Bait: A dark erotic thriller (Hunter & Prey Book 2) Read online

  Chapter 3

  As predicted, I didn’t sleep at all that night. Technically, I knew that my floor was only accessible by key card and code, and there was a camera just outside the elevator monitoring who was coming and going, but I doubted that even inside a maximum security prison cell I would have found any rest. I didn’t need to close my eyes to see his face come up, that intense stare boring right into my very soul.

  So much for that.

  Not even trying to go to bed, I spent the night time getting acquainted with my new home—including an hour-long soak in the hot tub outside on the wraparound terrace—trying to get a grip on my affairs. As much as I might loathe Darren paying for my accommodations, I didn’t mind not being set back by that kind of bill. I might have a substantial amount squirreled away in several offshore accounts, but that was supposed to last me for the rest of my hopefully very long life.

  I managed to get a hold of someone at my bank—paying a financial manager to take care of all my official funds came with some perks—and by morning I had a new checking account complete with everything, an envelope holding my new credit card and a couple grand in cash waiting for me downstairs at the reception. I also spent some quality time dousing my hair and skin with moisturizing products I’d pilfered from the bathroom, starting the long process of undoing the last months’ damage. With only my dress for clothes, I spent the night in the fluffy bathrobe, feeling somewhat more human the next morning after luxuriating in the rainforest shower.

  After breakfast, I met with the personal shopper Philip had organized for me. She didn’t bat an eyelash at my apparent lack of outfits—plural—and took diligent notes as I described to her what wardrobe items I’d require. I had all the intentions in the world to go shopping myself later, but I needed the basics now, including several dresses I could wear whenever I couldn’t slum it, and those might take a few days to assemble. As I’d feared, Agent Smith hadn’t bothered with dropping off the gym bag full of my current belongings, but I was sure that Adam was still holding on to the important stuff, none of which were clothes.

  The woman earned herself my eternal gratitude when it only took her fifty minutes to return with all the staples I’d need for my first day back in the city, including shoes that I could actually walk in for more than a couple of blocks. So it came that when I dropped by my financial manager, I was looking a little more like myself, clad in a simple yet stylish tan dress and voluminous coat, complete with my purse and all the gimmicks I started filling it with now that I could again.

  Not for the first time in the past months, I was glad that I had never merged funds with Darren. I had no illusions about him keeping tabs on all my accounts—that he knew of—which had been the reason for my less than satisfying budget to make my grand entrance. But now that everything was out in the open, there was no reason not to dive into my portfolios and arrange everything to how it was supposed to be.

  From my quick calculations, even without Darren’s financial support I had about four months of comfortable play time without accessing my emergency funds, and about a year if I cleared those out completely. What had sounded like a comfortable cushion was suddenly not that much money after all. Sure, I’d proven to myself that I could subsist on 2.45 plus tips an hour, but I’d rather not return to those conditions. Of course, I could have found a cozy apartment rather than stay in the hotel, but before I got a good overview of all my options, I’d rather not commit to anything. I still left instructions to monitor interesting real estate, and treated myself to an early lunch.

  Sitting there, enjoying sushi, I couldn’t help but admit to myself how much I had missed the city. Sure, not having to deal with angry customers all the time and wondering just how to feed myself the next day left me feeling more at ease, but it wasn’t just that. I knew that, rationally thinking, I was in a lot more danger than I’d been the entire time away. Just because Darren hadn’t launched himself at me the moment he laid eyes on me, trying to finish with his bare hands what he’d started in his basement didn’t mean that he actually intended to behave civil around me. I was sure that he was by now aware of my less-than-subtle tail, but I wondered just how long that would keep him at bay—if it even did. But all that was nothing I could do anything about right now, so I did my best to ignore it.

  Two hours later, just after two in the afternoon, I stepped into a very familiar elevator in a very familiar building.

  My little run-in with Nya last night made me guess that Brigitte was already waiting for me. Nya had never struck me as a tattletale, but I expected that Brigitte had told her girls to keep an eye out for me, if only for the reason that she could cross me should I start anything stupid. Or she really had been concerned about my sudden disappearance; after all, just because we hadn’t parted on good terms didn’t mean that she would just ignore the fact that, from one day to the next, Darren had a new girl on his arm and I hadn’t even given Brigitte her opportunity to gloat in my face. Our relationship might have been a twisted monster, half business, half friendship, but it had always been a strong one.

  All that didn’t mean that my stomach wasn’t churning as I stepped out of the elevator at the top floor, into the slightly gaudy glamor of Brigitte’s parlor.

  I’d chosen the time well—I knew that she always held her weekly mentoring gathering on Sundays at noon, and two hours later all but the people she actually needed to talk to were gone. Currently those were only two—Nya, as I had expected, and Pamela, one of her pro girls who I expected to quit any week now. Not because she wasn’t good, but because she was lacking that certain something that kept a few of us going beyond the point where they actually needed to put out. I had long since shot past that mark, as had Nya, but Pam should have about wrapped up her college education this past fall, so it was just a matter of time before she dropped out. I’d seen it happen too many times not to read the signs.

  The moment they saw me, Nya and Brigitte exchanged glances, but their overall demeanor remained neutral—not unlike Alison last night. Maybe it was a hallmark of powerful women who had learned to school their features. Pam, on the other hand, was only too happy to prance up to me and sneer in my face.

  “Nobody likes a quitter, Penny,” she said, as if using a nickname no one else dared to even think of in connection to me could faze me.

  Ignoring her completely, I looked straight at Brigitte. “Can we talk?” With a sidelong glance at the other two women, I added, “Alone?”

  It was impossible for me to read Brigitte when she didn’t want me to, and right now she was the farthest thing from an open book. She considered my request, but her other business seemed concluded and she dismissed the girls with a brief nod. Nya took it with grace—I idly wondered if she was even capable of being clumsy—while Pam pretty much balked.

  “You can’t be serious. First, you spend weeks moping around because she slapped you in the face, and now you just, what, welcome her back with open arms?”

  Like with me, Pam’s little outburst didn’t faze Brigitte in the least.

  “I doubt that Penelope is here because she wants her old job back. For that, I would laugh at her. For everything else, I always have an open ear—as a friend.”

  I had missed her offhand insults more than I’d thought possible, and it wasn’t hard to share a small smile with Nya as Pam blushed, properly cowed. I’d on more than one occasion had the dubious privilege of experiencing firsthand that Brigitte reigned with a cold and brutal grasp on the reins if she had to, but most of her directing was just that—barbs and sparse praise that always let you know where you stood, and where you could—and should—improve. It was terribly petty, of course, and today was the first time I realized just how much so, but it was familiar, and right now familiar was what I desperately needed.

  Pam left without another word, although she sent me a glare, while Nya was a little slower to don her coat and grab her purse. As she passed me on the way to the elevator, she smiled, then dropped the haughty faca
de and hugged me briefly. “It’s good to have you back.”

  Then they were gone, leaving me alone with the woman my entire future was hinging on right now.

  Brigitte waited until the elevator doors had closed. Only then did she cock her head to the side and study me intently. The slight frown that appeared on her forehead spoke volumes about what she found.

  “I was hoping that when we met again, you’d be the pampered, fattened-up, fed-up version of yourself that I could gleefully gloat at with my ‘I told you so,’ but it is quite obvious that this is about as far from reality as your little infatuation that jump-started this downward spiral.”

  Her words made my lips curl up, but calling that a smile would have been pushing it.

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my weight loss?” I jeered softly. “Fifteen years we’ve known each other now, and in all that time the only thing you always brought up was that I might want to tone my arms and calves a little more.”

  Her answering smile was real, if a rueful one.

  “I can’t tell with that coat, but I doubt that a stint in Boot Camp melted away all your curves in all the wrong places.” Her eyes briefly flitted down my body once more but quickly returned to my face. “Let me guess. It’s a little more complicated than that he dumped you and you spent the last months drinking yourself out of your misery? That would at least explain the terrible dye job. Jeez, Penelope, what have you done to your hair? I’m not even going to mention your skin.”

  I could tell that she was just teasing me—except for the hair—but not even that managed to draw a real smile out of me.

  “I need your help. Or rather, I want your help, I don’t strictly need it. But your cooperation would save me weeks of time and a hell of a lot of effort.”

  Never one to be taken aback by someone cutting straight to business, Brigitte took that in calmly.

  “I expect this is connected to your recent taking up residence in the most expensive suite in the Peninsula? I haven’t checked their rates of late, but that must have set you back some.”

  I nodded, not wanting to clarify before I knew where exactly we stood. I left it at a simple, “It does,” and bit my lip in momentary hesitation as I tried to find the right words. “May I be honest?”

  “Beating around the bush never works, unless maybe in girl-on-girl kink,” she replied, her voice completely void of humor.

  Exhaling slowly, I forced my mind to clear of all the rubbish floating around and just let her have it.

  “Back last summer you offered me a job, tied to the condition that I cut ties with Darren. I didn’t take the opportunity back then, but things have clearly changed. Is there even still an opening here, or am I wasting my time?”

  Another woman might have been taken aback by someone slapping her in the face, then coming back and regally demanding a second chance, but I had to hand it to Brigitte—where business was concerned, she could be perfectly levelheaded.

  “The position hasn’t been filled yet, if that’s what you want to know. Whether I feel like I should offer it to you again depends entirely on what you will tell me next.”

  I considered her words for a moment. “How is your daughter? I presume that by now she’s had the baby?”

  She seemed a little irritated by that almost-non sequitur, but nodded. “A boy. I never liked any small children except for my own, but he has stolen my heart like no other man ever could.” Her smile made something deep inside my chest ache, and I quickly stomped on that before it could bloom into something more.

  “I know this probably sounds ludicrous out of context, but I’m not sure I should even come to you for help. Or for a chance to take over from you. Just me being here could put you in danger, and also your family.”

  Brigitte’s warm smile was gone from one moment to the next, consideration heavy in her gaze.

  “Your concern speaks for you, but I think I can take care of myself and my own.” She paused, clearly overthinking her claim, but her conviction didn’t waver. “Why don’t you tell me what happened between our last phone call and today? Your warning is received and dismissed, so no need to hold back. And don’t even think about bullshitting me.”

  That had never been my intention, but it was good to know that she wanted the entire truth from the get-go. But while I was tempted to confide in her—as a friend more than a business partner or former employee—I simply couldn’t. So I stuck with the version that was close enough to the truth to sound probable, but would hopefully keep her out of the thick of the fray.

  “Darren and I had a fight. It didn’t go over well.” The understatement of the century, really. My dramatic pause obviously spoke for itself from how Brigitte’s gaze hardened. “I’ll spare you the details. My extended stay in his house revealed a few things about him and me that I could have done without knowing. Suffice it to say, when I finally got away, I fled to Adam. He packed up his stuff, and we disappeared. Two months ago, his former handler at the CIA tracked us down—I still don’t know how—and because I couldn’t let her dump Adam into a deep, dark hole and throw away the key, I offered to help her dig up some dirt on Darren. And that’s why I’m back. I get complete immunity if I manage to pull this off and limp away still alive, that is.”

  Brigitte listened to that without batting an eyelash, but once I’d fallen silent, it took her a full ten seconds before she shook herself out of her momentary stupor.

  “Your hand?” she asked. As if on command, my fingers gave a twinge, but I forced them to remain relaxed rather than curl into a fist.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “A shame,” she said as if it wasn’t more than a little nick on my chin—but I could tell that she did that for my benefit. I nodded, both thanking her and leaving her oblivious to the actual details. Let her think he did that to me—that was still better than telling her about the dolls. It was obvious that there was a lot more to this than I was ready to tell her, and she didn’t ask, thankfully. I’d hoped she would react like that—after all, she knew a thing or two about sacrifices one preferred not to share with anyone else. After a rather forceful exhale, she jerked her head toward the kitchen. “I think I need a drink. Care to join me?”

  I hadn’t expected her to kick me out after my little revelation, but her reaction still lifted a ton of weight off my chest. I inclined my head and shrugged off my coat, then followed her into the inner sanctum of her penthouse. By the time I joined her, she had two cups of coffee ready on the table, a bottle of Scotch between them. I couldn’t help but smile faintly at the booze as I took my seat—Brigitte kept a strict no intoxicants regime for us girls; drinks were for clients only.

  Brigitte studied me as I took a tentative sip, then leaned back in my chair. The last time we had been sitting here, she’d told me about her own fallacy of youth. On some level I couldn’t help but feel that if I’d listened a little closer, I wouldn’t be in my current position now—but then things had been vastly different. But weren’t they always when homicidal maniacs were involved?

  “Gloating just isn’t the same when there’s actual grief involved,” she finally said, reaching for the Scotch and dealing herself a generous portion. Her eyes kept flitting over my face, taking in what there was to glean from my rather stony features. With her, I didn’t have to pretend.

  “I’m so sorry that my misfortune is inconveniencing you,” I replied, letting her know that I wasn’t going to play the pity card.

  “Oh, you have no idea,” she said, considering. “So what exactly is your plan here? Am I right in my guess that you’re not doing this because of your deep-seated concern about that young git he is banging now?” I must have made a face because she snorted. “Thought so. And before I keep stoking your justified paranoia there, of course Nya was watching you after you ran into her. I just didn’t think that—“

  She trailed off there. I shrugged. What else was there to do?

  “Yeah, when everyone was warning me that he wa
s bad news, I figured it was something like him being corrupt or just a regular asswipe.”

  Brigitte’s eyes narrowed as she studied me more closely.

  “You’re still in love with him.”

  I considered denying it, but she knew me too well—as she’d proven in the past, even when I hadn’t wanted to listen—and I needed her as my confidante if I wanted to get through this with my sanity moderately intact.

  “It gets even worse,” I replied, the lack of denial all the confirmation she needed. “I haven’t masturbated a single time since I got away last summer. Like my body was broken for good. But guess what happened last night when I was standing face to face with that bastard again? Libido rekindled.”

  I got a slight wince for that, clearly in sympathy.

  “So, moving on, as they call it—not quite your thing?”

  I gave that some thought but had to leave it at an ambivalent shrug. “I honestly don’t know. I am terrified. I can’t sleep. For months I’ve been fighting panic attacks. Even cars make me claustrophobic sometimes now, and I can’t stand to be in a room without windows for long.” Which was quite the inconvenience when you were working with a security detail that kept its headquarters in a van. I was afraid I had professed too much, but that was not what Brigitte honed in on.

  “You’re avoiding my question,” she pointed out gently. It was a little surprising to get none of the scorn that I deserved, but I figured she’d keep that for a time when I wasn’t so open and raw as right now.

  “I know. I don’t have an answer. I think I grieved for a while, mostly for myself. And then it turned into that festering ulcer low in my stomach. But I could have lived with that indefinitely, I think.”

  “You think?”

  I paused, but there was no reason to play the same game with her as I’d been forced to with Adam. The game where I had to insist every day that I was getting better instead of worse because I knew that would make him feel better. Because it was the answer he wanted to hear.