grandmother as her home, she’d tied the inherited funds into investments that she used to pay the taxes. Accepting the ginger ale from Robert and thanking him, she spoke up for herself.

Newfound respect crept into her father’s eyes. “Good. I parlayed less into enough of a fortune to win the business over your Uncle Marvin.”

Having heard the particular story of how he made his wealth more times than she cared to count, Vanessa held her breath. Her mother rolled her eyes. Relief came from an unlikely source. Dressed in a pink tank and crinkled silk miniskirt, Michelle burst into the room, interrupting her father’s lecture. A couple of pages of the newspaper dangled from Michelle’s fingers and her gaze skewered Vanessa.

“Michelle, how many times have I told you, it’s not ladylike to run about the house?” Lonette Dawson’s voice carried an edge.

“Sorry, Mama. I’ll try to remember next time. I was just so excited about what I read in the Rubi Cho In the Know column in today’s New York Reporter. She says that the ink on the contract is almost dry and the most memorable sweetheart from the Sweetheart Dreams Catalog is coming back to star in the Inside Sports swimsuit edition.” With a hand on one hip, Michelle turned accusing eyes on Vanessa. “That’s you, isn’t it, Vanessa? Are you going to be in the Inside Sports swimsuit edition?”

Vanessa had signed the contract only yesterday. How had Rubi Cho gotten wind of it so quickly? For the second time that evening, her voice stuck in her throat. “I—I—” She cleared her throat. There was nothing to do but own up to it. “Yes. I was going to announce it after dinner,” she admitted, facing her family with her head up and her shoulders squared. “Keifer Jonas, the photographer who did several of my most famous shots, asked me personally,” she lied. “They’re paying a lot of money that I can put in my portfolio and it’s a really good opportunity. I’ll be back before next semester starts. Mom, Dad, I—I just couldn’t pass it up.”

Brows drawing together like thunderclouds, her father’s eyes sparked with anger. “Vanessa, I thought that phase of your life was over. The last thing this family needs is our version of Paris Hilton in the limelight. It’s time to think of starting a family or helping expand the family business. Aren’t you getting a little old for modeling?”

Vanessa winced, his words burning her like acid.

“Mannie…” Lonette’s soft voice halted her husband’s tirade. She moved over to Vanessa on the couch and took her hand. “We’re concerned about you, Vanessa. We certainly have enough money that you don’t have to work. You know that, and your father doesn’t ask that much in return. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, and I’m not planning to do anything to make headlines or embarrass the family,” Vanessa answered, her voice confident.

“I’m still remembering ninety-five percent of your body on display in a popular magazine, and the gossip headlines when you were a minor, having an affair with the head of that modeling agency. And what about the wild parties and the boyfriend-turned-stalker? I can’t see you doing anything without attracting headlines,” her father said, snapping his fingers and reaching for the paper still dangling from Michelle’s hand.

Vanessa cringed. Who but her father could dismiss her life with such negativity?

“What about me?” Michelle asked, giving her father the paper. “I want to go into modeling, too. People my age model all the time. I could go down on location with Vanessa and make some contacts—”

“Michelle, we’ve already had this discussion,” Lonette said, regarding her daughter sternly. “That’s not the sort of life we want for you.”

Steeped in déjà vu, Vanessa knew how Michelle felt. The life her parents demanded was comparable to a padded cell.

Right now though, with her current assignment and what she knew about the modeling world, she was glad her parents were keeping Michelle out of it. She couldn’t stand the thought of Michelle going through all that she had.

“You guys never let me do anything!” Michelle whined. Tears filled her eyes. “When Vanessa started—”

Manfred Dawson’s heavy voice cut through her objections. “Michelle, the answer is no. Don’t ask again.”

Just then, Robert appeared in the doorway to announce dinner, and as the family headed for the dining room, a pouting Michelle ran off to her room.

Vanessa sat through a strained, awkward dinner with her parents. Her appetite gone, she pushed grilled salmon with creamed dill sauce, stir-fried green beans and a twice-baked potato around on her plate.

Her father frowned every time he looked at her. It was a silent reproach. Nothing she said reached him. She found herself wondering, when had he ever smiled at her and been supportive? Only when she did as he dictated. He wanted a puppet, not a daughter.

Her mother chattered on about things—the next ball, the garden club meeting and her church work. When her gaze met Vanessa’s there was a sort of desperation in her eyes. Lonette really hated discord among her family. After an initial effort to resolve things, her usual solution was to try to act as if nothing had happened and hope it would go away. It never worked.

Vanessa refused the crème brûlée dessert and got ready to leave. She loved her parents, but she had a job to do. A job she couldn’t tell them about.

Before she left, Vanessa stopped by Michelle’s room to talk and try to smooth things over. At first, Michelle was too angry to say much, but when she heard that Vanessa was leaving for Miami in the morning, she turned red-rimmed eyes on her sister and said, “I thought you said that you’d never go back, that it was full of nothing but bad memories?”

Vanessa nodded. “I did, and I meant it, but I have something important to do. I’m not just going back to model, I’m going back to do something for a friend and I gave my word.”

“What are you going to do?” Michelle asked, curiosity in her eyes as she searched Vanessa’s face. “You can tell me.”

Vanessa knew better than to play this game. “No, I can’t. Just take my word for it.”

Michelle’s eyes sparkled with tears. “You’re going to leave me here with them. Let me come with you! I won’t be any trouble. I know how to take care of myself.”

Nothing was further from the truth. Smoothing her sister’s hair, Vanessa leaned in and hugged her. “I can’t. They’d disown me if I did that.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Michelle said. “Daddy keeps taking away the money and you still keep doing what you want.”

Vanessa met her sister’s gaze. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I do keep doing what I have to do. I’m an adult. Daddy thinks he knows what’s best for me, but he’s lived his life and made his own decisions. Do you see? I’ve got to do what I think is best, even if it’s a mistake.”

Michelle’s next question haunted Vanessa all the way back to her condo. “Is this modeling job a mistake?”

Vanessa left New York on a morning flight to Miami. There, she picked up the red Jag convertible they’d leased for her. Afterward, she followed the leasing agent’s directions to her new condo on Ocean Drive.

As the concierge unloaded her luggage and the valet accepted her keys, Vanessa studied the building where the models had been killed. The large, three-story structure was big enough to guarantee some privacy, but nothing like the high-rises that dotted Ocean Drive. Part of the building was set in a lush, tropical garden, the rest on the beach.

A blue-uniformed man opened the lobby door and Vanessa stepped into the building wearing Seven for All Mankind custom jeans made to fit her curvy butt just right and a lilac silk tank top. Her heels clicked as she crossed a marbled lobby to stop at the service desk and get directions to her condo. Minutes later, she was back outside in the hot sun, rounding the building to stop in front of her unit.

A tall blonde in dark glasses, swim shorts and a bikini top came out of the next unit and pulled the door shut. “Moving in?” she asked, smiling.

Recognizing one of the models to be photographed for Inside Sports, Vanessa returned the smile. “Yes. I’m Vanessa. How are you?”

“Right now, I’m just getting started on the fun.” The blonde pushed the sunglasses down her nose to peer at Vanessa. “Your hazel eyes…I thought I recognized you. You’re Vanessa Dawson, aren’t you?”

Flattered, Vanessa felt her smile widen. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m Annika LaVatia, fellow model on the Inside Sports project.” She moved closer. “Welcome to Miami! You’ll love this place. It’s got everything a girl could want.”

“Really?” Vanessa let the question hang in the air, wondering if “everything” included drugs.

“Oh yeah,” Annika bubbled on, “I love having my own town house and still being able to get room service, and the waiters bringing the food are hot. Add that you’re just steps from the beach, and you can’t beat the security. Then there’s a bunch of restaurants close by.”

“It sounds like a dream.” Vanessa fitted her key into the lock. “There’s only one thing that could turn this into a nightmare…”

“I can’t imagine a thing,” Annika said, flipping back a long strand of hair.

“Well, I heard about some models getting killed in a condo on Ocean Drive,” Vanessa said cautiously. “A friend of mine insists that this is the place.”

“Oh.” Annika’s voice dropped a few octaves. “This is the place,” she reluctantly admitted.

“But not the same unit?” Vanessa let a note of fear creep into her voice.

“Lord, no. That unit was ripped apart. Besides, it’s closer to the beach and it has to be redecorated.” Annika looked uncomfortable. “Look, Vanessa, I’m not worried about the same thing happening to me. It’s not as if we’ve got a serial killer hanging out here, waiting to murder models. Those girls were wild and into some heavy stuff. They knew some bad people, too. Maybe they just pissed off the wrong guys.”

“Maybe.” Vanessa’s jaw snapped shut. It was hard not to give in to the righteous anger growing inside of her and tell Annika that no one deserved to die the way Gena and Bianca had.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Vanessa.” Annika was obviously through with the subject. She pushed her sunglasses back up on her nose. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

Annika strolled off toward the beach, leaving Vanessa wondering if she should have pushed for more information.

Unlocking the door, she stepped onto the oak hardwood floor of an entryway that opened onto an expansive room with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a sun-filled view of the beach. Tearing her gaze away, she took in modular white chairs and a white Novak sofa, with oak accents dotting the room. The Chablis table set blended in to create vivid and bold lines. She loved this condo already and was looking forward to seeing the rest of it.

The sparkle of sun off the blue water drew Vanessa’s gaze. It reminded her of her family’s estate on a private beach in Jamaica. She saw Annika stroll up to a woman sunning herself in a yellow string bikini and lean down to talk. The other woman sat up. Then both women turned to look in Vanessa’s direction. A chill ran through her as she stepped away from the window. Had she already given herself away?