Dear Reader,

I was excited to get the opportunity to write Vanessa Dawson’s story, A Model Spy, in Silhouette Bombshell’s THE IT GIRLS continuity. Tough, yet beautiful and vulnerable, Vanessa Dawson kicks butt and tries to deal with her family, an evolving relationship and past demons returning to haunt her. For me, this effort represents a significant departure from the traditional idea of a series book as far as tone and content, while also incorporating a strong, competent heroine who is an African-American heiress and ex-supermodel.

The groundbreaking doesn’t stop there, either. My heroine has past issues that affect her ability to do her assignment and she gets to choose her hero from a sexy DEA agent and a handsome hip-hop music mogul who came up from the Miami street gangs, not unlike people you find in the news today. I enjoyed listening to the hip-hop music and reading about the roads the artists traveled to fame and fortune and the problems many face. I hope I managed to impart a little of that flavor in this book.

Natalie Dunbar

A
Model Spy
Natalie Dunbar

The It Girls

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given

to Natalie Dunbar for her contribution to THE IT GIRLS.

ISBN: 9781408946152

A Model Spy

© Natalie Dunbar 2006

First Published in Great Britain in 2006

Harlequin (UK) Limited

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, including without limitation xerography, photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the prior consent of the publisher, in any form or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.á.r.l.

® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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NATALIE DUNBAR

believes that a woman can do anything she sets her mind to. To date she has met her personal goals of becoming an electrical engineer working in the field, obtaining her master’s degree in business administration and getting published. Happily married to her high school sweetheart, she lives in the Detroit area with him and their two boys. She has several romance novels under her belt, and is ecstatic over the launch of Silhouette Bombshell, which gives her characters new worlds to conquer. An avid fan of fiction, television and movies that showcase powerful women with strong skills and talents in a male-dominated world, she is happy to add her heroines, CIA agent Reese Whittaker and model-spy Vanessa Dawson, to the list.

I’d like to dedicate this book to my wonderful family.

Thanks for all your love and support!

Natalie

Acknowledgments:

Thanks to my wonderful editor, Julie Barrett, for great ideas and help in shaping this book to make it the best. Thanks to my husband, Chet, for inspiration, input and just listening. Thanks to my youngest son, for doing without Mom when there was no other way. I want to thank my critique group, specifically Karen and Reon for all their help and support. Special thanks to Joe Kilmer in the DEA Miami Field Office (MFO) and the DEA Web site, http://www.usdoj.gov/dea/. Any errors in how the process works are mine.

Contents

NATALIE DUNBAR

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

COMING NEXT MONTH

Prologue

“Renee, are you available? There’s a call for you on the private line in your office.”

Olivia’s voice drew Renee’s attention away from the limousine taking off from the front of the town house to enter the 68th Street traffic. It was carrying her husband, Preston, and her daughter, Haley, to a matinee.

With Preston newly released from prison, it should have been the best of times for her family, but the man who’d come home a few months ago was a pale shadow of the one who’d left. Worse yet, she barely recognized Haley, who’d recently transformed into an angry, rebellious teen.

Renee promised herself that she would hold her family together and make things right, but now, she had a job to do.

With an incline of her auburn head and murmured thanks to her personal assistant, Renee Dalton Sinclair crossed the Persian rug and passed the spiral stairs on the first floor of The Gotham Rose Club to head back to her office. Nervous excitement made the back of her neck itch. The only person who ever called on her private line was the Governess, a mysterious benefactress who was well placed in the government. Whenever the calls came, one of the Gotham Rose’s undercover spies soon took on a dangerous mission to bring down a high-society criminal.

Whoever the Governess was, she’d been powerful enough to pull the strings necessary to have Renee’s beloved husband, Preston, released from prison early. Despite Pres’s refusal to discuss what had happened, she knew he had been the scapegoat for his corrupt family and their investment firm.

The Governess had approached Renee four years ago with a deal. In return for Pres’s early release, Renee started an undercover organization with her exclusive Gotham Rose women’s club. Renee had started the club to get New York’s wealthiest young heiresses to put their names and fortunes to good use by raising money for charity. The secret spy club included only a small number of the more than two hundred Gotham Rose members. The women were trained to take down upper-class citizens who used wealth and power to cover their crimes.

In the quiet sanctuary of her office, Renee secured the door, then slipped into her powder room and locked that door too. Making herself comfortable on the overstuffed, white love seat, she lifted the receiver from the vanity table.

“This is Renee Dalton Sinclair.”

“Renee…I trust you’re enjoying Pres’s return?” the mechanically distorted voice began.

Renee was overjoyed to have her husband back, but the sound of his name spoken by the disembodied voice sent chills through her. Was there a threat lurking beneath the Governess’s question?

“I love my husband,” she answered simply, her tone ringing with conviction. “Having him home has brought the life back to our house.” In the ensuing silence she added, “Of course, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done—”

“Preston Sinclair was innocent,” the Governess cut in. “Now let’s move on to the business at hand. Have you seen the story in the papers about the two models who were killed in their Miami apartments? Another model was caught at Miami International yesterday, trying to smuggle heroin in a case of bubble bath.”

“I saw the stories,” Renee confirmed. “You’d think that fashion models would have more options than the poor desperate souls who normally end up being mules in the drug trade.”

The Governess expelled a contemptuous puff of air. “Someone made those models an offer they couldn’t refuse. We need to identify this drug ring, find out who’s at the top, get the evidence and take them down fast.”

Shifting the phone and its cord, Renee used her key to open a drawer at the carved antique vanity and remove the large file containing pictures and press information on all the Gotham Roses. Some of the women were just members of her charitable organization, which required all its members to pay twenty-five thousand dollars to join, ten thousand a year thereafter, and then asked that they help raise at least one hundred thousand dollars annually. She knew by heart which members were also a part of her undercover organization. They were the best, the brightest and the most capable women imaginable.

“We need someone who can move in the modeling world without raising suspicion,” she murmured, paging past several members. “Someone they would actually welcome.”

“We also need a high-profile, well-connected operative who can take care of herself. Vanessa Dawson would be ideal,” the Governess said firmly. “We’ve arranged for her to get a contract with Inside Sports magazine for the Fantasy Swimsuit edition.”

Finding Vanessa’s gorgeous picture and press information in the stack, Renee shook her head. “Vanessa left the modeling world under less than ideal circumstances,” she said. “It would take a lot to get her back into that life.”

“The stakes are high,” the Governess insisted. “Lives have been lost. The murdered models moved in circles that include some of the younger members of the old-money set. What if there is a connection between their money and the models acting as mules for the drug trade?”

What, indeed? As an heiress and bona fide member of the old-money class, nothing surprised Renee anymore. Bored people with more money than they knew what to do with were unpredictable. Renee closed her file, already imagining Vanessa back in the wild, unpredictable world she’d barely escaped. She knew Vanessa could successfully complete the assignment—but at what cost?

Chapter 1

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?

Chapter 2

Still somewhat shaken that she’d agreed to the assignment, Vanessa sat in the Gotham Rose basement consultation room, trying to concentrate on the mission file Renee had given her. She needed to have her head examined. She was committed to keeping her word, but deep inside she wanted to skip out of the room as fast as her pink suede shoes would take her. The invisible bond of her conscience was the only thing that kept her glued to the chair.

Across the table from her, Cody Mackenzie’s mere presence crowded the room. A cloud of negative vibes hovered over his head and threatened to drench everyone in the room. When he glanced her way, there was an unpleasant expression on his face. His nostrils flared and the corner of his wide mouth curled. He looked like he’d been sucking lemons. What was his problem?

Vanessa thought back on everything that had happened since Mackenzie appeared. Yes, she’d initially refused the assignment, but that was her right and she’d had good reasons. Yes, she’d weathered some emotional moments when she’d heard about poor Gena and her friend, but she’d done nothing to earn Mackenzie’s enmity.

On a large media screen at the front of the room, Renee projected pictures and provided details. Vanessa stared at the pictures of the models: both had been beaten, raped and stabbed to death. There’d been no mercy or dignity in what they had endured before death set them free.

Her eyelids stung. Balling her fists, she parted her lips and forced air into her lungs.

The next group of pictures centered on the upscale building on Ocean Drive in Miami where the models had had apartments. With the Novak sofa and chair and the Milan coffee tables in the living room, Gena’s apartment was a study in soothing blues and hardwood floors. Vanessa was certain that it had been designed and decorated by a professional.

One or more of a very different kind of professional had destroyed Gena’s apartment, too. The sofa and all the chairs in the place had been cut with a knife and viciously ripped to shreds. Someone had even taken the seats and backs off the chairs and ripped the carpet with razors. The kitchen was a mess of broken glass and china. Silverware littered the floor. Nothing in the apartment remained intact.

“They certainly found what they were looking for,” Mackenzie said roughly, breaking the stark silence.

Renee flicked her remote ahead to a picture of a clear glass container that had been glued together. The label on the front read Caribbean Mama Spice Mix.

“I imagine that this jar never held the kind of spice that goes on food,” Renee remarked dryly. “The lab analyzed the pieces of glass that formed this container and found they were coated with cocaine. It seems likely that the girls transported the cocaine into the country in spice jars like this. It’s probably not the only type of product container used. Judging by the way their apartments and belongings were searched and destroyed, the Miami Field Division, MFD, thinks the girls may have messed up the delivery somehow and gotten themselves killed. The girls had just returned from a trip to the Bahamas. They cruised regularly on yachts owned by people high up in the fashion and music industries. MFD’s not sure which boat they were on, because all their friends and associates have suddenly developed acute cases of amnesia.”

Vanessa’s throat tightened. If she’d stayed in modeling and continued everything she’d been doing, she could have been one of the victims. “So who are we after?”

As Renee clicked a new picture onto the screen, Cody spoke. “We’re after a ring headed or financed by someone in the upper echelons of society or highly placed in Miami business or in the music industry. We have more than one suspect.” He pointed to the picture on the screen. “This is Hector Guerra. He came up from the streets of Miami with a past that includes the Street Killers and 114th Avenue Boys. His club and hip-hop clothing lines have made him popular. The models attended several of his parties. His clothing lines could provide an excellent cover for transporting drugs.”

Vanessa studied the photo of the tall, lean, Latino man. Hooded brows and beautifully shaped lips dominated his golden-skinned face. He was one of the designers her sister, Michelle, adored and the type of man that would have attracted Gena.

Taye Rollins, also known as Hot T, was the man in the next photo. Renee explained that the hip-hop artist, record producer and clothing designer had come up from the Street Killers gang of Miami, and now employed former gang members, and sponsored and produced artists coming out of Miami street gangs. He’d also been spotted at several events with an entourage that included both of the models.

Vanessa owned several of Taye’s CDs. His compositions were edgy, sexy and innovative. With skin the color of warm milk chocolate, he was attractive and had a smile that pulled at something deep inside her. Could the man be that provocative in person? She doubted it.

In the next photo, Caulfield Carouthers was blond with piercing, gray eyes. Vanessa knew the publishing heir through his snobby sister, Lindy, who’d gone to high school with her. According to the file, his lifestyle and gambling habit had negatively affected his publishing empire. He hung out with people in the fast lane and had been seen with several of the other suspects. He’d also had an affair with Bianca a couple of years ago.

Vanessa was surprised when a photo of dark-haired, heavyset, pugnacious-faced movie producer Benton Lansing appeared on the screen. According to Mackenzie, Benton hung out and partied with Taye and the other suspects. His last two movies had flopped and he was trying to get funding for another. He could be trying to finance his next picture with drug money.

Last, but not least, was Garrett Sutter, the Sutter Distillery heir. Vanessa had met him and been present at a few society functions he’d also attended. He mostly kept to himself. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people had landed him on the DEA’s suspect list.

“So exactly what is my assignment?” Vanessa asked.

Renee placed the remote on the table. Calm and confident, she faced them directly. An inner fire lit her royal-blue eyes. “You’re to go to Miami with Agent Mackenzie. There, you will move into the condo complex on Ocean Drive and get to know the models on the party circuit. Find out what you can about Gena and Bianca’s activities. Your goal is to get a lead on this drug operation, work with Cody to identify its members, and get the evidence we need. Mackenzie will help photograph you and several other models for the swimsuit edition of Inside Sports.”

For the first time, Vanessa felt excited at the chance to grace the cover of Inside Sports. The assignment stoked her competitive streak. Her gaze darted to Renee. That the Governess and her contacts had managed such a coup was quite a bonus. The modeling career she’d tanked was returning with a bang.

“Agent Mackenzie, Vanessa, I know that you two have just met, but you were each considered the best we could find for this assignment. Mackenzie, your work with the DEA in Miami has been highly commended. You must also be proud to have placed your photos in various art and photography magazines.”

Mackenzie closed his briefing file. “Thank you. But now we’ve got a job to do.”

“I’d already planned to take two independent study classes in the upcoming term at school, but I’ll need at least a day to square things with my family,” Vanessa put in quickly, making a concerted effort to avoid the agent’s gaze. Still, she felt the weight of it and suppressed the impulse to explain. She didn’t owe him an explanation.

“A day or two is fine,” Renee informed them. “Vanessa, you’ll need to at least check in with Erin Branch at the MFD. Both your Inside Sports contract and the details on where you’ll be staying can be found in your file. Any questions?”

Mackenzie asked about the chain of command on and off the team.

Matter-of-factly Renee faced him. “This is a joint operation between the Gotham Roses and the DEA. You’re considered equals. Mackenzie’s supervisor at the MFD and I expect to be kept up to date on your progress. The MFD is available to provide you with any local help and backup you might need. Mackenzie, you’re still expected to follow DEA rules and procedures. We’ve already cleared your use of our technology and wardrobe for this assignment with your supervisor. Vanessa, you know our rules of operation. You’ll turn over your evidence to the MFD. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”

Renee’s statements didn’t surprise Vanessa. She’d worked alone on the last assignment. All of the women in the club’s undercover organization were trained and capable of working alone. The wild card here was Cody Mackenzie. Would he make the assignment a breeze, or become a full-blown pain in the ass?

“If there’s nothing further, Alan’s got a few gadgets for you and Kristi’s worked up a wardrobe profile and several additions for both of you.” Standing, Renee shook their hands. “Good luck.”

Down the hall from the consultation room, Alan Burke was waiting for them in his lab. His eyes sparkled as he showed Vanessa a set of press-on nails decorated with an intricate swirling crystal design.

Thinking about the nail she’d broken while sparring with Jimmy, she suppressed a smile. Alan was good at customizing his gadgets to fit his customer’s personalities and lifestyles. When Alan showed her that parts of the detailed design on the nails were actually electronic bugs that could be peeled off and stuck on various surfaces, she nodded approvingly.

Vanessa also received a slim gold-colored cell phone that functioned as a Global Positioning System device, a speaker and recorder for the bugs from the fingernails, and a gadget for opening electronic locks and accessing computer systems. Cool.

Alan opened a slim jewelry box and drew out a fourteen-carat gold watch with a detailed antique rose design on the face. “Press the side button in firmly three times in succession, and Agent Mackenzie and your backup team will know that you need help. It’s your panic button. It sends out a homing signal, too, if you only press it twice.”

“I like it.” Vanessa fitted the delicate watch onto her wrist and snapped the clasp closed. “Thanks, Alan. For everything.”

Alan drew another box from his workbench and gave it to Mackenzie. “Your watch. It does everything Vanessa’s watch does.” The watch was a Movado. As Mackenzie put it on, Alan drew another package from the alcove on his desk. Mackenzie opened the next package to reveal a 35mm camera. He eyed Alan cautiously. “A camera?”

“A camera that enables you to see in any light. It’s got built-in night vision and a few extra buttons.” Alan showed him a row of small buttons on the back of the camera. “Hit number one and your subject gets a knockout mist. Make sure you’re within two feet. Hit number two, and it shoots a paralyzing dart.”

“And number three?” Mackenzie asked, his finger close to the button.

Alan’s expression held a dare. “Press that and count to three, throw the camera as hard as you can, and run like hell!”

“A grenade?” Mackenzie’s fingers moved far away from the row of buttons.

Alan grinned. “For all intents and purposes.”

Mackenzie stepped forward to carefully place the camera back on Alan’s workbench. “This thing is some piece of work.”

Alan lifted the camera from the table, handling it carelessly. Mackenzie and Vanessa shot him incredulous looks. “The camera is quite safe to use,” Alan informed them. “There’s a safety switch along the side here,” he said, fingered a sliding bar. “None of the extra features work until you take the safety off.”

Vanessa released a sigh of relief. “Do you have any other gadgets for Agent Mackenzie?”

Alan glanced back at Mackenzie. “Not at the moment, but I’d love the chance to whip something up just for him.”

Vanessa stared. Had Alan just made a pass at Mackenzie? Hostile elements colored Mackenzie’s expression as he met Alan’s gaze.

Damn, tough break for Alan. Vanessa had instinctively known that Mackenzie was straight. She cleared her throat. “Thanks again, Alan. We’d better see what Kristi’s got for us.”

Mackenzie thanked Alan. Then he and Vanessa made their exit. Outside the room, Mackenzie rolled his shoulders and said just under his breath, “Your Alan’s got a little sugar in his tank.”

Vanessa hated all the euphemisms used to describe men like Alan. Her gaze hardened. “If you mean he’s gay, yes, but he’s never tried to force it on anyone.”

“And how would you know?”

“We don’t just work together. Alan is a friend,” she said, steel creeping into her tone.

Acknowledging her statement with a nod of his head, Mackenzie fell quiet as they made their way to Kristi’s office.

Vanessa introduced the agent to Kristi—adding that she was Alan’s sister, in case Mackenzie planned to make any more comments about him—and they sat down.

Kristi opened a leather file and drew out a list and a set of color pictures. “For this assignment I selected items that go with the clothes you have, but I tried to pump you up a little more,” she told Vanessa. “You already have fabulous instincts when it comes to fashion. This time, you want to make more of a statement and get the right kind of attention.”

Vanessa liked clothes. It was one of the things that had made her enjoy modeling. She looked at the first designer outfit. It was a slinky, sexy white DooRi wrap dress. Vanessa flipped through the rest of the file, her smile growing. Kristi had included items from a number of her favorite designers, including bustier dresses and silk camisoles from Dolce & Gabbana, classic but sexy gowns from Versace, Vera Wang, Valentino couture, Prada, Manolo Blahnik, and Jimmy Choo. Just about ready to swoon with satisfaction, she turned to Kristi.

“Thanks, I love this wardrobe!”

“I thought you would.” Kristi beamed back at her, something just short of envy in her eyes. She loved clothes just as much as Vanessa did. Sometimes the two of them went to fashion shows together.

Drawing another folder from the leather file, Kristi handed it to Mackenzie. “Agent Mackenzie, as the photographer on this project, your wardrobe makes much less of a statement. I’ve been told that you prefer casual wear. Therefore, I’ve put together a wardrobe centered on relaxed easy wear by Sean John and Fubu. For dress, I added a couple of Ralph Lauren suits, and a tuxedo from his Mister shop. For shoes, Nike Air Force Ones, Johnston & Murphy slip-ons, and Prada dress shoes. What do you think?”

“Fine by me.”

“I like the colors you chose for Agent Mackenzie,” Vanessa added. “They highlight his skin tone.”

Mackenzie looked at Vanessa with thinly veiled surprise, or perhaps annoyance. She had a feeling he didn’t appreciate her input on his wardrobe. She met his gaze squarely, intuitively aware that working with him meant she’d have to earn his respect and fight for equal footing.

But first, she’d have to loosen him up.

Chapter 3

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?

Chapter 4

Vanessa gave the French Double Slipper Tub in the master bath a longing glance as she used the chinabowl sink on top of the fancy wrought-iron stand. The inviting tub was built for two, but she saw herself relaxing in it alone with a glass of wine and scented candles.

Her face clean, she applied a fresh layer of natural-looking makeup and worked with her hair until it fell past her shoulders in artful disarray. Rummaging through her luggage, she found a white pair of slacks and a light, cotton camisole made of ragged, woven strips of colored fabric. The single gold button on the front hit just below her breasts and left a tantalizing strip of her skin bare. She spritzed it with a dash of cologne. As Vanessa stepped into a pair of Jimmy Choo print slides she added a small Jimmy Choo hobo bag.

Outside, it had grown hotter. In the interest of saving time, Vanessa took a taxi to the trendy Nemo restaurant, with its interactive food bar, dining room and other areas, including the terrace, garden and courtyard. She took a seat at the table that had been reserved in the Loggia, an environmentally controlled area that opened to the garden.

The place was filled with wrought-iron furnishings and modern hanging lamps. All around her, Miami’s beautiful denizens chatted, people watched and presumably closed deals. The menu featured several eclectic items with Asian influence. Vanessa decided on wok-charred salmon with roasted pumpkin seeds. Then she ordered a glass of chardonnay and settled in to wait for Mackenzie.

She finally spotted him striding through the entrance of the restaurant in flax-colored slacks and a short-sleeved designer print shirt. The expensive-looking digital camera he’d gotten from Alan dangled from a strap on his shoulder. Several women turned to check him out. Vanessa waved to show him where she was seated. Nodding, he approached the table.

“Sorry if I’m a little late,” he murmured as he took his seat. “I stopped by the office to take care of a few things.”

“Actually you’re right on time,” she answered, noting the way he gave her the once-over. She felt like asking, Do I pass? At least that sour look was gone from his face.

His gaze lingered on the skin left bare by her top and then fast-forwarded to her face with what seemed a determination to be businesslike. “Did you order?”

She tapped her menu with a raspberry-colored nail. “I waited for you.”

“Didn’t see anything you liked? If you’d like to go somewhere more exclusive…”

“This place is fine,” she answered in surprise. “And it’s full of models, tourists and businesspeople. Is the food bad?”

“The food is great.” The sour look returned to his face. “I just thought the place might not be up to your usual standards.”

“You think I’m a snob.” She’d spoken without thinking first, but it explained the sour expression, the curling lip in New York.

“Aren’t you?” He kept his tone even, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he didn’t like her.

“No, I’m not.” Vanessa gritted her teeth. “You don’t know me, Agent Mackenzie, so stop trying to make assumptions. My background might be different from yours, but I’ve been trained. I know what I’m doing and I’m good at it. If it’s too difficult for you to be pleasant on a personal level, try to be professional about us working together.”

Annoyance darkened his eyes as he leaned forward over the table. “The last thing I need to do my job is a bored modeling heiress trying to amuse herself by playing secret-agent games.”

Vanessa parried that comment with a smile. Mackenzie definitely had his briefs in a bunch. This was not an assignment she’d wanted and he knew it. “Apparently our bosses don’t agree. Besides, you know that I had to be convinced to even take this on.”

“True—” He was interrupted by the waitress, who had suddenly appeared at their table.

As the waitress bustled off to fill their order, Vanessa asked, “Do you know why I do what I do, Mackenzie? It’s not about being rich when so many people are poor. It’s about good and evil. Evil is kicking the shit out of good people, and if we don’t take a stand and get out and do something about it, no one’s going to be able to live on this earth.”

He pinned her with his gaze, righteousness simmering in the depths of his brown eyes. “You haven’t seen evil. Not in the world you come from. I wasn’t raised in the projects or the streets, but we were very poor. My parents scraped and worked hard for everything they got. The strong preyed on the weak. All around me people tried to escape the misery with drugs, booze and gangs. I do what I do because I understand, and I know I can make a difference.”

“And you don’t think we have the same goals?” Vanessa asked, suddenly aware of the urgency that had crept into her voice. There was no getting through to this man. Her jaw was so tight she could feel a vibration in her teeth.

Mackenzie expelled a noisy breath but didn’t answer. When his glance swept over her clothes and exposed skin once more, her hands formed fists.

“So what is your plan for this assignment?” Vanessa asked. She wasn’t going to let him distract her from her goal.

Mackenzie shrugged. “Until we get some leads, it’s pretty much talking to people and getting next to them.”

She wasn’t stupid. “Yes, but first we need to know who Gena and Bianca’s friends were and who they were hanging out with.” Listening to Mackenzie, Vanessa wished she were working this mission alone.

“You’re stating the obvious,” he said frankly.

Vanessa rolled her eyes and counted to ten. If she had to argue with him about every little thing, what good was he?

Their drinks came and Mackenzie took a long swallow out of his.

“I met Annika LeVatia, one of the other models on the shoot, as I was moving in,” she said, trying another tack. “When I told her I was concerned about being in the same building where the models had been killed, she tried to shift the blame to Gena and Bianca because they were wild, knew some bad people and had probably pissed somebody off.”

“And?” Mackenzie put his glass back on the table.

“And I got a weird vibe from her. I think she knows more. My credentials may be different from yours, Mackenzie, but I’ve got very good instincts when it comes to people.” That’s how I already know you’re a narrow-minded ass.

He perked up, drew a little notebook and ink pen from his pocket and made a few notes. “Annika has been staying there for about a year. There’s a good chance she does know something we could use. I’ll keep an eye on her, too.” His gaze turned inward. “Let me know if you come up with anything.”

Not trusting herself to say more, she sipped her chardonnay, certain she should have ordered something stronger.

Mackenzie flipped to the front of his notebook. “While I was in the office I put in some time researching and correlating the airplane trips that Gena and Bianca have taken in the past three or four months. There’s a steady pattern of visits to the Bahamas, Jamaica and the Virgin Islands. I’ve already contacted their charge card companies and ordered copies of their charges for that period.”

“Good,” she commented. “Let me know if you come up with anything.”

His head came up and their gazes locked combatively. Neither looked away until the waitress arrived with their food. It was delicious. Fortunately, Vanessa had sense enough to eat only half. The other half she had the waitress pack to go.

She watched Mackenzie eat double-chocolate cheesecake while she nibbled at fresh fruit compote. Her stomach whined. Embarrassed, she hoped he would ignore it.

Mackenzie glanced up, licking the chocolate off his full bottom lip. “Still hungry?”

She set her back against her chair, trying to convince herself that there was nothing erotic about what he was doing. “I have to watch what I eat.”

“There’s plenty here if you’d like to taste some of this,” he offered.

Sizing him up, she wondered whether he was really trying to be nice, or trying to make her feel bad about having to starve herself to stay thin for the camera. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she managed to say. She couldn’t eat any of it. Being hungry all the time was one of the things she’d hated about being a model.

Vanessa drank all her water and signaled the waitress for more. It helped fill some of the empty space in her stomach.

“When do we start shooting the swimsuit fantasies?” she asked.

“Day after tomorrow, so get some sleep.”

Inside, Vanessa bristled. Was he trying to say she looked tired?

“The shooting schedule should be in your welcome packet at the condo,” he added.

“Are you doing all of my shots?” she asked, wondering how good he was. Having been away from the industry for more than two years, she hadn’t heard of Mackenzie. Her friend Keifer Jonas, the senior photographer on the magazine project, had an excellent reputation and a portfolio to die for.

Mackenzie’s glance swept over her once more. This time it was purely professional. “I’ve got about a third of your beach and studio time. Keifer has the rest.”

“Any ideas?” She had to ask. Now that she’d come back to modeling, a lot of her future depended on the success of this magazine shoot.

“There are a couple of suits that specific designers sent down just for you. That’ll determine a lot about the setting, hair and makeup.”

Checking the food bill, she reached inside her bag for money.

“I make enough to pay for lunch,” Mackenzie snapped, reaching for the bill.

“This wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting,” she reminded him. “Loosen up, Mackenzie.” She put a fifty in the leather wallet with the bill to cover her food and glass of wine.

He dug a hundred and a twenty out of his pocket. Opening the leather wallet, he drew her fifty out and placed it on the table.

“Oh, grow up!” Vanessa pushed her chair away from the table and stood. With a clicking of her heels, she headed for the exit.

Outside, Mackenzie caught up with her. “Wait, Vanessa,” he said. “Look, somehow you bring out the worst in me.”

“I could say the same,” she shot back. In her heels, she was nearly as tall as he was. Facing him, she could feel the tension simmering between them.

“Let me drop you off,” he said, dangling a set of keys. “It’ll take a while to get a taxi.”

She wanted to say no. She’d had enough of Mackenzie, but common sense prevailed.

When he drove out of the parking lot in a metallic red BMW Z4 convertible, she was glad she’d relented. He didn’t complain when she asked him to put the top up to preserve her hairstyle, but a question still occupied her mind. Would she be able to work with him, or would she have to work around him?

* * *

Cody was nearly finished with his work in the photography studio when he got the call from Annika. There was a get-together at her complex this evening and she wanted him to come spend time with her, unwind and meet her friends. He seized the opportunity to mingle and check out the condo crowd. He wondered why Vanessa hadn’t told him about the party, but since they were still wrestling with being partners, he let it go.

At seven o’clock that evening, Cody entered Ocean Air, the complex’s restaurant. The buzz of conversation filled the place. It had been decorated to resemble a deck on a cruise ship with oak paneling everywhere and large, port-hole-shaped windows offering breathtaking views of the ocean. Several people sat on lounge furniture and captains’ chairs off to one side of the restaurant and bar. The rest stood in convenient spots and talked while holding drinks.

Cody waded into the crowd of residents that included corporate executives, lawyers, a couple of B-list movie stars and several models. He was glad he’d worn the more expensive Sean John outfit. The dress was mostly business casual, but it was the high-quality designer stuff.

He scanned the faces for people they’d discussed at the briefing and saw none. He didn’t see Vanessa, either. Annika was deep in conversation with two women on the far side of the room. As he started toward her, one of the models latched on to his arm and started chattering in his ear about the magazine shoot.

Annika spotted him and came to meet him. Her effusive hug and the quick hello kiss that followed were enough to send the other model on her way.

She didn’t know him that well, but Cody took it all in stride. He knew that Annika had been pushing for input on which of her photos would be used in the magazine. So far, she’d been unsuccessful, but she was a determined lady. She was beautiful, with long legs, enhanced breasts and green eyes, but Cody was unaffected. Working with some of the world’s most beautiful women on the magazine shoot had made him more discerning in what he wanted in a woman. Annika had a hard edge beneath her beauty that prompted him to examine everything she said and did.

Annika drew him over to the other side of the room and introduced him to her friends Sharon, Tasha and Toni. Toni, an exotic dancer, was the only one who wasn’t a model. She had a lush, sexy body that was centerfold material. Cody avoided staring.

The conversation started with the modeling business and moved on to music. Annika made sure that some part of her touched him at all times, and when she started talking about a “smaller gathering” in her condo, he knew what was up.

Cody had been seated for a good half hour before he saw Vanessa. The crystals on her pants sparkled in the light as she stood and talked to a Latino guy. As if she felt his gaze, she looked across the room and saw him. He suppressed a grin at the momentary flash of annoyance on her face. Then he put in a controversial comment about the rapper 50 Cent and used the resulting distraction in the form of arguments from the group to give him time to watch Vanessa ditch the Latino guy and make her way across the room.

Annika waved to Vanessa as she approached, then introduced Vanessa to her friends. When she presented Cody, Vanessa explained casually that she already knew Cody and that he was doing some of her photo shots, too.

Annika put a possessive hand on Cody’s arm. “We’re going up to my condo in a little bit to socialize,” she announced. “Want to come? You can bring a date.”

Speculation lit Vanessa’s eyes. Cody wondered if she thought she was being invited to a wild party or an orgy.

Vanessa inclined her head. “Sure, I’ll tag along. I’ll stop by my place on the way and get some champagne.”

As the group chatted about vacations, the Latino man wandered over. Vanessa had her date.

After a while, the crowd started to thin and then the group left for Annika’s condo. Along the way, Annika’s friends found companions and reduced the ratio of men and women to half and half.

Annika’s condo was built pretty much like Vanessa’s, but the colors and the furniture were different. Annika’s condo had lacquered Asian furniture and splashes of red throughout. Chinese rugs covered most of the hardwood floor in each room she passed.

Everyone sat in the entertainment room, which also served as the living room and dining room. Annika had used room service to order more appetizers. She drew several bottles of wine from a rack on the counter area in the kitchen. Vanessa placed her bottle of Cristal champagne with the others. The bar in the entertainment room was stocked with virtually everything else.

With a charming Spanish accent, Estevan, the criminal lawyer she’d met downstairs spoke to Vanessa about his legal exploits. One of his clients was big in the Mafia and was on trial for ordering a hit on a rival. What began as an interesting conversation turned boring as he began to repeat himself. Vanessa tried to change the subject, but he only wanted to talk about himself.

Several exchanges were going on at once. One couple was openly making out in a corner of the room, another couple was out on the terrace, smoking a joint. When Estevan palmed Vanessa’s breast and tried to put his tongue down her throat, she pushed him away and asked him to take it slow. Two minutes later he was grabbing her ass as she reached for her glass. She lost it—one backward jab of her elbow to his chest and he was coughing and gasping for breath.

“Would you like some water?” she asked in a voice made to sound concerned. She was glad when Estevan declined and left her to join the group out on the terrace. Across the room, she caught Mackenzie watching her. He looked amused. Apparently he’d seen the whole thing.

Scanning the room, she saw that everyone was engaged one way or another. It was the perfect time to check Annika’s condo. She stood and casually walked to the kitchen.

The room had been decorated in the zen fusion style, which Vanessa remembered meant beautiful materials simply used to transmute the ordinary into quiet grace. There was a stainless-steel refrigerator, matching stainless steel oven and a hardwood floor. Dark granite covered the counters.

Opening a honey-colored hardwood cabinet, Vanessa scanned the contents. It was filled with strawberry, vanilla and chocolate diet drinks, diet soda and enough powdered shake mix to last a month. Vanessa understood what she was looking at; she’d gone to the grocery store this morning and now her own cupboards looked like Annika’s.

The opposite kitchen cabinet was filled with every kind of vitamin imaginable, as well as a number of diet drugs and medicines to clean out the body. So far nothing seemed unusual.

Reaching up, Vanessa opened the small center cabinet and stared. Front and center among the spices was a clear glass bottle with a label that read “Caribbean Mama Spice Mix.”

Her pulse sped up and she suddenly felt hot and sweaty despite the air-conditioned room. She tore off a sheet of paper towel and, securing the bottle, opened it and poured about half a teaspoonful on to the paper towel. It certainly looked like spice. Folding it carefully into a packet, she slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. Then she closed the jar. As she placed it back in the cabinet, she heard a noise behind her.

“What are you doing?” someone asked in an indignant voice.

Startled, Vanessa shrieked. The cabinet banged shut. She turned to find Annika standing in the kitchen doorway, glaring at her.

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