Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson
damnnear impossible.I’d be smarter to stick to the usual outletfor my sexual energy; random men picked up in bars.
Morrissey stopped in front of the burlysentinel and cocked one leg. “Hey, Udelhoffer. How’s it going?”
The behemoth eyed me. “Who is this?” Hisaccent carried hints of Eastern Europe but with Brooklyn overtones,suggesting to me he’d been in the States for a while.
“Nice, huh?” Morrissey said, continuing withhis schtick. “Your boss said if I found girls to model, he’d give abonus. If they had something special clients liked, a littleextra.”
“This is a closed shoot.”
“Not what I heard.”
The big man gave Morrissey a dead-man’sstare. “You heard wrong.”
I kept silent. A young girl in my situationwouldn’t dare be too forward, not with her dreams on the line. IfMorrissey couldn’t pull this off, I’d find another way.
Morrissey thrust out his hand, palms up. “So,what? You expect me to turn around and drive all the way back tothe city?”
Another stare for an answer, silent thistime.
Morrissey shook his head. “Not gonna happen.I was given promises. I stuck my neck out here. This one?” Hemotioned to me, “A favor for Tony D’Angelo.”
The man didn’t even spare me a glance butkept his attention on Morrissey.
“You know who D’Angelo is, right?”
A nod from the hired help.
Morrissey continued, punctuating his wordswith thrusting waves of his hands. “I said I’d help her get a job,know what I mean? He’s not going to like it if I don’t come throughon my word. He might even call some of his friends, you know? And Iain’t going to take all the blame.”
Udelhoffer let out a heavy sigh. “Wait here.”He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.
I did a quick scan of the doorway and eaves.No closed circuit cameras. Probably not needed with an armed guardat the entrance. Even so, I kept my voice low, paranoid aboutbugs.
“D’Angelo? Let me guess. Gambino family?”
Morrissey gave a curt nod. “I needed to makeit easier to let you in than turn you away.”
“And you think they’ll buy that I’m somemistress he needs to get rid of?”
“That depends on how well you sell it.”
When I’d assumed a cover identity in thepast, I had prided myself on preparation. Knowing everything aboutwho I was supposed to be and who I was dealing with had saved myass more than once. This operation had been rushed from thebeginning, and now I was supposed to be the pawn of a mob figure Iknew nothing about. I had to wonder if, in getting me in the door,Morrissey had just handed me a death sentence.
“I can sell it.”
I would have to. Not only was my lifedependent on it, but so was a girl’s future.
The door swung open and Udelhoffer motionedme inside. As soon as I stepped into the marble foyer, he held up ahand, blocking Morrissey. “You’ll hear from me if she worksout.”
Morrissey nodded and the door closed in hisface.
I was on my own.
The man stared down at me with the dim lookof hired muscle. “You wanna be a model, huh?”
I channeled eager. “More than anything.”
He shrugged a shoulder and heaved anothersigh. “Yeah. We’ll take care of you. Purse.”
“Huh?”
He grabbed it without asking, digging a pawinside, fingering my phone and make-up. If he noticed I wasconveniently missing a wallet or any kind of ID, he didn’t give meany indication it made him suspicious.
“Come with me.”
I followed Udelhoffer to the back of thehouse, taking note of my surroundings as I went. The house wasfurnished in a modern, generic style, the pieces and arrangementsbig on price tags but low on originality or warmth. I smelledgardenias from the back porch, a hint of some sort of animal musk,and the distinctive oniony, deep-fried smell of McDonalds comingfrom the kitchen and breakfast nook. A police scanner erupted infits and starts, blending with a faint Latin beat drifting fromsomewhere in the house.
“How many girls are you shooting today?” Isaid without selling the obvious irony.
Udelhoffer kept walking, not bothering toanswer. He led me out to a patio surrounding a kidney-shaped pool.The air smelled of salt water and fish, and beyond the pool,sunlight shimmered on Long Island Sound. Three other men stood nearthe diving board. They weren’t armed that I could see, but Iwouldn’t be surprised if they had weapons nearby. The blonde inJacob’s picture perched on a chaise lounge, dressed in a miniskirtand tee, a small carry-on suitcase on the paving stones in front ofher sandaled feet.
No one even pretended to be snappingphotos.
Udelhoffer stopped in front of a swarthy manwith a hawk-like hooked nose, and they shared a few hushed words.Too quiet for me to hear, but I’m a fair lip reader. I sawGambino, favor, and ice.
Even though the big man towered above, it wasclear from their body language that Hawk Nose was in charge.Dressed in a button-down open at the neck, he looked more like aSouth American businessman than a thug, except for the shoulderholster under his jacket.
The third was average height and skinny, yetjudging from the sinewy muscles in his arms, as strong as steelwire. He had ex-military written all over him and reminded me of aman I’d killed in Columbia. Tight shirt, and I didn’t spot hiscarry until I noticed the bulge on his right ankle.
The fourth was portly, with sweat stains inthe armpits of his Hawaiian shirt. He wore khakis and loafers, nosocks, and I couldn’t spot a pistol on him. An investor, maybe? Ora perspective buyer?
Udelhoffer finished his briefing, and HawkNose slowly walked over to me, a smile on his face that was puremockery. “So … you ever model before?”
I pegged his accent as Venezuelan. “I’ve donesome—”
“Then you know how this works.”
I had no clue. But since I doubted he dideither, I gave him what I hoped was an enthusiastic nod andmotioned to Julianne James, the real reason I was there. “Should Igo sit down with the other model while you get ready?”
“In a minute.”
His smile widened. He grabbed a nearby bag,rummaged inside, then held up a skimpy bikini.
“Put this on … for the pictures. And sinceyou’re a model, you should be used to dressing and undressing atthe