Allison grabbed the little girl’s hand and hauled her inside, gave him a last hard glare, and slammed the door.
Ethan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, started walking back to his Jeep.
Friday night, the man decided. He’d waited too long already. Soon the models would be leaving on their tour.
Using a Kleenex to pick up the note so he wouldn’t leave fingerprints, he lifted it out of the desk drawer and set it on the desk, giving it a final check to be sure it was exactly right.
The message looked the way he intended: the stark white paper, the eerie, uneven words. He smiled, wishing he could be a fly on the wall when they found it.And her. He wondered how much trouble she would give him before she died. Not much, he was fairly sure. Women liked him. Always had. In the end it wouldn’t matter. The result would be the same.
He put the note back in the drawer. Planning was everything, and he was ready. Once the task was completed, he could relax, enjoy the fruits of his labor. He thought of the night ahead and cold anticipation pumped through his blood.
The day of the dress rehearsal arrived and the Friday event had the theater packed with people, all of them scurrying around doing their myriad jobs. Set designs were being touched up, added to, and changed. Lighting people tested the huge overhead spotlights. Sound gear was readied, the volume and balance checked, the mics and speakers.
The orchestra was setting up, testing their instruments. The security guys were moving around, quietly doing their jobs. A TV camera crew wandered around out front and also backstage, getting ready to film the chaos and excitement of the dress rehearsal, which would be posted on the Internet after the first show of the tour was over.
Val was already nervous and the show was still a day away. But she had never done any sort of modeling, no TV work, hadn’t done high school or college theater. Unlike most of the girls, who’d had a good deal of experience in the field. She was out of her element and working hard to handle the pressure.
A good shot of vodka might help, but it wasn’t going to happen. Too much was at stake. Val had promised to give the job her very best effort and she intended to do just that.
“Valentine!” A stout woman named Rosa bustled toward her. “There you are. We’re ready for your fitting.” Each model had been assigned to a seamstress for the final fitting of her costumes.
Val nodded, followed the broad-hipped woman toward one of the dressing rooms. She caught a glimpse of the big bodyguard, Ethan, who had helped Heather after her fall. She did her best not to stare, but damn, he was an amazing-looking man.
She wondered if he might be gay, since he never seemed to notice any of the women. But she hadn’t gotten gay vibes when he’d talked to her—just the opposite—so maybe he was simply doing his job the way he was supposed to.
She remembered the little zing they had shared, remembered the way his eyes had darkened. Definitely not gay, more likely a macho type who thought all women existed merely for his own personal pleasure.
She followed Rosa into the dressing room, found two other models inside, Isabel and Delilah. Delilah wasn’t one of her favorites. She was way too full of herself, plus she loved gossip and had a knack for spinning it in whatever direction would make her look good. Still, she was mostly okay.
Dark-haired and sultry, Isabel Rafaeli was a lot of fun. She came from a big Italian family who were all really proud of her. Izzy had told her the Rafaelis had flown in from Brooklyn: mother, father, two brothers and their girlfriends, even her older sister, Maria, for Izzy’s first La Belle fashion show.
Val felt a pang in her chest. She would love to have a family with lots of brothers and sisters. But her mom and dad had died in a car accident when she was ten years old. The only family she had, a distant cousin and her no-good husband who lived in Seattle, had stepped in to raise her.
But living with them was hell, nothing at all like the loving family home she’d had before. When she was twelve years old she ran away, then eventually wound up in the foster care system. By the time she turned sixteen, she had a chip on her shoulder the size of a boulder and was always in some kind of trouble. If it hadn’t been for the Hartmans, an older couple living on a small farm in Bellingham . . .
She jumped at a light slap on her rump.
“Pay attention, young lady. I’ve got a lot of other girls to take care of besides just you.”
“Sorry, Rosa.” From the beginning, she had been self-conscious about stripping buck naked in front of a bunch of women she hardly knew. She had learned to steel herself and just get it done, which she did now.
For the first segment, Nashville Country, she was wearing a pair of red lace hip-hugger panties that dipped low in front, rode high in back, and showed the lower portion of the cheeks of her behind. The push-up bra was red, too. Beautiful garments for a woman’s boudoir.
Unfortunately, tomorrow night she’d be wearing them on national TV.
Once she had on the panties and bra, Rosa tied a red bandanna around her neck.
“Sit down and put on your boots,” the woman commanded.
At Rosa’s no-nonsense tone, Val obeyed, pulling on an amazing pair of red high-heeled cowboy boots with a ruby-studded eagle on the front. Red stones flashed around the brim of the white felt cowboy hat she settled over her long blond curls.
“Walk across the room, turn, and walk back.”
She did as she was told, glittery red earrings dangling from her ears, sparkling with every step.
Rosa frowned. “Stand still, now. I don’t like that little pucker on your right hip.” The fit of each garment had to be exact. There wasn’t a fabric bulge, a loose button, or a flyaway thread, not an uneven hem. Nothing but perfection was allowed.
Rosa took scissors, then a needle and thread to the offending pucker, and it quickly disappeared.
