Vampire Bodyguard, page 10
Bill stood and capped her hand with his, bringing her actions to a halt. “Don’t bother. The schedule could change. If all goes as planned tonight, we might only have one stop. You’ll need to find a phone booth and call in for updated instructions. Your first contact will hand you a matchbox. Take it.”
“Roger that.” Her weak smile indicated Madelyn was leery of this arrangement. “What’s the first stop? I can ask, can’t I?”
Bill rubbed his temples as if fending off a migraine. “Cocoanut Grove.”
“Beat me, daddy, eight to the bar!” Madelyn leapt in delight. “I’ve been dying to go.” She glanced at Rory. “We’ll have a blast! The bebop there is divine.”
Rory had no idea what Madelyn was talking about, but he loved the look on her face.
“Maddy!” Bill’s expression turned sour. “This isn’t a New Year’s Eve party. Be professional or—”
“Or what?” Madelyn pouted. “You’ll find another girl to do this? I thought that was the plan all along.”
“There’s not going to be another girl,” Bill said with conviction.
Alarmed, Madelyn stammered, “B-but we decided—”
Bill’s fat hand slapped the desk. “We decided nothing. I do all the deciding here!”
Her face blanched. “No. Bill, you promised that if I did this one last favor, you would help me get back into the studios. Come on, I’ve been square with you. Make some calls. I’m so ready.”
Bill stood, wandered to an end table stacked with magazines, and sorted through them. He picked up a glossy movie rag with a dramatically lit black-and-white photo of Joan Crawford on the cover, and held it in front of Madelyn’s face. “Maddy, I’m not the reason you’re not getting hired.” He fanned the pages. “The American dream belongs to the corn belt and people in little towns you never heard of. They live dull but decent lives, or at least say they do, and they all believe in God the Father. If they have skeletons in their closet, they’re smart enough to lock the door. You’re gorgeous, Maddy, you can sing, act, and dance like nobody’s business, but no one in this town is willing to risk a million-dollar movie budget on a Mexican girl with a bastard child, who earns on her back. Word’s out. Everyone knows. No freckle-faced teenager in Salt Lake City can identify with you, and the studios will never reward you. Face it, sweetheart, it’s never going to happen, so be grateful for what has come your way.” Looking sullen, Bill waved Madelyn away. “Now go to the car and wait. I need a word with Mr. Ravenscroft.”
Madelyn froze. Her voice shook. “Who told? When?”
Bill returned to his desk and sat with a graceless plop that made the leather seat cushion wheeze. “What matters is it’s already done. The problem will be dealt with. I’m just letting you know why I will not be asking any favors from studio heads. You’re untouchable now, and that can’t be changed.”
Madelyn’s lips parted in shock, but through an act of sheer will that left her hands clenched in fists, she managed to hold her tongue. Explosive tension built that threatened to detonate and shatter the windows. Tense moments passed, and a deep exhalation later, she turned and sauntered out of the room with the snowy scarf billowing behind her.
He’d just witnessed Bill being a total bastard, and took note. The sooner he left this place, the better. After that poisonous rant, maybe it wouldn’t be so tough to convince Madelyn to come with him. He didn’t want to stay, but he waited to hear what Bill had to say.
Madelyn slammed the penthouse door on her way out.
Bill flinched and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. “I had to say it. Everyone else is. It’s time she knew. There’re no secrets in this town. That slob, Walter, her so-called manager, got drunk and told everyone her business at the RKO cantina. Now she’s damaged goods. Maybe some chorus line work here and there, but she’ll never get a lead role, not now. Maddy’s too big a risk.”
So, Madelyn had a child; all the more reason for her to leave. Somehow it was so easy to picture her as a mother; not the way she was in the penthouse, but how she had treated him so sweetly at the pool. Considering Hollywood’s general lack of morality, what made Madelyn such a commercial risk? Being part Mexican, an unwed mother, a prostitute, or all of the above? What a bunch of hypocrites these guys were.
Rocking in his big, padded boss’s chair, Bill’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I don’t like the look on your face. This is reality. Hollywood is about making money off other people’s fantasies. If it’s not going to work, it doesn’t work. Do you have a million dollars to risk on a film that will get picketed by sign-wielding moralists and dogged with bad press? I didn’t think so. Don’t judge me. I’ll make sure Madelyn walks away with something. I’m buying that girl an avocado orchard with a nice house on it.”
“Is that what she wants?”
“Yeah, so she says. It’s a little early, she wanted it in her forties not in her twenties, but Walter has a loose mouth, and you can’t put toothpaste back in the tube. There’s life after Hollywood, you can ask my mistress in San Pedro about that. She’s a landlady now. I set her up with a swank apartment building with an ocean view. Steady income. Instead of kids, she’s got these four teeny tiny poodles that look like dirty cotton balls and yip all fucking night long if someone so much as sneezes. The spoiled bastards have gold engraved nametags on their collars and get fed from the palm of her hand. They’re a pain in ass, but she loves them.”
Rory remained at attention with his thoughts churning. “Is that all you wanted to say to me?”
“No.” Bill’s gaze snapped to focus. “I’m just starting on you. Tonight is a little test.” His hands rose. “Actually, it’s a big test. I’ve never worked with anyone....” He paused. “Like you. I’m in the process of overhauling my entire business. That means rethinking what I do and how I do it, but most important of all, who I do it with. There’s going to be a change of personnel around here, and that means some lucky soul is in for a golden opportunity.”
Where was this going?
“Ravenscroft, this is your audition, and if you handle it well, if I find I can work with your sort, this could be your big break.”
My sort? Was this a class slur against an Irish longshoreman, or did Bill suspect he was a vampire? Even as he said it, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “What do I have to do?”
With a glimmer in his eye, Bill leaned closer. “Follow your instincts.”
What the hell did that mean? Maybe Bill did know? “You might want to be more specific.”
Another joyless smile lifted the edges of Bill’s crocodile-like mouth. “When I look in your eyes, I know what I’m looking at. When the situation arises, you’ll know exactly what to do.”
Not specific enough. This guy was going to be disappointed if he was looking for a new deputy. He had zero interest in working for someone else. This conversation was skewing to a weird angle. How could Bill possibly know he was a vampire?
“If someone gets in the way or you see someone do something wrong, I don’t care who, you have my permission to follow your instincts and do what you feel needs to be done. As long as it’s justified, it won’t harm your standing with me in the least. As I said, I’m looking to switch out some key personnel.”
What did this guy know about his instincts? “Mr. Boven, I’m unclear about what you expect.”
“I expect I’ll learn to trust you. We could be a powerful team. I demand respect, but I reward generously. Know that I have friends working at police HQ and even the city morgue; there’s a guy there named Alonso who’s always ready to help. While in my employ, if a problem should rear its ugly head, the north side of Griffith Park is a great place to dump it. Hell, I heard they might make it official and just put a huge cemetery there someday with angel statues and shit like that.”
Angel statues and shit like that. This guy was assuming he needed the money badly enough to kill, and why would he think that? “It sounds like you’re tired of someone. Instead of making me guess who you want rubbed out, why not just say it?”
“Whoa.” With a raised palm, Bill pantomimed pushing the last comment away. “Rubbed out? Look, everybody, we got the new James Cagney over here. Did I say that? I would never give an order directing anyone to break the law. I think you might have misunderstood.”
He was certain he hadn’t. What sort of game was this? Could it be Madelyn that Bill had tired of? If it was, it might give him the leverage to spirit her away from the cesspool she was trapped in.
“Like I said, if something happens and your instincts get triggered, feel free to act. That’s all I’m saying.” Bill dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a monogrammed gold key fob, with a diamond-embellished B on it, the kind displayed inside a glass case of a nice jewelry store. “It’s the blue Packard, third parking stall. That’s a custom paint job.” He lifted his hand and displayed a chunky gold pinkie ring set with a glittering square-cut sapphire the size of a penny. “I had the paint matched to my birthstone, so bring my baby home without any scratches. Got it?” The keys were handed to Rory slowly and carefully, instead of being tossed.
Rory examined the fancy key fob. What was up? He was literally being trusted with the keys to Bill’s kingdom: Madelyn and the Packard, which sounded like a damn fine car.
Bill waited until he regained Rory’s attention. “Be kind to Maddy. You’re the only one who can offer a comforting word. She won’t listen to my condolences, and she’s gotta be feeling like shit right now. Keep a close eye on her and don’t let her do anything rash.”
In Bill’s world, what was considered rash? Hope was the last thing anyone wanted to let go of, and she’d just had it snatched out of her arms and dashed to the floor. “Has she ever threatened to harm herself?”
“No,” Bill grumbled. “Maddy’s not that kind of girl. She’s a strong one, and she’ll get over it.”
She might get over it, but he doubted she’d ever forget. Resentment built. They were alone in the penthouse. If the mood struck, he could lunge across the desk, grab Bill by the throat, and snap it. So why wasn’t he acting on his instincts?
With an outstretched hand, Bill crooked his fingers and made a give-me motion. “Ravenscroft, hand me your gun. I’ll put it my safe.”
“I don’t carry a gun, sir.”
“Are you sure?” A smirk crossed Bill’s lips. “I’m asking for your own good.” He unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk and reached for a parcel wrapped in a chamois cloth. He set it on the desktop with a heavy thud, unwrapped it, and pushed a long-barreled black pistol toward Rory. “This one’s clean. Serial numbers filed off, and untraceable. If you do find yourself in need of firepower”—and he wouldn’t because his preferred form of attack involved a sharp set of fangs—“use this one and get rid of it pronto. Preferably in a large body of water. The ocean or a city reservoir, I don’t care which, just don’t hang on to it and get caught, understand?”
He eyed the gun with a sense of unease.
“What are you waiting for? Take it. I’m not asking, I’m telling. I can’t send Maddy out tonight without someone watching her back.”
For the love of all that was holy, he just got off the boat this morning and Mr. Boven knew shit about him. “You’re pushing a gun on me, and you don’t even know if I can shoot.”
With an open mouth, Bill drew a long breath and stared at Rory. “There’s coldness in your eyes. It only pops up now and then, a flash of mean, a look of calculation. I’ve seen big cats at the zoo with the same expression. They sit there all calm and collected with their tails swishing in the air as people walk back and forth in front of their cages, but you just know, the second they could get away with it, they’re ready to pounce. You’ve killed before, haven’t you, Mr. Ravenscroft? Maybe even enjoyed it?”
He certainly had. Less now than in the early days of being a vampire, but the number was large enough to be a millstone around his conscience. Rory remained at attention, but Bill said no more. He waited in awkward silence to be dismissed as part of him screamed, Why the fuck are you playing along with this bastard?
“Pick up the gun and put it in that handy little pocket Geno sewed for you.”
He reached for the pistol, checked the chambers—all were loaded—clicked the safety, and slipped it inside his jacket pocket.
Bill lifted a limp hand and shooed Rory away. “You may leave.”
He nodded and turned, still in the dark about what exactly was expected of him tonight but fearing the worst. For fuck’s sake, he’d only wanted to come ashore and feed, and now he was waist-deep in somebody else’s quagmire. It might have been better if he’d chucked Tomlinson’s suitcase into the harbor and run.
Chapter Six
Rory opened the front door and exited the penthouse. At the end of the hall, in all her snowy glory, Madelyn stood beside the elevator waiting for him. He approached her quietly, hoping to avoid Bill overhearing them talking. “I thought you’d be waiting at the car.”
Madelyn sniffled, and Rory noticed the wadded tissue clutched in her hand. “I couldn’t stomach going downstairs with Hank and watching him gloat.”
She’d been crying. The damp tracks of shed tears were clearly visible on her cheeks. Not knowing what to say, he removed the handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to daub a fallen eyelash and a trickle of mascara from beneath her eye.
“Do I look horrible?” she confronted Rory, her voice husky with emotion. “I’d go back inside and fix my makeup, but I don’t want to face Bill. Not because I’m mad at him, I’m not. I know he’s telling the truth, and it hurts.”
Poor Madelyn, she wasn’t going to get her break. He knew the feeling all too well. He’d suffered that undeniable moment when one knew with shocking certainty that the future they hoped for would never arrive. For an unsettling moment, his heart filled and he felt a rush of sympathy and something he might once have called love. The memory of its complicated and euphoric bliss came flooding back to overwhelm him, and he wanted to take Madelyn in his arms, rock her against his chest, and make all sorts of promises he had no way to honor. Instead he dangled the keys in front of her face. “How about that ride to Union Station?”
With an angry finger poke, she punched the elevator button. “What do you mean? We have to work.”
“No, you don’t. Why not leave now? Is there anything inside the penthouse you can’t live without?”
“Sure, clothes, shoes, jewelry. A lot of stuff.”
He maneuvered her against the wall and whispered, “But nothing so personal that you couldn’t replace it? Think.”
She recoiled. “It’s all personal and it’s all I have to show for my months with Bill.”
“Madelyn, there’s another path waiting for you, I promise.” Damn. Why was he making promises? “We can walk away right now, but you need to make a decision.”
“Leave Bill? How?” She appeared confused. “Just me? Because me is we. I got a son, Luis. I had him when I was seventeen. My mother’s raising him and telling everyone he’s my little brother. I love him so much. I could never abandon him or do anything that would bring him trouble.” Fresh tears hovered on her lashes. “My mom doesn’t know what I do on the side. She thinks the weeks I’m not dancing in a chorus line, I’m cutting hair at the studio. They live on what I make. The money can’t stop.”
How could he make her understand without terrifying her? “I have money. Let me help you.”
She held up a black bag with a long strap. “Rory, Bill waited months for the shipment from Tomlinson. He owes people, and I owe him. We screw this up and we’ll be lucky to live another twenty-four hours.”
Had he brought disaster straight into her life? Maybe. Something had to be done to make things right. “What’s in the bag? What are we delivering?”
“Don’t ask and you might live another forty-eight hours.”
The elevator door opened and the same operator, Herb, faced them, looking even more exhausted than he did earlier. “Good evening, Miss Porter. You look lovely as usual.” He nodded at Rory. “Sir.”
Madelyn stepped inside and Rory followed. “Tell Floyd to give you a chair, Herb. You look like you need to sit.”
A half-hearted smile failed to add cheer to Herb’s perpetually dour face. “Thank you for thinking of me, miss, but Floyd won’t hear of it. He said that in the better hotels in New York City, the operators stand at attention.”
“Floyd is being ridiculous to make that comparison.” Madelyn moved to the back of the carriage. “I’ll bet those operators are half your age and share shifts.”
“You’re kind to think of me.” Herb pressed the button. The elevator doors closed, and the carriage made its swift descent.
Behind Herb’s back, Madelyn moved to Rory’s side. Her arm brushed his as she reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He hadn’t done anything and was frustrated by that fact. “For what?”
With the swipe of her other hand, she mimicked his actions of wiping her tears.
Damn her for being so independent, yet so vulnerable and in need of help at the same time. “You’re welcome.”
She withdrew her hand. “You feel icy cold. Are you nervous?”
“No.” He clasped his hands in front. What would she think if she knew she was standing beside an undead thing that hadn’t been a warm-blooded man in more than thirty years? Envy for every living man he could name rushed through his mind.
Madelyn leaned close and sniffed his hair. “You smell like—”
He thought of the butler who had occupied the room before him and left the bottle of hair tonic behind. A sickening wave of jealousy washed over him. “Who do I smell like?” He sounded more peeved than he intended.
She looked defensive. “I was giving you a compliment. Not who. What. I was going to say you smell like a Christmas morning. You know, those red, bay-rum-scented candles they burn in church?”
He didn’t, and now he was ashamed for snapping at her. “I’m sorry.”
