The Love You Crave dc-8 Page 2

  Also true. While I’ve never had complaints from the women I’ve dated, Callie has a double advantage over me. First, she and Gwen share the same plumbing. Second, she understands the handbook, meaning she can make sense out of all the emotional wiring a woman brings into the bedroom. All the unspoken stuff Callie instinctively understands allows her to not only be Gwen’s physical partner, but her emotional tampon, as well.

  Gwen was bisexual when I met her, so Callie didn’t turn her. But Callie won her away from me in record time.

  It wasn’t even a contest.

  There are other reasons. The fact I already have a steady girlfriend, Rachel, may have been a factor. Also, Callie’s a drop-dead gorgeous force of nature, and fiercely monogamous, while I have a tendency to stray. I mean, I don’t lie about it. I just haven’t found the right woman yet. Well, that’s not entirely true. I found the right woman at least twice. But that’s a story for the second bourbon. Also, Callie lives in a multi-million dollar penthouse condo and I often live in the attics of strangers. Gwen probably feels more secure with Callie. She just lost her husband, Callie just lost her girlfriend, and Lucky’s estate is in Vegas. Callie lives in Vegas. Makes sense, right?

  Here’s how things got to this point: Lucky and Gwen were having a weekly three-way with Callie’s girlfriend. When Callie caught Lucky and Eva fucking, she killed them on the spot, but spared Gwen for my benefit. Fate brought Gwen and Callie together, then they connected, and they’ve been together ever since.

  Meaning two whole weeks.

  I’m still holding out hope that Gwen realizes there’s something missing in her relationship with Callie.

  A penis.

  Something I’ve got in abundance.

  Well, something I’ve got, anyway.

  Gwen’s got something, too. Behind one of her implants, she’s hiding a small, ceramic device that can be programmed to kill me. It’s…

  Look, it’s a long story.

  I’ve got a chip in my brain. Not the kind that blows up like the lamp post lady’s did this morning, but the kind that turns white-hot and can liquefy my brain. My version is less messy than hers, but just as lethal. And while her chip appears to have been activated from a van, close by, I assume it works like the chip in my brain, which can be activated by satellite from nearly anywhere in the world. I don’t know if our chips are related, but I have to assume they are. What I do know is the device Gwen has behind her boob can kill me. And I aim to have it.

  Other than the fact I’d like to spend some horizontal time with Gwen, I’m hanging around Vegas till I can retrieve the device from behind Gwen’s boob.

  Sounds ridiculous, right? But what’re you going to do?

  It is what it is.

  Callie and I have explained all this to Gwen, but she’s reluctant to do the surgery. If it weren’t for Callie, I’d perform the surgery myself. But Gwen’s boobs are spectacular, even better than her husband, Lucky’s, boob job had been. Lucky had gotten his boobs after losing a bet, and…

  Never mind.

  I know what you’re thinking. This whole situation is nuts. Well, it’s even nuttier than you think: Lucky’s girlfriend was the plastic surgeon who performed Gwen’s implant surgery.

  But still. Her boobs are like the eighth wonder of the world, and you’d hate to mess that up. Nevertheless, I can’t allow Gwen’s boobs to fall into the wrong hands.

  It could literally be the end of me.

  So I’m losing my patience.

  “I’ll give you till three o’clock to set the appointment,” I say to Callie. “Otherwise, I’m going to take matters into my own hands.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” Callie says.

  Callie’s my protege. Aside from me, she’s the deadliest human on the planet. I could be wrong about us being the two deadliest. After all, I haven’t met every human on the planet. But I’m in the killing business, so I know most of the deadly ones, and so far we’re one and two on the list. A formidable combination, we are, and based on a great working relationship, one I’d like to maintain.

  Which means I’m not going to let a pair of boobs come between us. On the other hand, I aim to have that chip. Callie knows this. She may have a thing for Gwen, but she needs me more. We’re government assassins, and I’m the key to her job opportunities. There are six of us. I run the crew, Callie’s my main operative. So she’ll come through. I’m waiting for her to say something right now about it. She’s about to say something.

  But doesn’t.

  “I mean it,” I say.

  And I do. I stand.

  “Where are you going?” Callie says.

  “To visit Ropic Industries.”

  “You’ll never get in the door.”

  I smile. Callie doesn’t know I’ve been planning this for a full week. Gwen doesn’t know, either.

  Callie frowns. “What’re you up to?”

  I nod my chin toward the kitchen, indicating Gwen. “When Lucky died, Gwen became the majority stockholder of Ropic Industries,” I say.

  “So?”

  I let her think about that for a minute. Then a smile slowly spreads across Callie’s face.

  It’s a helluva face.

  6.

  Between swallows of Lucky Charms, Gwen asks what she has to do.

  “Show up with me at an emergency meeting of the board,” I say.

  She loads a spoon with cereal, puts it in her mouth, chews, and swallows it.

  “Most people take milk in their cereal,” I say.

  “Most people aren’t me,” Gwen says.

  Callie and I exchange a look that ends with Callie smiling from out of Gwen’s field of vision. It crosses my mind that if I tell Gwen Callie’s laughing at her behind her back, I might be able to gain the advantage in the quest for Gwen’s considerable charms. But I quickly dismiss the thought. Not because I’m above such deviousness, but because I need the two of them on my side today.

  Gwen pushes some cereal around in her bowl with her index finger, separates a rainbow candy piece from the rest, and balances it on her perfect nose. “Watch this,” she says, turning her head sideways so Callie can also see. She drops her chin and catches the rainbow on her tongue, moves her tongue in and out of her mouth more seductively than it sounds, then swallows the rainbow. Then she shows us a goofy smile.

  “The trick is to let it slide off your nose slowly,” she says, as gravely as if explaining how to disarm a land mine. “Most people drop their chin too fast.”

  Though Callie and I both nod thoughtfully, I doubt “most” people have ever given a thought to balancing cereal on their noses.

  Here’s the skinny on Gwen: she was the child bride of Lucky Peters. He saved her from a life of stripping in mob-controlled clubs, gave her a nice home and an air of respectability. But Lucky’s good fortune deserted him, and their life together went downhill fast. I doubt Gwen ever loved him. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t even miss him. Not only did she have sex with me hours before Lucky was killed, she had sex with Callie hours after he was killed!

  So, yes, Gwen and I shared an intimate afternoon. Our first session was tepid at best. But then I discovered she’s a power whore. Meaning, power makes her horny. And the more powerful she perceives you to be, the wilder she gets.

  It’s something to see.

  And feel.

  She’s a beautiful, sensual woman. Not in Callie’s league, as I’ve said, but a solid ten, nevertheless.

  When she’s not crunching Lucky Charms.

  “I don’t know how to conduct a board meeting,” she says.

  “I’ll run the meeting as your advisor, but don’t worry. They’ll know you’re in charge.”

  “Your presence at the meeting will only convince them you’re in charge,” Gwen says.

  Callie and I exchange a look that ends with Callie lifting an eyebrow as if to say, she’s smarter than she appears.

  And she is.

  You don’t want to underestimate Gwen just because stran
ge comments occasionally escape her cereal-stained mouth.

  7.

  We’re in the car. Gwen’s wearing the single most seductive dress I’ve ever seen. It’s an open-shouldered silk and satin blend that drapes in the front all the way to her navel! The color is an intense, in-your-face red, and the dress is obscenely short. A good ten inches above her knees before she sat in the car, which means there’s a lot of thigh riding in the passenger seat of my rental. Even from my angle I can see that Gwen has managed to perfectly match her panties to her dress, which has long been her fashion hallmark.

  “Gwen.”

  She turns toward me.

  “How would you describe the color of your dress?”

  She looks at me like I’m a moron, then speaks slowly, as if talking to a foreign child who barely understands English. “In our country, we call this color red.”

  “Funny. I’m actually wondering about the shade of red.”

  “What about it?”

  “Is there a name for it?”

  “Thinking of buying one for your girlfriend?”

  I frown.

  “It’s called the new red,” she says.

  I take another peek. “It’s a hell of a dress! The most outrageous one I’ve ever seen.”

  “The dress is up here. Follow the sound of my voice.”

  Bottom line, it’s a shockingly short, kick-ass red dress, and she’s wearing it well.

  “You think the board members will approve?”

  “If they don’t, I’ll shoot them.”

  Without actually saying so, I’ve led Callie and Gwen to believe I’m driving Gwen to Ropic Industries. In reality I’m driving her to PhySpa, the plastic surgery center and spa that used to belong to Ropic’s former medical director, Dr. Phyllis Willis. After Phyllis and half her staff were found brutally murdered, I managed to purchase PhySpa for pennies on the dollar. Though local police have kept the crime scene tape in place, I happen to know they’ve concluded their investigation, and doubt they’ll be back. With their permission, I hired a half-dozen security personnel to keep an eye on things until the cops officially release the premises to me. They guard the outside of the building, and were only allowed inside on one occasion, and that was to help the delivery guys carry the two large freezers I ordered to be placed in the spa.

  Why do I need freezers in the spa?

  That’s another story for another time.

  In a month I intend to re-open the surgical center and spa, under the direction of Dr. Eamon Petrovsky, who headed the team of surgeons that reconstructed my face a couple years ago. I plan to call it Vegas Moon, if that meets with Gwen’s approval.

  How did I get the board members to agree to a secret meeting at PhySpa? I told them Gwen Peters was ready to discuss her role with the company, now that her husband was dead. I told them she was considering two possibilities: accepting a cheap buyout for her controlling interest, or using her inheritance to make a major investment in Ropic Industries. Knowing either event would stimulate their greed glands, I explained the meeting should be held in secret, away from their headquarters. I told them my driver, Jeff Tuck, would pick them up in a nearby restaurant parking lot and bring them here.

  Of course, they probably felt funny ducking under the crime scene tape and entering the back door, just as Gwen and I are doing now.

  Jeff Tuck holds the door for us, and we enter. I nod at Joe Penny, who’s standing just inside. Jeff’s my eccentric L.A. operative, and Joe Penny’s the young bomb-builder and computer whiz I hired to upgrade the surveillance system and wire the building. Thanks to Joe Penny and my unlimited budget, PhySpa is a veritable fortress. I know, because I’ve been living here quietly since two days after I killed Dr. Phyllis Willis.

  “Is Dr. P. here?” I say.

  Jeff’s eyes start to tear up. “You’re so beautiful!” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Her,” he says.

  “Thank you,” Gwen says. Then smiles and adds, “I’m Gwen.”

  Jeff looks her up and down. “You certainly are.” He looks at me. “How do you do it?”

  “Let’s move along.”

  Young Joe Penny is so stupefied by Gwen’s legs I leave him there to recover.

  I don’t blame the guys. Gwen is spectacular. Still…

  “Jeff,” I say.

  “Yeah?”

  “Try to be professional.”

  Jeff nods, and escorts Gwen and me down a short hallway.

  “That wasn’t here before,” Gwen says, indicating the small glass-walled cubicle that’s blocking our way.

  “It’s for security,” I say. “Watch what I do, then do the same.”

  I enter the cubicle, and Jeff closes the door behind me. I place my feet on the two small dots on the concrete floor, put my hands on the glass walls on either side of the cubicle, and close my eyes. Five seconds later a beep sounds, and I exit through the opposite door, close it, and wait for Gwen to enter the cubicle. She does, but turns sideways while looking for the dot upon which to place her right foot. Without meaning to, she strikes one of the sexiest poses I’ve ever seen! Her hip is practically touching one side of the cubicle, and her left foot, the other. She’s wearing five-inch black stilettos with a single black ankle strap. Of course, at this angle, the front of her dress is almost completely open.

  Just as I’m wishing I had a picture of her in this pose, Jeff snaps one with his cell phone. I’ll confiscate it later. Eventually Gwen gets her feet situated properly, waits for the beep, then joins me on the other side of the cubicle, and together we wait for Jeff.

  He joins us and we continue down the hall to the surgery center, where Gwen and I visit with the brilliant Dr. P. for a few minutes. I own the building, but I’m giving Dr. P. eighty percent of the actual business to run the place. He’ll bring class and credibility to the plastic surgery center, and will soon conduct interviews to hire a manager to run the spa.

  We can’t use the former spa manager because I killed him the morning I shot Phyllis.

  As we head to the spa’s consultation room, Gwen says, “You bought this place?”

  “I did.”

  “I had no idea you were rich.”

  What she means is she assumed I took the job as Lucky’s bodyguard because I needed the cash. Being obscenely wealthy would normally be enough to win Gwen. In fact, the only thing Lucky had going for him when he met her was his fifty million dollar financial statement. By the time I met him, six months later, Lucky was flat broke. Even his controlling interest in Ropic Industries was worthless, since the company’s stock had been de-listed.

  Gwen puts her hand on my arm to stop me. Jeff Tuck tenses up, just like I taught him, ready to strike, should there be a problem. I nod to let him know I’m okay.

  “I like a man with money!” Gwen coos.

  Of course she does. But Callie’s wealthy too, weighing in with a billion dollar net worth statement. The fact I’m six times wealthier than Callie merely keeps me in the game.

  Gwen stands on her tiptoes and kisses my earlobe.

  “Have you missed me?” she says.

  “I have.”

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, why did you buy PhySpa?”

  The way she changes subjects reminds me of my girlfriend, Rachel, who I’m allowed to call once a week. Thinking about it now, I realize it’s been a week since my last call.

  “I didn’t care about the spa part,” I say. “But a plastic surgery center in Vegas? Where every woman wants boobs and the best plastic surgeon in the world is available to run the place? It’s a no-brainer!”

  She purses her lips and says, “I think about you all the time.”

  I suspect she’s only thought about me since discovering I might be wealthy a moment ago. But no matter. Gwen’s desire to be around rich, powerful people notwithstanding, it dawns on me she’s as easy-going as any woman could be. She was glad to sit in Callie’s kitchen munching dry cer
eal, being left out of my conversation with Callie, and just as happy to attend a board meeting she knows nothing about. She didn’t ask why I brought her to PhySpa instead of Ropic Industries, and I doubt she cares. She didn’t complain about entering the security cubicle, nor when we took time to visit Dr. P.

  8.

  There are six people in the consultation room of PhySpa when Gwen and I enter, all of whom are giving off a bored, who-gives-a-shit attitude. A middle-aged guy with thick glasses and no eyebrows sits at the head of the long table. He’s William Wadsworth, the CEO. I know, because I’ve done my homework. I spent the past week reading everything about Ropic Industries my facilitator, Lou Kelly, has dug up on the company since the day I met Lucky Peters. Plus, I have insider information I gleaned from Lucky prior to his death.

  William clears his throat to speak, but I put a stop to that by slamming my fist on the table and shouting, “Get your ass out of the chair, William, ’cause there’s a new sheriff in town!”

  He grimaces at my lack of couth, but remains where he’s sitting. I grab my gun from my ankle holster and point it at him.

  He tries to lower his head into his suit coat, turtle-like, while raising his hands. I notice the others have snapped to attention.

  “Put your hands down,” I say. “This isn’t a robbery, it’s a hostile takeover.”

  He scrambles out of the chair, and Gwen sits in it, smiles brightly, and says, “Why, thank you, William!” Then she points at my gun and says, “I thought we just went through security.”

  “We did,” I say, “but I own the joint.”

  “Ah,” she says.

  I say, “Put your cell phones on the table, everyone.”

  Tony Spumoni, Ropic’s president, says, “Cell phones aren’t allowed at board meetings.”

  I point my gun at his face. “Cell phones on the table.”

  Everyone places their cell phones in the center of the table.

  I retrieve mine from my jacket, and press a button. When Joe Penny answers, I ask him to join us.

  Seconds later, Joe enters. I tell him to collect the phones. While we’re in the meeting, he’ll download their recent calls and text messages so I can see what they’ve been up to. He gathers the phones and leaves, as I announce, “I’m Donovan Creed, Mrs. Peters’s advisor. Anyone have a problem with my being here?”