Deadly Embrace

Spain
Sofia Castle was a wild one. Tall, tanned, lean and street-smart, she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. A school drop-out at fifteen, she’d rejected the very thought of college, and for three years had backpacked her way round the world with two girlfriends and a gay guy. One by one they’d all got into trouble. First, one of her girlfriends was arrested in Thailand for smuggling drugs. A year later, in Hawaii, her other girlfriend ran off with a married surfer she’d known for only five days. And Jace, her gay friend, managed to get himself beaten up wherever they went.
‘Like–what the hell do you do?’ she’d demanded of him.
‘Nothing,’ he’d answered primly. ‘Except be myself.’
Which was too gay for most people.
So eventually Sofia had ended up alone, apart from a series of transient boyfriends.
In spite of being by herself, Sofia had no desire to go home to Las Vegas, where her big brother Vincent bossed the crap out of her, and her mom was always trying to tell her what to do. Yes, the gambling capital had lost its appeal long ago, so instead of heading home, she’d moved on to Marbella and landed a job as a roving photographer covering the nightclub scene during the tourist season.
At eighteen Sofia was a free spirit, and nobody could stop her. Not her mother–who, God knew, had tried. Nor Vincent–with whom she enjoyed a love/hate relationship. And certainly not her father, Michael–a man she resented big-time because he’d never been around when she’d needed him.
Sofia was her own person. Only tonight she wasn’t so sure. Tonight she was trapped in a penthouse apartment with two drugged-out Spanish playboys who were old (at least forty) and very horny.
Earlier she’d hooked up with a group of people at one of the clubs and thought they were fun. Never one to turn down free champagne and plenty of grass, she’d gone with the group to the penthouse, and suddenly everyone else seemed to have vanished, leaving her stuck with two horny old men.
‘Gotta go,’ she announced nonchalantly.
‘No!’ horny Spaniard number one said. His name was Paco and he had slit eyes and slicked-back boot-polish brown hair.
‘You stay with us,’ horny Spaniard number two said, making kissing noises with his lips. He was a thin man in an off-white seersucker suit and shiny two-tone patent leather shoes. He smelt of lavender.
Stoned as she was, Sofia knew it was time to get out. She also suspected that they’d locked the front door, which was not a good sign.
‘Sorry, guys,’ she said, heading for the door and trying the handle. Yes, it was locked. Damn! ‘My old man’s a cop,’ she said sharply, furious that she’d got caught in such a stupid situation. ‘So we don’t want any trouble, do we? You’d better let me out. And I do mean now.’
‘No, no–you come here, cara,’ Paco crooned, coming after her and pawing her bare shoulder with his sweaty palm. ‘We show you sexy time.’
‘No, thanks,’ she said, twisting away from him. ‘And open this fucking door before I kick it in.’
The men exchanged conspiratorial looks, then Paco grabbed her, while the other man moved in.
Sofia experienced a shiver of fear for the first time in her young life. She knew she was in trouble, and it wasn’t a feeling she appreciated.
Tuesday, 10 July 2001, Las Vegas
My daughter is in trouble. The thought kept running through Dani Castle’s mind. She’d awoken that morning after experiencing a vivid nightmare about Sofia, and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since. Now it was night-time, and she was having dinner with the man she should have married, but even so, she couldn’t concentrate: her mind was elsewhere.
Dean King, a distinguished-looking man in his sixties, tall and barrel-chested, with a thick head of silver hair, had never failed her, never let her down. However, in spite of their long relationship, she still lived with the hope that one day Michael would marry her and legalize their union.
Michael Castelli. The love of her life.
The father of her two children, Vincent and Sofia. She loved him. She always would.
Dani, at fifty-three, was a beautiful woman, tall and naturally blonde, with smooth skin, ocean-blue eyes and a showgirl’s body. Once a headline performer in Vegas, she now organized the occasional PR event at her son’s hotel. She was very proud of Vincent, he’d done so well–with only a small amount of help from his dad.
Yes, Vincent could certainly take care of himself; it was Sofia she was worried about.
Both of her children bore a strong resemblance to Michael. They had inherited his deep olive skin and jet black hair. And Sofia had definitely inherited his wild streak. One memorable day, after a big fight with her dad, she’d dropped out of school and taken off, leaving only a short note.
Fifteen years old and she was gone. The only contact Dani had had with her since then was the occasional phone call or postcard.
There was nothing she could do about it. Sofia possessed a will of steel, exactly like Michael, who had not seemed at all concerned by his daughter’s taking off. ‘The kid can look after herself,’ he’d assured her. ‘You gotta stop worrying.’
Easy for him to say.
Sometimes Dani thought the only offspring he really cared about was Madison, his daughter from another woman.
‘What are you thinking?’ Dean asked, leaning across the table and attempting to take her hand.
She pulled back; Dean’s devotion was endless, maybe rejection did make the heart grow fonder. It certainly did in his case.
Dean lived in Houston. He owned oil wells, and was extremely rich and quite powerful in his own way.
So why didn’t you marry him, Dani?
Because I never loved him.
‘I’m thinking about Sofia.’ She sighed, sipping her wine. ‘I worry about her so much. I wish I could see her.’
Dean studied her face. ‘Have you heard from her lately?’ he asked.
‘A few weeks ago. She’s in Spain