Glitter Baby (Wynette, Texas #3)(109)

“The factory was crawling with guards. Alexi had no reason to suspect the samples were here.”

“You know what your problem is? You don’t think!” As he came toward her, the pocket of his sweatshirt hit the edge of the counter, and she heard a loud thunk. For the first time she noticed that one side of the garment hung down farther than the other. He immediately shoved his hand in the pocket.

She set the receiver back on its hook. “What do you have?”

“What do you mean?”

Something prickled at the base of her spine. “In your pocket. What is it?”

“Pocket? My keys.”

“What else?”

He shrugged. “A twenty-two automatic.”

She looked at him blankly. “A what?”

“A gun.”

“Are you crazy?” She charged toward him. “You brought a gun in here! In my house? Do you think this is one of your movies?”

His gaze was steady and unrepentant. “No apologies. I didn’t know what I’d find when I walked in.”

Out of nowhere, she found herself thinking about a little girl with yellow ducks on her shirt and a massacre. A creeping fear she absolutely did not want to let in pummeled at the door of her consciousness.

“Stay here while I throw on some clothes,” he said as he left the kitchen.

Every instinct she possessed told her that Jake could never have taken part in an atrocity, not even in the middle of a war. But her brain wasn’t as easily persuaded. She wished she’d never let him back into her life. Even with everything she knew about him, she was once again letting him burrow under her defenses.

By the time he reappeared, the white roses had arrived.

His face set in grim lines. “That son of a bitch.”

“The good news is that he doesn’t seem to have figured out his plans went awry.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” He picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. “Michel, it’s Jake. I’m heading for the hotel with Wonder Woman and your collection. I’ll tell you the whole story when I see you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said when he hung up. “I can handle this.”

“Humor me.”

The men arrived, and Jake did everything but frisk them before he let them in the house. He kept guard as they loaded up the racks, then rode in the back of the truck with her to the hotel. When they got there, he stood off to the side, but he never let her out of his sight, and once she saw his hand creep into the pocket of his parka. Although he tried to look inconspicuous, it wasn’t long before one of the hotel workers recognized him, and he was soon surrounded by autograph seekers shoving everything from packing slips to parking tickets in front of him to sign. She knew how much he hated this kind of public attention, but he stayed where he was until all the racks were set up.

After that, she didn’t see him for a while, but each time she decided he’d finally gone home, she’d catch a glimpse of him lounging in the shadows by a stairwell or a service entrance, a ball cap pulled low on his head. His presence comforted her, and she didn’t like that. Once this was over, she needed to have a long, hard talk with herself.

In the midst of all the backstage chaos, she made herself exude a confidence she didn’t feel. So much depended on what happened during the next few hours. There had been an overwhelming demand for invitations, so they were showing the collection twice, both early and mid-afternoon. Each model had a separate dress rack with all her pieces arranged in order, along with the proper accessories. Customarily the racks were set up the day before, but since Fleur wouldn’t let the dresses out of her safekeeping until that morning, everything had to be organized in very little time. There were last-minute hunts for missing accessories and a nearly disastrous mix-up with shoes, all of it accompanied by dark glances in her direction. In the meantime, a camera crew set up to videotape the collection for boutiques and department stores.

An hour before the first show, Fleur changed into the dress she’d brought along. It was one of the first pieces Michel had designed for her—a lacquer-red sheath with a center slit that ran from her neck to breasts, and another that descended from above the knee to the mid-calf hem. Beaded jet butterflies perched on one shoulder, and miniature versions sat on the toes of her red satin heels.

Kissy appeared at her side backstage, looking pale and tense. “This was the worst idea you ever had. It’ll never work. I think I’m running a temperature. I bet I’ve got the flu. I know I do.”

“You have butterflies. Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine.”

“Butterflies! These are not butterflies, Fleur Savagar. These are giant turkey buzzards.”

Fleur hugged her, then went out to mingle with the crowd filling the ballroom. By the time she’d finished talking to fashion editors and posing for photographers, the ends of her fingers had gone numb from nerves. She took the small gilt chair that had been reserved for her near the front of the runway and squeezed Charlie Kincannon’s hand.

He leaned over and whispered, “I’ve been eavesdropping, and I’m getting worried. People think Michel’s designs will be froufrou, whatever that means.”

“It means he makes women look like women, and the fashion press doesn’t know how to deal with that, but they’ll come around.” She wished she felt as confident as she sounded, but the truth was that any new designer who thumbed his nose at current fashion trends was in danger of being slaughtered by the powerful fashion arbiters. Michel was the new kid on the block in a tough, territorial neighborhood. The Women’s Wear Daily reporter looked hostile, and Fleur understood exactly what Kissy meant about turkey buzzards.