The Charmers: A Novel(41)

Chad had told me he didn’t think the Boss was a man who would accept scandal without fighting back. In his opinion the offer of a million dollars to find Verity was the Boss’s grand gesture, meant to divert attention, even suspicion, from him and any of his guests. He was not about to allow himself to be publicly tainted by that image. Women did not go missing at his villa.

I reached for the coolness of my pearls against my skin, and realized they were gone. I thought quickly back to my movements, remembered when I had tripped and almost fallen, and Chad had hauled me back onto my feet. They must have slipped off then. They were so long, they could easily have gotten lost. They were probably right there now, on the grass in front of the Boss’s villa.

I’d promised Chad I would behave myself and stay in my own villa but I wanted my pearls. And I wanted to speak with Chad. I immediately tried his mobile but got no answer. Not that I’d expected one; of course he would have turned it off. Nothing like an earsplitting blast of music on your cell phone to alert anyone to your presence, a bit like “La Marseillaise” on my own doorbell. Got to get that changed. A snatch of Beethoven perhaps, like that which was now soaring loudly over the sea from massive speakers, accompanying the fireworks.

I suddenly realized I was all alone. No one even knew I was here. No one knew where Verity had gone either. Scared, I ran back to my villa, shut the door, and locked it. And then I heard the sound outside the open window.

I refused to be afraid of shadows. I strode to that window, snatched back the cream linen curtain and … nothing. Simply a curtain blowing in the breeze from an open window was all it had been. Only thing is, I had not left that window open.

Somebody had been out there. Someone had been here in my room. Maybe he’d waited for Chad to leave, for the noise of the fireworks to cover my screams. Somebody wanted to kill me, I’d felt it before, now I knew it was true.

But why? I was no threat to anybody. I was merely a writer of detective novels, I didn’t know about real crime, or real criminals. Mine were simply characters I invented and therefore over whom I had complete control. I had no control over whoever it was that had taken my Verity, and who now was after me.

I wished desperately that Chad would come back.

Angry with myself for being afraid, I tugged my jeans back on, buttoned the pajama top, and tied my sneakers. I would go look for Chad. For Verity. For the Colonel. The Boss. Anyone at all. Just someone to help me.





33

The Boss

The Boss thought the timing was perfect. The fireworks would end in approximately five minutes, when the music would change from Beethoven to a Chopin piano etude, soft and sentimental, stopping guests in their tracks as they whispered about the missing girl. Very few of them had left the party, all wanting to know what was going to happen, and about the million-dollar reward. Now he was about to show them.

He had never been a man that sought the limelight. Out of necessity because of his business practices and his sexual desires, both of which sailed a little too close to the wind, he had kept his private life private. Now though, he saw an opportunity to become a man to be reckoned with, a man whose name would be on everybody’s lips. He was about to save Verity’s life. The allure of becoming a hero won out over his desire to torture and kill Verity. That would come later.

He had dismissed the black-T-shirted guards, sent them around to the front of the villa to keep an eye on any departing guests. “See if anything’s up,” he’d said. “See if Verity’s come back.” He’d even mentioned it to the Colonel, who was parading around like he was the star of this show, looking solemn and concerned, speaking on the phone to the chief of police, asking for even more men than the half dozen already sent to help in the search. The Boss allowed no one back here, though. They were told this area was off-limits. This was his home, his private place. The Colonel respected that.

Back at the bunker, he pressed the electronic button that slid the section of wall with the ivy to one side. He took his key from the niche and opened the door.

The place was in semi darkness, only one lamp lit. The giant TV screen that took up almost the whole wall was on, though the sound was muted. It was showing an old Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy movie. To any unsuspecting visitor, all would look normal. Unless, that is, they stepped behind that large TV screen and into his world.

He’d had this room designed by a Hollywood movie decorator, telling him he was going to use it for a TV program. The walls were covered in padded black silk, studded with inch-thick bullet-shaped silver nuggets. The ceiling was black too, but when he pressed the remote it slid back to reveal a smoky mirror, edged all around with a thin strip of lights. The custom-made bed looked simple enough, though extra large. The sheet covering it was a deep burgundy and it was piled with long pillows, where right now Verity’s blond head rested.

She was, of course, still “asleep.”

He stood for a while, watching her. Her complete vulnerability gave him a thrill. He could do anything he wanted, touch her, feel her warmth, smell her secret woman scent.… But he wanted none of that. He had decided that now Verity was to be used for a different purpose. Her role would be amplified.

He checked the monitors that showed the grounds immediately outside the bunker. The shadows were deep and for a second he thought he saw a movement under the jacaranda tree. He pressed the pause button, stared hard at that area. The wind had gotten up and all the trees were bending under it. He saw no one there.