Raven’s first impression was ofmoney. The front hall and staircase were of an old, lovingly-preserved dark wood, the floors checkered marble. Iron chandelier overhead, but modern drapes and light-colored cushions in the bay window.
Money, and a hired interior decorator, she thought.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” she said as the girl led them down the hall and into an airy sitting room papered with tiny, subtle roses, decorated with pale, French-inspired furniture. “You know my name – and quite a bit about my career, apparently – but I’m afraid I don’t know much about you, Miss…?”
“Oh, sorry!” The girl turned to face them, hands fluttering in embarrassment, still pink in the face. “Miss Laine. Connie Laine. Connie, please.”
“Connie.” Raven nodded. “Pleased to meet you. My bodyguard” – she gestured to Fox – “Giles.”
He snorted, quiet enough that hopefully Connie didn’t notice.
She didn’t. “That makes sense. Someone as important and famous as you would obviously have a bodyguard. Mike does, too.” She gestured to the sofa, and smoothed her skirt as she settled down in a dainty chair by the window. “He’s so important to his company, he can’t afford to be justaloneout on the street.”
“Of course,” Raven said, automatically. She was desperately trying to make sense of this situation; felt as though she was perched on a greased slope, fighting not to slide off sideways.
The name fit: Connie Laine. Melissa had managed to look up the lease agreement based on the address her suspect had given up, and the woman’s age and looks fit what little the suspect had been able to provide. But she’d expected to encounter a gangster girlfriend who was nervous, suspicious, afraid to open the door to strangers.
The girl’s bubbly, trusting nature was throwing off her game.
Not to mention being recognized.
The plan had been to offer her an invitation to the gala after delivering a cockamamie story about Misha having been selected to attend as a mover and shaker in the business world.
Apparently, Misha was “Mike” to Connie. And apparently he knew Connie was Raven’s fan…whatever that entailed, it didn’t bode well.
Connie crossed her legs once they were settled, hands clasped in her lap, beaming. “This is thebestsurprise,” she said, and though her smile set all Raven’s nerves on edge, her voice had at least calmed a fraction. A conversational tone, and not a near-scream. “I can’t believe Mike got you to come see me of all people. It’s just – it’s surreal, is what it is. Here.” She leaned sideways and plucked a magazine off the end table; passed it over and Raven found herself looking at herself and Ian-a-la-Jean-Jacque from their joint photo shoot. “Mike has got to be sick to death of me showing him all your spreads – guess he finally found a way to shut me up, haha! That’s whathethinks.”
“Oh, well. He’s a very devoted boyfriend.” Raven had never actually flipped through this whole magazine, and began doing so now, paging quickly to get to the cover story. “May I ask why youdoshow him my photos? Professional curiosity and all that.”
“Well.” Connie’s voice turned bashful. “This is a little embarrassing…”
Fox coughed lightly and Raven pressed her foot to his in warning.
“But, you see,” Connie said, “I’m not exactly a rich girl. Or, I wasn’t.” She cast a look around the fine room, the baby grand in the corner, the imitation Rembrandt on the wall, the marble tops on the buffet and side tables, as though seeing it all for the first time. Filled with wonder. “I always wanted to work in fashion – not as a model” – she blushed again – “I know I don’t have the build for that.”
“I’d say you’d do alright,” Fox said, and though Raven wanted to smack him, it seemed to please Connie, who put on a little simper and batted her lashes.
“I dunno…but I wanted to design, at least. Work behind the scenes. Go to Fashion Week and learn from one of the best.” Dreamy sigh, and then a glance Raven’s way, near-worshipful. “Learn from you. You’ve always been such an inspiration, ever since I saw the photos of you from the Milan shoot.”
Milanhadbeen a bit inspiring, if Raven did say so herself.
“I know it wasn’t the best thing, but when I met Mike, and we got together, I just thought…well, he has so much money, and that means he has influence. And I thought that if I told him what I wanted to do with my life, if I showed him, he might make it happen.”
“That’s smart thinking, that,” Fox said. He was playing some sort of Cockney, working man character.
And it was working. Connie brightened visibly. “Do you think? I was starting to wonder if maybe he was sick of me pushing…but then here you are!” Gesture at Raven. Clap of her hands, look like she might swoon. “Gosh, he’s just…”
“Wonderful?” Raven guessed.
“Yes.”
Wonderful enough not to carve my boyfriend into bits?
Raven was still flipping through the magazine. She turned the next page and froze, breath catching. The full-page photo staring up at her hadn’t been part of her shoot with Ian. It was a candid on-the-street shot of her stepping out of the building that housed the agency, taken on a cold, windy day, a still shot that was dramatic and glamorous. Bustling sidewalk, pedestrians bundled in thick, dark coats, scarves and hats hiding their faces. At the curb, her gleaming Rover, gray exhaust snaking from the tailpipes. Her, hatless, the wind streaming her hair out in a blackbird banner, swirling the hem of her powder blue coat around the ankles of her thigh-high boots. She was looking toward the camera, but not at it, searching the street. She remembered the day in an instant, the way someone had shouted, and her head and whipped around, pulse spiking, worry gnawing at her insides like acid. A real threat? No. Just two friends calling to one another. Her makeup had been perfect, lips deep red, cheeks pink from the cold.
But the sight that turned her blood cold now was the man in the smart blue suit on her far side, one arm linked through hers for support, the other reaching for the rear door of the Rover so he could hand her in. He’d looked when she looked, and so his face was visible in the photo, as clear as hers, features striking and unmistakeable with his hair slicked back off his face the way he wore it at the office.
Toly.
