Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(69)

“Wait. Wait,” he’d said. “Not like that. Just take some pictures for me. $500 for some pictures.”

At that point, she’d turned around, fixing him with her almost-black eyes before dropping them to the smart phone in his outstretched hand.

“What kind of…pictures?”

“Not of you. Of someone else. Someone attending this wedding.”

“Show me the money,” she’d said suspiciously, looking over her shoulder to be sure the catering manager wasn’t nearby. As much as she didn’t love waitressing, she couldn’t afford to lose these jobs either.

He’d quickly pulled out his wallet and shown her the neat row of $100 bills.

“Pictures of who?” she’d asked.

“There’s a man coming here tonight. Brother of the bride. Man by the name of Christopher Winslow. You heard of him?”

Julianne shrugged. Sure, she’d heard his name on the radio or TV, maybe. He was in politics or running for office or something. He was white and blonde and though he was about the handsomest man she’d ever seen, he also looked posh and superior—like someone who’d barely give an Indian like her the time of day.

“He’s not a good man,” black-hat had continued, sweeping his beady eyes over Julianne’s face. “He’s…he’s, um, he’s racist!”

Julianne had stiffened as though on command, her eyes blazing.

From an early age she’d witnessed the racial struggle between the Indians on her reservation and the white men and women in the border towns. Black-hat had hit a nerve and she took a step closer to him, her blood boiling at the thought of a closet racist being elected to any position of power or authority.

“What do you need?” she asked through clenched teeth.

The man had scrambled in his pocket for something, pulling out a small, clear, plastic baggie and passing it to Julianne who shoved it quickly in her pocket.

“That’s Rohypnol. Put two tablets in his drink. It’ll knock him out completely in a little less than half an hour, which means you’ll have twenty minutes to take him somewhere quiet.”

“I’m not going to—”

“No. You don’t have to do anything with him. In fact, you don’t even have to get your face in the pictures. Just take some compromising shots, you know? His hand on your leg, a couple bottles of booze surrounding him. Loosen up his tie and mess up his hair. Lipstick on his collar. He’s rich, you know? And good-looking. He’s been able to present himself as this paragon of virtue, but he’s not. He’s not a good man. Just make him look…you know—”

“Bad.”

“Bad,” confirmed the man with a satisfied smirk.

“Expose him,” she whispered passionately. “Ruin him.”

Black-hat nodded. “Exactly.”

She nodded, the idea of playing some small part in ruining this terrible man felt like a responsibility, suddenly—like her duty. Her mind skittered back to the wad of bill in the man’s wallet and she wished she could do it for free, but the $500 would help cover her rent for the next two months.

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

The man passed the phone to Julianne with a brief nod. “I’ll be here—right here by the dumpster—at ten o’clock. I’ll wait ten minutes. If you’re not here, I’ll assume the deal’s off and I’ll leave.”

She’d placed the phone in her uniform pocket, next to the tablets. Looking up, she’d searched Black-hat’s eyes, looking for reassurance. She didn’t find it. She didn’t find anything. His eyes were dark and cool and closed, which gave her misgivings.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know he’s bad?”

The man smirked at her as he started backing away.

“Show me your friends and I’ll show you who you are,” he said. “You’re about to meet some really choice, elitest *s, sweetheart.”

Brooks Brothers’ mean smirk flashed through her mind. Well, he’d certainly been right about that.

“Jules?” said Joe, snapping her thoughts back to the present. “You need anything else?”

She looked down at the now-full tray, her eyes alighting on the double shot of Dewar’s that she was going to take to Christopher Winslow.

“No,” she said, pulling the tray to the edge of the bar and slipping the tablets discreetly into the scotch as soon as Joe turned around to start on another order of drinks. She swirled the alcohol with her finger, watching the tablets start to dissolve. “I’ve got this covered.”