Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(73)

She caught sight of Paul Boudreau walking toward her and Ethan moved back into the shadows. “I hope you’re enjoying the party.”

“It’s lovely,” Val said.

“If you wouldn’t mind, there are some people I’d like you to meet. They’re curious about the woman who, without the least modeling experience, managed to snag the title of Miss La Belle. A woman who has managed to do a terrific job despite difficult circumstances.”

“Thank you.”

She cast Ethan a quick glance over her shoulder but let Boudreau guide her into the throng of guests around the pool. Pasting a smile on her face, she settled into doing the job she was getting paid for.





Ethan moved off through the crowd, giving Val the chance to work the crowd with Boudreau. His crew was on-site. He made a round to check security, talked to Joe Posey, then Sandy Sandowski, checked in with Walt Wizzy, and Pete Hernandez.

“Latham has things running like clockwork,” Pete said. The bruise on his jaw had faded to a dull yellow. He’d recovered from his concussion and the doc had pronounced him fit. “I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“Good, let’s hope it stays that way.”

He caught sight of Beau Desmond and walked in that direction. “Any problems?”

Desmond shook his head, his silver earrings glinting in the soft light illuminating the patio. “The place is secured like Fort Knox. Nobody’s getting in here tonight.”

“What about the catering staff? The valets? The servers? They all been vetted?”

“Latham’s own people handled that. Latham insisted and Carlyle agreed. I haven’t seen any problems.”

Unease filtered through him. Much as he disliked Desmond, he trusted him to do his job, part of which was doing background checks on the staff.

Ethan glanced around, saw the blond Russian model, Katerina Stoyanov, talking to Julian Latham, saw Carmen speaking to Mrs. Boudreau. The two women put their heads together and Mrs. Latham laughed. Carmen left her there and started toward the house. She paused next to Val, said something, and the pair continued on together.

He’d been given a layout of the mansion. There were fourteen bathrooms, the biggest in the private spa in the wing closest to the pool, clearly the women’s destination. What was it about females that they couldn’t go to the head by themselves?

He spotted Meg, now talking to Julian and Caralee, looked for Dirk, but didn’t see him. Just to be safe, he fell in a distance behind Val and Carmen, then positioned himself in the outside corridor next to the bathroom door to wait for them to come out.

After what felt like ten long minutes, he checked his watch, found it had only been five. Women, he thought. In the last few weeks, he’d been around enough females to last him a lifetime.

A pretty, dimpled face appeared in his imagination, but he forced it aside. He’d deal with his feelings for Val when the time came.

He looked back at his watch. What the hell were they doing in there?

He started to knock on the door, which he knew would cause female hysterics, looked up to see Dirk striding toward him down the hall with a hard look on his face.

“What is it?”

“It’s not good, Ethan. Looks like we’ve got a hostage situation.”

Ethan looked at the bathroom door and his body turned to ice.





Chapter Twenty-Eight



“You two women. Get over there and sit in front of the door. If they try to shoot their way in, you’ll be the ones who get killed. Do it now!”

Val watched in horror as Carmen and Ursula scurried forward and sat down on the white marble floor, their backs against the eight-foot bathroom door. The room was huge, all white marble with gold nozzles and gilded molded ceilings. There were three separate toilet stalls and a mirrored dressing table that seemed half a block long.

The bathroom was part of a private spa with a steam room, a Jacuzzi, a nail and hair parlor, even a massage table.

A noise started in the distance. The rumble of a helicopter descending over the house kicked Val’s wildly speeding pulse up another notch.

“You! Get over here by the phone.” He was in his mid-twenties, tall and thin to the point of gaunt, with longish brown hair and very pale blue eyes. If Val could see his forearm beneath the sleeve of his coat, she could be certain it was Byron Mahler, but deep down she already knew.

He was pointing at Amarika, who stood in front of the mirror, shaking all over. Beneath her ebony skin, her features actually looked pale.

“The police are going to call,” the man said. “When they do, you’re going to answer. You understand?” He’d been waiting when she and Carmen walked in, had shoved them into a corner with Amarika and Ursula, who were already inside the spa.

“Yes . . .” Amarika’s voice shook, but she moved over to the phone, stood stock-still as the man’s pale eyes slid over her. His short white jacket and the black pants he wore matched those worn by the valets and serving people, exactly how Mahler had managed to gain access to Latham’s private party.

Val thought of Ethan and fought not to tremble. Ethan would be frantic by now. She amended that: Ethan would be calmly, fiercely in control. And he would do whatever it took to save them.

She held on to the thought as she looked at the man pointing a big black semiautomatic pistol directly at her heart. She wondered if the knife he had used to kill Mandy Gee was the one stuffed into the top of his pants, and a tremor ran down her spine.