Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 10

*

"Hey, Roxanne, wait up!"

Jennifer Finney had been trying to get in touch with Jack and Roxie all morning, but neither had been answering their mobile. That had alarmed her and she'd been on her way to their suite when she'd caught sight of the redhead along one of the long hotel corridors.

She looked great, too, in a lime green blouse with its high, open collar and a pair of white shorts that left the curves of her tanned legs bare. Jenn blushed at the thought. After her sexual escapade with Michelle Park, she was looking at women in a new light. And Jack's beautiful girlfriend was as attractive as any she'd seen.

Roxanne swung around quickly, tugging at her long ponytail.

"Jenn, where have you been? I've been looking for you."

"Where have I been?" the brunette quickly responded. "I've been trying to get in touch with you and Jack since last night."

A soft blush tinged Roxie's cheeks. She'd ignored her phone during her session with Dawn and then again with Jack this morning. A lot had happened in such a short time.

"Yes, sorry," she said, trying to make light of the situation. "I was busy with my Supermodel work yesterday and Jack has been busy following up a couple of things..."

"Supermodel?" The look on Jenn's face was a picture. "I clean forgot about that. You were hosting the show with Alicia Stiles, weren't you? How did it go?"

"Fabulous," Roxie beamed.

They'd have plenty of time to talk about the show later, but for now she wanted to know what was on the brunette's mind.

"We can talk about it over a drink," she added, linking her arm with the brunette's. "But first things first. Is everything okay?"

The corners of Jenn's mouth curled up into a broad smile at the question and she glanced around them before continuing.

"Let's get that drink," she began, rolling those beautiful, round brown eyes of hers. "You're not going to believe it, Roxie. I can hardly believe it myself."

The redhead's brow furrowed in puzzlement. Since Jack had saved Jenn at the Smoke Stack, every conversation between them had been tinged with frustration. Now the girl was practically beaming.

"Tell me," she breathlessly said, as they began to head back along the corridor towards the hotel bar.

Jenn's excitement was infectious.

"I have it all," the brunette said, covering her mouth with her hand. "Complete documentary evidence of Nikky Volkov's illegal business dealings over the last few years."

She paused, as if for dramatic effect. Roxanne's green eyes had widened into saucers.

"I know, it's unbelievable but true," she emphasised, pausing at the top of the stairs.

There were a few more hotel guests around now that they were out in the open. She had to be careful.

"I've read every word," she went on, lowering her voice. "And I've already telephoned Sandra Wilson to talk her through all the salient points. Let's find Jack and I'll bring you both up to date—"

The sudden look of concern on Roxanne's face stopped her mid flow.

"What?" she asked.

"Jack's on his way to see Nikky Volkov," Roxie told her. Her voice was thick with emotion. "To have it out with him..."

The sudden chill that settled on both of them was almost tangible.

*

It felt as if everything had turned full circle. The last occasion Jack Palmer spent some time in the New City Convention Centre had been to see Roxie make her debut on the Dubai catwalk. That seemed as if it were a lifetime away. He'd also set eyes on Nikky Volkov for the first time that night and had disliked him instantly.

Now, he was about to confront the Russian.

It had taken a couple of phone calls to find the multi-millionaire's whereabouts. That put him at a disadvantage. It meant Volkov knew he was coming. But it would be difficult for him to get up to his tricks again. It was one thing lurking in the shadows, but this was in public.

He hated men like the Russian, who hid behind a cloak of respectability and yet allowed their darker side free reign. Corrupting people to get his own way was his specialty. He'd tried to compromise Jenn Finney at the Smoke Stack club after he'd found out she was an undercover cop. He'd been more successful with Palmer, but only after Jade had drugged him. And his men would have badly beaten Jack up last night if he'd allowed them to get the better of him.

Then there was Tony Yamamura. Jack was certain Volkov had him killed.

Palmer had learned a long time ago that the only way to deal with a bully was to take him on. That's why he was here. He wanted the Russian multi-millionaire to see the whites of his eyes, to fully understand that his vast wealth and influence meant nothing to him. If he interfered in his and Roxie's life again, then he needed to know that Palmer was coming after him, regardless of the consequences.

Jack's thoughts turned to Roxanne while he waited for Volkov to emerge—his Roxanne, with her flowing red hair, sparkling green eyes and contagious bubbly personality. His girlfriend and his soul mate. Who would have thought he could have found love with someone like her? They were from different worlds and yet they just gelled.

And the sex...

He'd never met a woman so comfortable in her own skin. She knew how hot she was and knew exactly how to use her sexuality. Yet she never flaunted it. She was a supermodel in her own right and yet she was so down to earth she could be the girl next door.

Suddenly, Palmer's body tensed. Nikky Volkov had emerged from the elevators at the far end of the Centre. A woman was with him, maybe his secretary, although she looked more like a model with her jet black hair, full lips and an admittedly voluptuous body.

They were flanked by two men, clearly his bodyguards from the way they carried themselves. The way they looked from side to side as they strutted a pace or two behind was almost comical. It was clear that that the Russian wasn't taking any chances, but Palmer knew there wasn't going to be any violence here. Volkov was too smart for that.

The ex-cop waited until he was sure which direction they were headed before quickly leaving his position near the front of the complex. He could cut them off at the bottom of the staircase.

*

Nikky Volkov wasn't surprised to see Jack Palmer approaching them across the tiled floor. He'd been told that the former detective was coming to see him. The man seemed to have nine lives, but by walking into the lion's den he was about to find out he'd used them all up.

"Leave us," he murmured to Angela, his secretary.

He watched her beautiful ass swing from side to side as she made her way towards the front desk. He was going to fuck it later tonight. But first, he had business to take care of. Palmer was unlikely to try anything in here, but his bodyguards would sort him out if he did. He clicked his fingers by his side to attract their attention.

"So..." he said, as the ex-cop approached him. "So this is Jack Palmer?"

He deliberately made his Russian accent more pronounced as he regarded his enemy. The man didn't look particularly tough, even though he'd fought off the three idiots Volkov had sent to beat him up last night. Still, there was a look in his eyes that the Russian recognised only too well. Palmer didn't fear anything, least of all him.

"You keep getting in my way, Mr. Palmer," he continued, taking the initiative. "Like an irritating fly buzzing around my head. Do you know what I do with flies?"

He raised his right hand and curled his fingers tightly together

"I crush them. As easily as this..."

The bodyguards exchanged a glance as they laughed, but Volkov stilled the sound with a single glance. He could see that Palmer wasn't easily intimidated. He was here on a mission. His bodyguards needed to be fully focussed, not chuckling like schoolchildren.

"The thing is, you're an exception, Mr. Palmer..." he went on, hating the way the bastard just kept staring at him.

Who did he think he was, confronting him like this? Did he think he could frighten Nikolay Volkov? Anger rose in his throat like bile, but he contained it. He'd soon put him in his place.

"Congratulations," he continued, keeping his voice steady. "Normally the people who irritate me don't understand what is about to happen to them. In your case, I want you to fully appreciate what's about to come your way. You're a dead man walking."

For the first time since he'd approached, the look on Palmer's face changed. The sullenness was replaced by contempt.

"You're so full of shit," he calmly replied, moving forward.

Both bodyguards reached inside their jackets as they tried to step between the two men, but the Russian stilled the movement with an upraised palm.

"Not here," he rasped at them. "We don't want to be provoked."

He turned back to Palmer, a condescending smile on his face.

"You think so?" he snapped, meeting Palmer's gaze head on. "Let me tell you that every step you take from here is being watched, and not just by me. The Sheikh is taking a special interest in you, at my request, of course. His men are waiting for you when you leave the premises, and they'll be a damn sight more proficient than the fools last night. And once you're out of my hair, Roxanne—"

He took a sudden step back as Palmer lunged forward. Clearly the mention of his girlfriend's name had tipped him over the edge. So he was emotional after all? That played right into his hands.

It was the last thought that went through his mind...

*

Palmer cursed himself for reacting, but just as Volkov stepped back and away from him, an echoing roar sounded in his ear. He glanced up to see the Russian fall backwards, arms outstretched.

Blood oozed from the bullet hole in his forehead.

The two bodyguards pulled their weapons from inside their jackets, swinging around as if they were unsure about the direction of the gunfire. Palmer knew it had come from above them. One of the men was shot almost immediately, crumbling in a heap onto the marble floor, while the other desperately tried to take cover behind a pillar.

All of a sudden, people around them were screaming and rushing for cover as the realisation of the unfolding carnage hit them. Palmer glanced at Volkov as he threw himself behind the bottom of the staircase. The Russian lay sprawled face-up in a widening pool of blood. He was unmoving, clearly dead.

More gunfire rang out as the second bodyguard stupidly moved back into the open, squeezing off a series of shots up at the balcony above them. His head jerked backwards as a bullet hit him, the initial speck of blood on his chest rapidly widening as he dropped to the floor.

Whoever the assailant was, he knew what he was doing. That could only mean one thing. Vladimir Kazakov...

Palmer glanced upwards and saw the gunman looking downwards before he began to retreat. He had achieved his aim. His focus now would be on his escape route. But where?

Instinct kicked in and he rushed to the staircase, crouching low as he took the upward journey three steps at a time. Yes, it had to be Vladimir Kazakov. Who else? Gaining his revenge?

The balcony was full of terrified visitors, all crouching and covering their heads with their hands and arms as they tried to hide from whatever was going on around them. Palmer saw a spent shell casing at the top of the stairs and kept going past it. There was another, smaller, set of stairs in the far corner.

Up to the roof of the building?

Once a cop, always a cop, he told himself as he made his way past the shocked visitors towards the stairs. One glance upwards revealed a partly open hatch at the top. Yes, the gunman had come this way.

Climbing the stairs, he gingerly pushed it half-open so that he could look out. He half expected the sound of a bullet in his direction but there was none. Scrambling upwards, he crawled through the gap and blinked twice as the hot sun hit his face. Once he adjusted his eyes to the intense light, he caught sight of a figure making its way across the roof top and towards a fire escape that presumably led down to the ground. The assassin had meticulously planned his escape.

For a moment, their eyes met, but Kazakov—if that's who it was—was too preoccupied with keeping his balance to risk a shot. When he disappeared from view, Palmer almost went after him. Then common sense kicked in. This wasn't his fight. What the fuck was he doing?

Slowly, he turned around and made his way back inside the building...

*

Michelle Park stood infront of the mirror in her hotel bedroom, a haughty smirk on her stunning face. Her almond-shaped eyes slithered lazily across her olive-hued figure as she admired her naked body. She was hot. There was no doubt about that.

Was there a man or woman alive who could resist her? If there were, the Korean American model had yet to meet them.

Pulling her long dark hair across one shoulder, she turned one way and then the other as she checked herself out. Her full breasts sat high and perky with all the grace of youth, her spectacularly high nipples were still proud and erect, and her velvety smooth pussy was slightly swollen from her intense encounter with Nikky Volkov.

There wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her fabulous body, testament to all those hours in the gym.

A mischievous smile touched the edge of her lips at the recollection of her early morning encounter with the Russian. Men were so fucking easy to fool, even someone as supposedly intelligent as Nikky Volkov. When he was arrested, she'd be able to put her and Tony's plan into action. Part of it anyway. She'd stay out of the limelight, find a guy who would take the fall if things went wrong, and take things step by step.

The sound of her telephone reinforced her thoughts. She knew exactly who it was on the other end, returning her earlier call. After supplying Jenn Finney with the damming information on Volkov, she'd instantly set the ball rolling. By the time she was comfortably seated on her flight back to the States, things would be taking shape.

"Hello?" she said, pouring herself a celebratory glass of champagne as she picked up the receiver.

"Michelle," the female voice on the other end said. "It's good to talk to you again."

"Indeed," the Asian model purred, taking a sip.

The liquid slid down her throat as easily as Nikky Volkov's cock had.

She hadn't spoken to Bree Jensen since the porn star had hurriedly returned to Las Vegas after Tony's death. But their threesome the night before still burned brightly in her mind. Both women had fought for sexual superiority that night and it was a battle Michelle was looking forward to resuming again. Perhaps just the two of them this time?

"I'd like to meet you when I get back to America," she said, turning back to admire herself in the long mirror.

"You would?" Bree's voice sounded surprised. "Why?"

"To resurrect the business proposition you agreed with Tony and I."

The momentary silence down the line was palpable. Michelle smiled at her reflection, as if sharing the moment with the sexy lookalike. The reflection smiled back. With Nikky Volkov out of the way, there'd be numerous opportunities to exploit the void left by his imprisonment. She intended to take full advantage.

"That sounds ... interesting..."

The Korean American model's smile widened as she took another sip of champagne. It was her favourite drink. She had wondered whether Tony's demise might have spooked the blonde pornstar but, as she'd hoped, Bree Jensen was made of sterner stuff.

"You still have full access to the sort of girls we discussed?" she asked. They were vital to her plans. "Big names in your industry, who would be happy to, let's say, expand their horizons?"

"Honey," Bree laughed heartily. "For the right money, anything is possible. But as I explained to Tony, women in our particular vocation don't come cheap."

Michelle joined in the laughter.

"And as Tony reassured you when he was around, money won't be an issue," she simply said. "You have my word on that. I'll call you tomorrow when I'm back in the States and we can talk further."

She tapped the phone on her teeth as she ended the call. Perhaps she would visit Bree in Las Vegas? That would be fun!

The tap on her bedroom door brought her thoughts back to the moment and she peered through the peephole before answering. A girl in her position couldn't be too careful. It was a bellboy, there to collect her suitcases. He was early. She hadn't fully packed yet. He was also large, muscular and quite good looking...

"You're early," she said as she flung the door open.

She stood there for a moment, one hand on her hip in a perfect model's pose, smiling wantonly at the look of shock on his face as his gaze covered her naked body. Oh yes, he was good looking. Executing a perfect turn, she sauntered back to the centre of her room, knowing without glancing back that his eyes were on her perfect ass.

"Perhaps you can wait here a few minutes while I finish packing?" she asked, tossing him a sexy look over her shoulder. "Do you like champagne?"

He seemed in two minds as the ramifications of her offer sank into his brain, but then nervously stepped into the room and silently closed the door behind him. His gaze shot around the room as he moved from foot to foot, as if he was expecting someone to jump out of the bathroom and ask what the fuck he was doing.

"There's just you and me," Michelle reassured him, reaching for the bottle of bubbly.

She carried it with her to the bed, holding it up as she eased her perfect body down onto the edge of the mattress. Tilting the bottle forward, she allowed the liquid to splash across her breasts, run down her stomach and between her widespread thighs.

"Well, lover," she said, raising a single eyebrow. "I feel the need to celebrate which means this is your lucky day. You said you liked champagne. Why don't you come and get it."

EPILOGUE

The non-stop flight from Dubai International Airport was circling around the City of London, awaiting approval to land at the Heathrow airport.

The first half of the journey had passed relatively quickly, with both Roxie and Jenn bombarding him with questions after he'd relayed the news of Nikky Volkov's death. They'd been as shocked as he had at the killing, and he knew how frightened but relieved Roxanne was that he'd been unscathed as the violence unfolded. For her, for both of them, it had been one shoot-out too many.

The last few hours had dragged for him. He just wanted to get home. He'd watched—but not really seen—a couple of movies to pass the time, while half-listening to Roxie and Jenn's chatter. They could talk, those two girls, and he knew they'd found a new friend for life.

He'd replayed every aspect of Volkov's death in his mind over and over again, wanting to be crystal clear on every fact. Just before he'd died, the Russian had told him that the Sheikh's men would be targeting him when he left the building. He hadn't mentioned that to Roxie or Jenn and, besides, the shooting had changed all that. The threat had faded into thin air, as if the Sheikh couldn't afford to be caught up in anything like this. His connection to Volkov could have been exposed.

He'd even had an easy ride with the police. They could have kept him in Dubai for as long as they wanted, and concocted all manner of charges against him. Instead, he'd been free to go after only a couple of hours of questioning. It was clear why.

The Sheikh wanted him—them—out of the country.

"You okay?" Roxie suddenly asked beside him.

She was still shocked by Volkov's violent demise, but so much more relaxed now that they were returning home. Jenn was the same, especially as she was heading back to the Met with her head held high. She had a thick file of information that exposed the Russian for the crook he was. She'd come out of this with her reputation enhanced.