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Jeanie
Malcolm lives in a massive home down a private street in the richest section of the Phoenix suburbs, right outside of the main city. He’s got one of those modern places with a flat roof and lots of glass, plus half a dozen cars parked out front.
“Is there a party?” I ask, frowning as Gavino parks. He didn’t tell me much about what was happening before sending Karah and Olivia in to help me get ready earlier this evening.
“It was the best I could do,” he says with a shrug. “Malcolm throws small cocktail parties for the city’s elites once a month and I’ve been ignoring his invitations for a while now. I figure the more people there are wandering around his house, the more cover we’ll get.”
I nod and chew on my lip as we park in front of Malcolm’s home. A young man in a valet uniform comes down and takes Gavino’s keys as we get out. I hesitate as Gavino comes around the truck and offers me his arm.
I accept with a wary smile. I’ve learned to be careful about a killer in a nice suit.
Even in my heels, Gavino dwarfs me. He’s wearing an expensive outfit tonight, though he typically favors more athletic clothing. “You clean up well, you know,” I say, leaning on him as we head up the steps to the enormous main entrance.
“You do too,” he says, glancing at my body. I’m wearing a tight black dress with a plunging neckline, a little something I plucked out of Karah’s closet. (“Oh, god, girl, keep it, I can’t wear that thing anymore, not after three freaking kids.”) Elise did my hair and makeup, and as we approach the entrance, I catch a glimpse of myself reflected back in the glass, and I have to admit, I look kind of good. I’m carrying an oversized purse—more like a bag—and it doesn’t quite work with the outfit, but it’s necessary and designer, so I’m hoping nobody really notices.
This whole place reeks of privilege and excess and it makes me uncomfortable.
I’ve never had money before. I could never afford dresses, or jewelry, or halfway decent makeup or hair products or anything like that. I made do with what I could scrounge up at Wal-Mart and Target and CVS. This dress, these shoes, everything about my outfit screams expensive, and while I’m not super happy with it, I have to admit that it feels good to look so damn hot.
We’re ushered into a large entry room with a hanging chandelier. There’s lots of Southwest-style art all over the place, a tile floor, waiters moving around balancing trays on their arms laden with small bites and champagne glasses. There are other people here, some of whom Gavino recognizes. He introduces me to a judge, a banker, and a real estate broker, plus their pretty young wives. I get more than a few surprised stares.
“How come people keep looking at me?” I say softly as we move into the main living room where the bulk of the gathering is taking place. It’s ridiculously nice, with a bar on the far side staffed by a professional that keeps tossing bottles in the air, lots of couches, a crackling fireplace, and massive windows that likely boast a stunning view of the desert—though it’s mostly all black now with the sun down.
“They’re not used to seeing a girl on my arm,” he says quietly. “You’re with a gangster now and I tend to draw a lot of attention.”
“That’s less than ideal, considering.”
“I told you this wasn’t a great idea.”
“Let’s get a drink and try to drown our misgivings.”
He grunts in response, smiling slightly. We wade over to the bar, greeting people on the way, and he asks for a whiskey. The bartender makes a flashy show of pouring and I can tell it’s taking all Gavino’s patience not to say something. He snatches the drink when it’s done and tosses back half, grabs the bottle from the startled bartender, and refills it.
“Don’t be an asshole,” I say quietly as I steer him from away from the annoyed staff. “Remember, we’re being discreet.”
“Hard to do when half the men in this room are looking at you like they want to fuck you and the other half are pretending like they aren’t thinking about running a tongue between your ass cheeks to their wives and mistresses.”
“That’s not remotely true and really crude,” I say, blushing slightly. I brush my hand down the back of the couch and stop to face him. “Keep your eye on the prize.”
“I am,” he says, staring at me with his lips quirked up. He moves closer, his hand on my lower back. “Should I give the people something to talk about?”
“Gavino—”
He moves down and kisses me deeply before I can stop him. I grunt into his kiss, slightly annoyed at being a prop for his ego, but god, it does feel good. I’ve never been wanted before, not like this anyway. He breaks off and pats my ass, and I glare in response.
“Are you done marking your territory?”
“For now. You’re lucky I don’t bend you over and fuck you in front of everyone.”
“Gavino,” I hiss.
He laughs and pulls me close. “Relax. It’s all part of the game.”
“And what game is that?”
“Make everyone think I’m so horny for you I can’t control myself, so when we both disappear from the party, everyone assumes I’m fucking you in the toilet.”
I chew on my lip, glaring at the floor, blushing furiously. “Was that the plan all along or did you just come up with it now?”
