you’re having.”
Great. Now the kid would cough all through the meeting.
Gage gave the bartender the order, knowing his cover—Italian-mob-type Gage Angelini—would never talk a fellow criminal into a light beer.
With his dark coloring, it was easy to slip from his native French Creole, to Italian, Black Irish or Hispanic. Different clothes, accents, hairpieces, colored contacts, and presto, a spy is born.
“I brought samples,” Mettles said, reaching into his briefcase.
“Not here,” Gage said through his teeth.
The documents disappeared into the case.
Though Gage would have been thrilled to get the counterfeit plates and sample bills, hand over the payment and slap on the cuffs, he knew the kid was just a middleman. Mettles didn’t put a deal this slick together.
Gage wanted the kid’s boss—Joseph Stephano, if the undercover research was accurate. The Treasury Department had been after him for fifteen years, the FBI even longer.
The bartender delivered the drink, and Mettles threw back a healthy gulp, then gasped and coughed for a full minute before choking out, “Water.”
Gage ordered water and another drink for himself. It was going to be a long afternoon.
2
“IS MY WIG CROOKED?”
As she unlatched her seat belt, Roxanne eyed Toni’s sleek, shoulder-length white-blond hair. Her best friend looked like a cross between the part they planned to play—rich tourists on the make—and a jaded rock star.
Maybe it was the star-shaped crystal glued next to her right eye that sent the disguise over the top.
Roxanne tugged a lock on one side. “It looks great.”
Toni angled her head as she stared at herself in the mirror on the car’s visor. “I like the shade,” she said, fluffing her bangs. “Maybe I’ll go lighter with my color next time at the salon.”
“It flatters you.” Turning the rearview mirror, Roxanne examined her own disguise one last time. She should have known Toni would get carried away with this incognito business.
Her own father wouldn’t know her.
A nearly waist-length, ringlet-curled black wig covered her shoulder-length, dark red hair. She wore heavy pancake makeup; smoky eye shadow and black liner rimmed her eyes, which colored contacts had changed from golden-brown to green. Tanning cream and bronzing powder had turned her pale skin a dusky gold. Dark red lipstick gave her lips a sexy pout, and the body-hugging black pantsuit made her curves—enhanced with these weird, gel-like pads in her bra—obvious for anyone to see.
She felt ridiculous.
“I think we should have gone the other way and dressed as cleaning staff,” she told Toni.
“No way am I wearing those horrible orthopedic shoes.”
“We look obvious.”
Toni grinned as she applied bright pink lipstick. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“As long as we don’t get caught.”
Toni dropped the lipstick in her bag. “Chill. The hotels are crawling with tourists. We’ll blend right in.”
“I can’t believe he lied—again.” Roxanne glanced again at Gage’s Mercedes, parked just one row over.
After spending most of the afternoon on their disguises, they’d driven to the Sheraton and scoped the parking decks for Gage’s car. Without success. So, as her heart pounded and her headache worsened, they’d driven around the other hotels’ lots. On the third one, they’d found their quarry. At the Bayou Palace.
“Maybe the meeting’s at the Palace, and he’s staying at the Sheraton,” she said.
Toni rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s not reaching. And why would he move the car? The hotels are practically across the street from each other.”
“I’m just looking for a way I might have misunderstood.”
Toni laid her hand on her shoulder. Her eyes softened. “You’re in denial.”
Roxanne sighed. “Thanks for being here. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“We could just have my cousin tow the car and dump it in Lake Pontchartrain.”
Though the visual aspects of that plan appealed to her—as well as the idea of turning Gage into a Greta—she discovered she had some of the Lewis resolve after all. “No. I have to see this through.”
Toni smiled weakly. “Just think of the adventure we’ll have. We haven’t gone incognito since we snuck into fraternity parties in college.”
“And found your boyfriend snuggling up to a Chi O.”
Toni winced. “Right.”
The image of Gage and a svelte blonde—not unlike her friend’s current look—darted through her mind. She could picture him nuzzling her neck—God, he was a great nuzzler—and whispering naughty suggestions in her ear as she tossed back her head and laughed.
“Hey. Stop thinking about it,” Toni said as if she’d read her thoughts. “I’ve got two gallons of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia stashed in the freezer just in case.”
For a moment, Roxanne managed to forget her heartache. “Cherries? I’m gonna need chocolate.”
“You’re allergic.”
“A few coughs aren’t going to stop me tonight.”
“Fine.” Toni shimmied her shoulders. “Until then…let’s party.” She stepped from the car and tugged her trim pink suit into place, her gold bracelets jangling. “Okay, Foxy Roxy, lead on.”
Roxanne ground to a halt. “Damn. We need fake names.”
Toni clapped her hands. “Great. I get to be Brandy.”
“That sounds like a stripper.”
Toni sniffed. “I like it.”
“What about me?”
Toni eyed her up and down. “Something exotic, Mediterranean. Marina?”
“Fine.”
They wound through the parking garage before getting on an elevator. Roxanne’s heart hammered in her chest like a freight train. What would she do if she saw him? What if she found him sitting in the bar draped around another woman? Would she break into tears and run? Slap his face?
Maybe there was a logical explanation for deceiving her. Maybe he’d just gotten the hotels confused. Possible,
