Models and Super Spies Ch. 10

***

Alicia let the valet attendant take her car at the Hilton. With shopping bags from various upscale boutiques flung over her shoulder, she felt like a character out of Sex in the City. Everyone looked, and maybe for the first time in her life, many of them recognized her.

It had been like that on Rodeo Drive. It had been like that when she'd sat in her hair salon and had her lustrous blonde hair brushed out and lightly curled at the tips. She watched them mouth her name, their tongues clapping against the front of their teeth at the "li" part.

"Ms. Stiles, let me help you with those bags," a hunky young bellhop offered. She blushed at the sound of her maiden name, but the change was for the best. A break from her past.

The model gave him a coy smile over her shoulder as she released the bags into his arms. He fumbled with them as she strolled off in the direction of the elevators. He stared at her legs as he followed her. It sent a rush of confidence into her blood stream. She'd need that confidence to make it through today, although her semi-celebrity status had given her a head start.

"Thank you…"

"Greg," the young man answered, his eyes more on her cleavage than her face.

"Thank you, Greg." Alicia slipped a twenty into his hand and gave a kiss on his cheek. He turned so red she thought he'd faint. She felt her nipples tighten at the thought of giving him a real tip – or receiving one of her own. After all, she was about to fuck someone for money; sex was losing all meaning beyond fun and pleasure.

But you're not that far gone, the old Alicia insisted. She rolled her eyes and shut the door on the bellboy. She'd need to address that "old" voice sooner rather than later or she'd never survive in her new life.

She arranged her purchases on the opulently made-up bed. For her "date," she'd decided to go for the classic "little black dress," with heavy emphasis on the "little" part. If everyone had been looking before…

Alicia shivered as her imagination finished the sentence.

She stripped in front of the tall wardrobe mirror. Going up onto the balls of her feet, she swiveled like a ballerina so she could admire naked body from all angles.

"You look good, girl," she giggled, finding a scrap of modesty even when she was alone. She went back to the bed and stepped into the black g-string. The black film of material that crossed her pussy was see-through, not that it would have covered much anyway. It scooped so low that even if she had a landing strip, it would have been exposed.

Alicia's nipples tightened. "What a fucking slut!" She stepped into her black stilettos to complete the look, the supple leather elongating her shiny legs.

Going to her bag, she removed the coke she'd stolen from Tony last night. The model had stayed away from the oxies since the morning, afraid of how much she could be drinking tonight with her john. But she also didn't think she could get through the evening without a little chemical help. She done a couple lines already, before her shopping trip, and she felt in control enough. Another couple bumps and she'd be able to coast through the night.

She carried the illegal drugs into the bathroom and arranged the powdery substance into two modest trails. She stared at her reflection for a pregnant moment: topless with a rolled bill between her thumb and fore finger, her hair set perfectly and her make-up applied with a professional eye. She said to herself, "This is your life now."

Her heart skipped a beat. She bit her lip, looked one last time at the girl in the mirror, and snorted the cocaine.

***

Trey Kennedy sat in the Hilton lobby like he belonged there. He wasn't the only one. Far from it, in fact. A banking convention had just been let out when he arrived around five. When he realized that many of them were lingering in the lobby to socialize, he'd gone out and changed his outfits.

A banking disguise was easy, although expensive. His European-cut suit was black, tailored over his broad shoulders and slim torso. Beneath, he wore a corn-flower blue Oxford, complete with a starched white collar and striped, matching tie. The black, plastic framed glasses hopefully gave him some anonymity from anyone that may have recognized him, and for those who didn't, he blended in like a chameleon. He'd even snagged a name bag emblazoned with the convention's jaunty logo.

In all the commotion, he hadn't seen his wife enter, although it was certainly possible. He was so busy keeping an eye out for his wife that he barely gave notice to the crowd that mingled and chatted around him. When a woman's soft voice ask, "Waiting for someone?" it took him a moment to realize she was talking to him.

Trey blinked. His eyes slowly focused on the speaker like a camera lens in low light. She stood nearly as tall as him, her platinum blonde bangs pulled tight across her high forehead. The rest of her hair was styled back and up into a controlled bun. Something was off though. For some reason, she looked as out of place as he felt.

"Excuse me?" he asked, forcing his eyes to focus on the newcomer. She was wearing frameless glasses that accentuated her long lashes and bright blue eyes.

Maybe it was her make-up that set her apart? More professionally applied and slightly heavier than many of the female bankers?

"Waiting for someone?" she repeated. He heard her sing-song accent this time around, the soft lilt of an Australian.

"Um… kind of," he said absently. He wanted to look back at the elevators, but forced himself not to. The blonde was a real beauty. Maybe that was it? "I was hoping to meet up with a couple friends, but it looks like they've gone out already. You?"

Her thin lips were painted bright red. Despite her tailored, pinstripe suit, those lips and her light blonde hair gave her a pinup quality. "These people bore me," she announced. "I was about to head out. Want to join me, Henry?"

Trey blinked. Henry? For a split second, he'd forgotten about his disguise – his stolen badge. Jesus, how amateur was he coming off as? He hadn't even noted his fake name. "I don't even know your name."

"Kelly," she said, holding her badge up. Her long fingernails were as red as her lips. For the first time, Trey noticed the way her jacket fastened between her full cleavage, and the lack of a blouse. He really must have been out of it not to see that.

Something about her triggered a tickle in the recesses of his mind. Kelly. The name seemed familiar. "And you're 'Henry.'" Why did she say that like his name was in quotes? Was he being paranoid, or did she—

"So now that we've got that out of the way, want to go explore with me?" She arched a brow at Trey.

He was about to tell her thanks, but no thanks, when he happened to look in the direction of the elevators. His wife had finally come down, and she looked unbelievable. She owned negligees that covered more skin than the black dress. Everything about it was dainty, from the spaghetti straps to the loose flare of the short hemline to the little matching purse she held in her left hand. A ringless hand.

"Oh, that's Alicia Kennedy. Beautiful, isn't she?" Kelly's soft lilt commented, seeing his stunned reaction to the blonde.

"She is," was all he managed. Walking up to meet his wife was Vincent Silva. At first, all Trey could register was confusion. Vincent? Why was he here? Was he using Erin's escort service?

"Looks like she's moving up in the world," the Australian continued. "Rumor had it that she was seeing Michelle Park's ex, but I guess those were false."

The light bulb finally turned on. Vincent was her "date." He'd set it up with Erin so the Hollywood madam would think Alicia was being a good little whore, when really it was all a front. His wife would remain true, thanks to the boss that seemed so easy to hate. Maybe his marriage wasn't self-destructing, after all.

"Lucky guy. Who is he?" Trey said, turning back to Kelly with a hell of a lot more confidence than he'd felt all afternoon. It was almost like Trenton Dean was back.

Her eyes had remained steady on Trey. He felt like he was under a microscope. She chuckled, as though to say, Sure, I'll play along. He didn't like that chuckle. "Vincent Silva. Quite an entrepreneur in the entertainment industry."

"And how would a banker from Down Under know who he is?" Trey hadn't meant to ask it aloud, but he was so overcome with relief that it just came out.

Again, that chuckle. She leaned close to him. His eyes fell into her tawny cleavage. "Right. A banker."

Trey just stared blankly at her, unsure how to react. Something odd was definitely going on here. Searching for something mundane to do, he pulled out his cell phone and turned it back on under the pretense that he was checking for the time. It rang almost immediately, the ID blocked.

"Hello?" he asked, smiling patiently at the mysterious blonde. If this was Liz, then hopefully she could extract him.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" It was his partner shouting on the other end of the line, but suddenly he wished he hadn't answered.

Trey grimaced at the photographer, held up his finger as if to say, "one moment," and stepped away for some privacy. "Hey," he said lamely.

"Fuck you, Trey! Do you have any idea how long we've been trying to reach you? Where have you been?"

"I've been surveiling Alicia."

"You've been what!?" The phone distorted as she shouted hysterically. "Trey, that's not even a fucking word! You're way out of your league."

"It's no problem. I learned she had a date set up for tonight… you know, like an escort-date thing. But it's OK now. Turns out, her date's with Vincent."

"Well, I learned something, too," she said, her patience sounding strained. "And I'm guessing that it's something you have no idea about."

Trey felt his body go cold. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be good. "What?"

"Had an interesting conversation with Agent Silva this afternoon. Turns out, he and Alicia were quite a hot item before you. They were lovers, Trey." He nearly dropped the phone. "Now, still think that her little date tonight is 'OK'?"

Trey looked around suddenly, searching the lobby for Alicia and Vincent. They were nowhere in sight.

"Oh shit," he said, closing the phone.

Kelly had wandered over when she saw him end the call. "Something wrong?" she asked, touching his shoulder. The tanned skin on the back of her hand looked soft.

"Um, sort of."

"Let's go out. Maybe I can make it right."

"I…" his voice petered out as she slipped her hand into his. His phone began to buzz again as they walked out the front door. He slipped it out and tossed it into the garbage bin just outside. He needed a break from his life as a spy. He needed to pretend like life was normal again.

***

Gabrielle Dubois was feeling restless. Why Vincent Silva wanted her to stay so close at hand was beyond her, but Erin was backing him up this and international supermodel or no, Gabrielle had learned not to cross the "club owner." Not with the videos from her past the woman had.

It wasn't all bad. Michelle's ocean-front condo had all the amenities of a high-end resort: private sauna, state-of-the-art gym, entertainment den. She could even sun on her fenced veranda.

And by the end of the week, she would be free to do whatever she pleased. Or so they told her. The official opening of Solstice the night club would be behind them and life would be normal again.

But there were times when she needed to get out of her house arrest. Risk and discovery be damned, sometimes, it was just too much.

Erin had provided her with a limousine service when she absolutely needed to leave Michelle's. The limos were discreet. Nothing too fancy. No stretch affairs with champagne bars or anything like that. Just an understated Lincoln with soft leather seats, tinted windows, and a smooth ride.

Tonight was one of those nights. Michelle was out partying somewhere and suddenly, she couldn't take any more of this American network television.

"Where to, miss?" the driver asked as she slid into the back of the car.

"Oh, I don't care." The young driver wore a black cap, and Gabrielle could see his white-gloved hands on the wheel. So generic looking, she thought as she turned her attention to the nightscape outside. "Some place where you can drive fast."

"Of course," the driver responded.

The French supermodel's thoughts turned to her situation. All this intrigue and blackmail had been fun while it lasted; she just hoped it didn't last much longer. Truth was, she was growing tired of it. She hated being cooped up, and Vincent had made it very clear to stay cooped. If she wanted Mishin Inc., that was.

Mishin. She sighed. Gabrielle actually liked the young playboy, although she liked the idea of inheriting his modeling firm even more. She didn't dare ask what was going to become of him when this mysterious event happened "in the next few days," but she had an idea. And that idea chilled her to the bone.

The Lincoln Towncar slowed to a stop. Gabrielle hadn't realized it, but the driver had navigated them into a shady looking shipyard district. The kind the movies liked to set illicit meetings in. And murders.

Gabrielle shivered. "Iz there a problem?" she asked the young man, who still hadn't turned around. The supermodel broke out into a cold sweat.

Just then, the passenger side door opened in the front and someone slipped in. "Hey!" the French woman shrieked, backing up against the plush seat, getting as far away from the intruder as possible. The driver turned. Gabrielle gasped. He wasn't a young man, but a woman!

"Gabrielle, I thought you were in gay Paris!"

"Alexander?!" she said in shock. "But I thought you were…" She trailed off, staring at the man like he was some kind of ghost.

Mishin's blue eyes grew sad. "So you knew," he sighed, setting a gloved hand on the seatback he was leaning against. In his hand was a gun, matte black and deadly. "I was hoping you were an innocent."

Gabrielle's eyes grew wide at the sight of the pistol. "I am! Oh, Alexander, I didn't know. Really…" She clawed at the door handle, but realized it was locked. Her body shuddered with panic. Her scalp was on fire, yet her hands and feet felt cold as ice. "Jesus, Alexander, please don't…"

Tears welled up in her eyes. "I didn't know, I swear. I didn't know!"

Alexander ran his fingers through his styled blonde hair. The gun disappeared. "Christ, Gabbie, I'm not going to kill you, although I'm angry enough that I could." She whimpered. "But I may ruin your career, and for a gal like you, I think that may be worse, yes?"

"What do you want, Alexander? I'll do anything."

He grinned, although no mirth touched his piercing blue eyes. "I know you will. Here's what I need you to do…"