The Charmers: A Novel(40)

He’d taken care of business. No “funny business,” mind you. Just done as he’d been asked: drugged the girl, got her into the bunker. What the Boss did with her after that had nothing to do with him.

Duty done, the Russian liked to say to himself, metaphorically washing his hands of whatever nefarious business he had just completed, by request, of course. For himself, he did not care. What he did care about was the money, and now that the Boss was in so deep, he’d decided it was time he collected more. “Enough is never enough,” was the Boss’s own motto. Now it was to become the Russian’s.

He stood in back of the bar, unobserved. People were watching the fireworks shooting through the night in starbursts and shimmers. The party sounded like a battlefield.

He noticed that the doctor was back, and with Mirabella, who stood out amongst the partygoers in jeans and what looked like a pajama top.

He stamped out the cigarette and waited to see what would go down now that the doc and the girlfriend were here. He looked around but the Boss had disappeared. Seemed like a friggin’ disappearing act tonight; everybody was doing it.

He took the crushed pack of Marlboros from his back pocket, shook one out, and with a hand cupped over his old Zippo, lit up again. In his waiter’s apron, he fit into the scene perfectly. Nobody would suspect a guy who’d been offering them drinks from a tray all night. That straight-up Colonel, smart-ass that he was, would be looking for a proper kidnapper, a robber with a swag-bag over his shoulder—or else a girl over his shoulder. Easy enough; she hadn’t weighed much. Too skinny for his taste, though obviously not the Boss’s.

Well, his work was done. Payment would, as usual, be deposited in his bank account, anonymously of course. He’d work for the rest of the evening, serve them drinks, act normal. And see what happened next.





31

The Colonel

Holding Mirabella’s gloved hand in his, the Colonel had to admit he did not have his entire mind on her supposedly missing friend. He was enjoying holding her hand, though he did wonder about the gloves; some sort of affectation he guessed, or perhaps it was just that her nails were the wrong color for her dress, or any one of a number of feminine reasons. Women were a mystery in themselves, and now this one was insisting her friend had disappeared.

The Colonel had been to many a grand party; he knew that drink—or too much of it anyhow—could loosen morals just a little bit; that a young woman might find herself in an inappropriate situation, sometimes even dangerous. He hoped this was not the case with Verity, though he doubted that at such an elegant event anything like that could have taken place. The Boss had his own security, his men were everywhere, or had been earlier, though he saw none of them around right this minute. Still, they were under the Boss’s orders and would do as he asked.

“I’m so worried about her,” Mirabella was saying as they walked through the party crowd to the strip of darkness around the edge, where all light ended.

The Colonel did not let go of her hand. “I think she might have had a little too much to drink. It happens at parties, especially when the champagne is flowing. Trust me, nothing could have happened to her.”

“Not here, you mean?” Mirabella stopped. She turned to look at him and took his other hand in hers.

Like a lover would, the Colonel found himself thinking. He caught a hint of her scent on the soft breeze that later would become a strong wind. He knew that because he’d heard the weather forecast. He hoped it would not be strong enough to take down any of the beautiful tents covering the buffets and the bars erected on the terraces and along the beach.

He was a man faithful to the memory of the woman he’d loved above all others. This was the first time she had not come foremost in his thoughts. Mirabella’s scent, her warm gloved hand in his, even the giant sapphire ring that cut into him when he gripped tighter, made him want to hold onto her.

Mirabella threw him a quick upward glance, a practiced look to be sure, because obviously he wasn’t the first attractive man she’d flirted with, and even under dire circumstances, she was still a flirt at heart.

“You will find her for me, Colonel,” she said, resting her head for a moment against his shoulder.

“I promise,” he said. And he meant it.





32

Mirabella

I was back in my room, alone. Again. The story of my life. The Colonel had gone with Chad to search for my friend. Oh God, oh God, let her be alright. Selfish me, I was thinking only of how I was affected, when my poor darling lovely Verity was gone. Please oh please come home.…

It’s odd, how I think of the Villa Romantica as home now. It had been home to my aunt, and before her to Jerusha, the woman who’d built it, who had poured her love, her happiness, her very soul into it, only to be forced to leave.

I decided that needed air. I went out and walked a short way along the beach. And then I saw the Boss.

He was standing by an odd, square, dark building. In his black turtleneck and pants he almost blended into the background. The man who had everything looked very much alone. Wasn’t great wealth said to make you lonely, afraid of friendship because of who might want something from you, who might want to get their hands on your money, to invest in their scheme, or buy a diamond necklace? I thought about going over to talk to him, but he walked quickly away and disappeared.