The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (127 page)

Thank goodness she hadn’t heard from Hairy Cary in a while. Maybe he’d been scared off by her last e-mail telling him not to worry about security at LoreiLinda, that in addition to a state of the art alarm system, it was patrolled by security guards with attack dogs. A bit of a stretch maybe, but how was he to know otherwise?

She was logging out when she realized she could no longer hear Monica and Brent. Had they made up, or merely taken it to another part of the house? She got up and cautiously cracked open the door. It was past lunch and she was starving. She weighed the risk of a trip to the kitchen, which might result in her being dragged into the fight.

In the end hunger decided for her. She tiptoed downstairs to find the kitchen empty except for Arcela, washing up after lunch. She opened the fridge to find it stocked with the low-fat cheese and sliced turkey breast Arcela bought just for her. “What’s the latest from Cherry?” she asked as she was spreading mustard on a slice of whole wheat bread.

Arcela brightened. “She coming soon. Lawyer say everything okay.” She hesitated, then said softly, her eyes filling with tears, “Thank you, Miss Anna.”

“It was nothing, really.” All she’d done was get Maude’s friend, Dorothy Steinberg, to write a letter saying that Cherry would have work at the hospital when she arrived in the States. “I’m just glad it worked out. I can’t wait to meet her.”

Anna was about to bite into her sandwich when she heard a peal of laughter out on the patio. She looked out the window, catching sight of Monica and Brent, who seemed to have forgotten their tiff. Not only that, they’d been joined by Glenn. She hadn’t heard him buzz—Arcela must have let him in. These days she was so preoccupied, she could hardly concentrate on her job.

Monica summoned her with a wave. Oh, God. There was no way she could ignore it. Monica wouldn’t buy the excuse that she was on her lunch break, and these days Anna had been going out of her way not to ruffle any feathers. When the time came, she wanted to part on good terms, for their mother’s sake if nothing else.

Leaving her sandwich, she slid open the door and stepped out onto the patio. She hadn’t seen either Brent or Glenn in a while. Prepared for the standard greetings—a meaningless wink from Brent and hearty hello from Glenn (like a teacher urging a shy child in a sing-along)—she was surprised to find them staring at her as if they’d never before laid eyes on her.

Brent let out a long low whistle. “Well, what do you know?” He eyed her up and down before turning to Monica. “Your sister’s a stone fox.”

“Not that you haven’t always been gorgeous,” Glenn was quick to interject. “But this …” He stepped back to get a better look. In his black silk T-shirt and gray Armani jacket, beads of sweat nestled like jewels in his gelled hair, he looked almost … vulpine. “I’d sign you in an instant.” He caught himself, adding, “Though you’d have a tough time competing with my star client.”

“Yes, isn’t it amazing?” Anna detected a cold undercurrent in Monica’s voice. “I’ve been after her to let me buy her a whole new wardrobe, but she insists on taking in her old clothes. She’s always been too practical for her own good.”

Even Anna, who knew better than anyone what her sister was capable of, was struck by the deftness with which Monica had transferred the focus from Anna’s slender new figure to the baggy slacks and top she had on—clothes that had fit just weeks ago—at the same time reminding Brent and Glenn of how generous she was.

Anna’s cheeks warmed, and she dropped her gaze. “I don’t have much time to shop,” she said lightly, thinking of all the times she’d pushed her sister up and down Rodeo Drive without Monica’s once offering to buy her so much as a pair of pantyhose.

“Not to worry, babe. With a bod like that, you don’t need to get all dolled up.” Brent’s eyes roamed up and down.

Glenn said heartily, “What do you say we all go for a swim?”

Anna’s heart sank. But before she could mutter some excuse, Monica smiled her little cat smile, saying, “Just what I feel like.”

Anna cast a desperate glance at Brent, to no avail. He was in no position to call the shots. Whatever Monica wanted, she got. The only reason she railed at him from time to time was because she liked reminding him of who the boss was.

Anna gave it her best shot nonetheless. “I’d love to, but I promised Thierry I’d get back to him about those changes—you know how he hates to be kept waiting.”

Monica acted as if she hadn’t heard. “There should be enough towels, though with Arcela you never know.” She sighed—the long-suffering employer, too softhearted for her own good. “Why don’t you run and check?” she told Anna.

Blood rushed up into Anna’s cheeks. She wanted to slap her sister, but to Brent and Glenn it would look as if it were coming out of left field. Plus, there was no limit to what Monica would do to get back at her—like cutting off payments to the Sunshine Home, which on more than one occasion she’d threatened to do. She took a deep breath and set off toward the pool house.

Minutes later, she was reaching into the drawer where the swimsuits were kept when it occurred to her that her old one would hang on her like an elephant’s skin. She dug through the tangle of bikinis her sister had favored before the accident, choosing the least skimpy. Keeping her eyes averted from the mirror, she wriggled into it. When she finally risked a peek, a shock wave rippled through her. Not only was the bikini a perfect fit, she looked …

Sexy.
Anna wasn’t just flattering herself: There was no denying what she saw in the mirror—breasts that swelled pleasingly from her halter top and a butt that didn’t jiggle when she moved this way and that. It wasn’t just that she’d lost weight; her workouts at the gym were paying off. How was it she hadn’t noticed until now?

She stepped outside just as Brent and Glenn were emerging from the changing room on the other side. Brent let out another wolf whistle while Glenn just stared.

Monica, who’d been wearing her swimsuit when Brent arrived, was clearly none too pleased that she’d been upstaged, if only for the moment. She eyed Anna from across the pool, the stony look on her face saying it all. Then she called with forced cheer, “When you guys are done checking out my sister, I could use a hand over here!” She turned to Anna as she drew near. “I’d forgotten I still had that old thing. Well, you’re welcome to it. God knows
I
couldn’t get away with it these days.”

“What are you talking about?” Glenn delivered his line without a hitch. “You’re still the most gorgeous woman on the planet.”

“Who isn’t getting laid.” Monica spoke lightly, as if it were the most marvelous joke.

Only Anna knew that it was the truth—that Monica hadn’t been to bed with anyone since the accident. Not that there wouldn’t have been a line forming to the left should she so much as crook a finger, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. She preferred instead to foster the illusion of being a femme fatale, flirting outrageously with everyone from Glenn to the gardener’s sons, occasionally even overstepping the line, like with Andie’s boyfriend. She did nothing, either, to discourage the rumors that flew fast and thick, such as the one about the piano tuner with whom she’d supposedly had an affair—a rumor that had surely enhanced his reputation as much as hers. But underneath it all, Anna felt certain, lay the desperate realization that she’d lost everything that had once defined her as a woman.

It was enough to make Anna feel sorry for her. Almost.

She slipped into the pool, and after swimming a short distance found it wasn’t so terrible now that she didn’t feel like a humpback whale. She paddled about while the two men kept Monica company in the shallow end, and as soon as she could do so without drawing attention to herself, climbed out.

Arcela, knowing she must be starved, had brought out a tray of fruit and cheese. Anna helped herself to some grapes, stretching out on a chaise longue. She was surprised to find she wasn’t having such a bad time. It was better than being in her stuffy office upstairs, though six months ago if anyone had told her there’d be a day when she wouldn’t hate the sight of herself in a swimsuit, she’d have laughed.

It wasn’t long before Glenn announced regretfully that it was time for him to go—he was having dinner with Harvey, he said, dropping the name of one of the most important producers in Hollywood the way wealthy women did their fur coats. Anna seized the chance to make her own excuses as well.

She was in the changing room struggling with the clasp on her top when the door eased open. She swung about in surprise to find Glenn poised just inside the doorway, the light slanting through the louvers making him look sinister somehow, like Claude Rains in
Notorious.
“Need some help with that?” he asked.

“Glenn. What are you doing in here?” Anna’s arms dropped to her sides, and she eyed him uncertainly.

“I’m not making you uncomfortable, I hope.” He smiled disarmingly.

“No, of course not.” She wanted to kick herself. Why had she said that? He had to know how awkward this was.

“I didn’t want to embarrass you out there, but the way you look in that,” his gaze traveled downward, “should be illegal.”

Anna cringed inwardly. She’d heard better pickup lines in B movies. “Thanks.” She spoke offhandedly, ever so casually reaching for the towel she’d discarded.

“But, then, I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

Liar,
she thought. But he sounded so sincere she was momentarily thrown off guard. When he walked over and pulled her into his arms, she was too stunned to protest.

Then his mouth was on hers. Oh, God.

There was a time she might have welcomed his kiss, but now all she was aware of were his clammy trunks sticking to her skin and his tongue thrusting hotly into her mouth. She tried to squirm away, but he only held her tighter, as if she were doing it to excite him. She let out a little cry, pushing against him. “Glenn … no. Please.”

He drew back with a mock injured look. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not.” She put as much force into the words as she could without shouting. She didn’t want the others to hear. “I like you. Let’s keep it that way, okay?”

It was the exact wrong thing to have said. “I like you, too.” His voice grew husky and his eyelids drooped. He traced the line of her collarbone with his fingertip. She’d never noticed before how hairy he was, even the backs of his hands—like an ape’s.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she protested weakly.

“I know, but can’t friends have fun, too?” He tugged playfully at one of her straps.

“Come on, Glenn. I’m serious.” She injected a light-hearted note into her voice, hoping against hope that she could keep this from escalating.

“Me, too.” He grinned, his wet trunks leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Look, if I gave you the wrong idea, I—”

He covered her mouth with his, thrusting his hips forward and grinding into her. A finger worked its way under the elastic of her bikini bottom. As she struggled to escape, it only seemed to inflame him further.

“Stop it!” she hissed. “Stop right now, or I’ll—”

“Scream?” His voice was low and intimate, almost amused, as if they shared a secret, which in a way they did: They both knew who Monica would blame.

Again, Anna hesitated—just long enough for him to take it as compliance. Now he was forcing her legs apart with his knee. She could feel him hard and hot under his damp trunks, and was swamped with panic. She thought of Marc, how gentle he’d been. It gave her the strength she needed.

Anna threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Glenn jerked back, scowling. He clearly hadn’t expected this, not from mousy Anna. Before he could gather his wits and rearrange his trunks, the door flew open. Over Glenn’s hairy shoulder Brent stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“What the—hey, get your hands off her!” He lunged forward, shoving Glenn, who staggered backward.

He caught hold of a chair, righting himself. And in the split second before he charged, Glenn’s true self was revealed: the kid from Compton who’d traded Echevarria for his mother’s maiden name and spent as much time studying the habits of the studio executives he’d chauffeured around as he had his college textbooks.

He launched himself at Brent, not like a boxer but like a street fighter, aiming low. Though Brent was taller and outweighed him by at least twenty pounds, his muscles were mostly for show. The blow caught him in the belly and sent him reeling back against the wall with a grunt of expelled breath. Like a stunt man in a western, he slid slowly to the floor, landing with a muffled thud.

Anna stood frozen. Even Glenn didn’t move as he stared at Brent huddled on the floor, gasping for breath. She had an image of the three of them caught like this forever, a Pompeian tableau, then a shadow fell over the doorway. She looked up to see Monica, her eyes glittering with a hatred so intense Anna felt an icy chill trickle down her spine. Leaving her sister wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped. But staying might be even harder.

The memory receded, leaving Anna chilled as she sat hugging herself in Brent’s seedy dressing room. “Glenn? I don’t see him as a murderer, if that’s what you mean.” He might be a lot of other things, but not that.

“That’s not what he’s saying about
you
.” Brent took another drag off his cigarette. He told the cops you’d threatened Monica. They asked me if I ever noticed anything along those lines.”

Anna burned at the indignity of it. “What did you tell them?”

“That from what I could see it was the other way around. The way she treated you, I wouldn’t’ve blamed you if you
had
offed her.”

Anna felt the blood drain from her face. Brent might have meant well in his own way, but he’d only succeeded in making her look worse.

Marc took hold of her hand, squeezing it. “How do we know he isn’t blowing smoke to cover his own ass?”

Anna shook her head. “You don’t slaughter your cash cow.”

“Maybe we’re looking too hard for a motive.”

“A crime of passion?” It had occurred to her, but as far as she knew they hadn’t been romantically involved, which ruled out the jealous lover scenario.