a large media screen at the front of the room, Renee projected pictures and provided details. Vanessa stared at the pictures of the models: both had been beaten, raped and stabbed to death. There’d been no mercy or dignity in what they had endured before death set them free.
Her eyelids stung. Balling her fists, she parted her lips and forced air into her lungs.
The next group of pictures centered on the upscale building on Ocean Drive in Miami where the models had had apartments. With the Novak sofa and chair and the Milan coffee tables in the living room, Gena’s apartment was a study in soothing blues and hardwood floors. Vanessa was certain that it had been designed and decorated by a professional.
One or more of a very different kind of professional had destroyed Gena’s apartment, too. The sofa and all the chairs in the place had been cut with a knife and viciously ripped to shreds. Someone had even taken the seats and backs off the chairs and ripped the carpet with razors. The kitchen was a mess of broken glass and china. Silverware littered the floor. Nothing in the apartment remained intact.
“They certainly found what they were looking for,” Mackenzie said roughly, breaking the stark silence.
Renee flicked her remote ahead to a picture of a clear glass container that had been glued together. The label on the front read Caribbean Mama Spice Mix.
“I imagine that this jar never held the kind of spice that goes on food,” Renee remarked dryly. “The lab analyzed the pieces of glass that formed this container and found they were coated with cocaine. It seems likely that the girls transported the cocaine into the country in spice jars like this. It’s probably not the only type of product container used. Judging by the way their apartments and belongings were searched and destroyed, the Miami Field Division, MFD, thinks the girls may have messed up the delivery somehow and gotten themselves killed. The girls had just returned from a trip to the Bahamas. They cruised regularly on yachts owned by people high up in the fashion and music industries. MFD’s not sure which boat they were on, because all their friends and associates have suddenly developed acute cases of amnesia.”
Vanessa’s throat tightened. If she’d stayed in modeling and continued everything she’d been doing, she could have been one of the victims. “So who are we after?”
As Renee clicked a new picture onto the screen, Cody spoke. “We’re after a ring headed or financed by someone in the upper echelons of society or highly placed in Miami business or in the music industry. We have more than one suspect.” He pointed to the picture on the screen. “This is Hector Guerra. He came up from the streets of Miami with a past that includes the Street Killers and 114th Avenue Boys. His club and hip-hop clothing lines have made him popular. The models attended several of his parties. His clothing lines could provide an excellent cover for transporting drugs.”
Vanessa studied the photo of the tall, lean, Latino man. Hooded brows and beautifully shaped lips dominated his golden-skinned face. He was one of the designers her sister, Michelle, adored and the type of man that would have attracted Gena.
Taye Rollins, also known as Hot T, was the man in the next photo. Renee explained that the hip-hop artist, record producer and clothing designer had come up from the Street Killers gang of Miami, and now employed former gang members, and sponsored and produced artists coming out of Miami street gangs. He’d also been spotted at several events with an entourage that included both of the models.
Vanessa owned several of Taye’s CDs. His compositions were edgy, sexy and innovative. With skin the color of warm milk chocolate, he was attractive and had a smile that pulled at something deep inside her. Could the man be that provocative in person? She doubted it.
In the next photo, Caulfield Carouthers was blond with piercing, gray eyes. Vanessa knew the publishing heir through his snobby sister, Lindy, who’d gone to high school with her. According to the file, his lifestyle and gambling habit had negatively affected his publishing empire. He hung out with people in the fast lane and had been seen with several of the other suspects. He’d also had an affair with Bianca a couple of years ago.
Vanessa was surprised when a photo of dark-haired, heavyset, pugnacious-faced movie producer Benton Lansing appeared on the screen. According to Mackenzie, Benton hung out and partied with Taye and the other suspects. His last two movies had flopped and he was trying to get funding for another. He could be trying to finance his next picture with drug money.
Last, but not least, was Garrett Sutter, the Sutter Distillery heir. Vanessa had met him and been present at a few society functions he’d also attended. He mostly kept to himself. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people had landed him on the DEA’s suspect list.
“So exactly what is my assignment?” Vanessa asked.
Renee placed the remote on the table. Calm and confident, she faced them directly. An inner fire lit her royal-blue eyes. “You’re to go to Miami with Agent Mackenzie. There, you will move into the condo complex on Ocean Drive and get to know the models on the party circuit. Find out what you can about Gena and Bianca’s activities. Your goal is to get a lead on this drug operation, work with Cody to identify its members, and get the evidence we need. Mackenzie will help photograph you and several other models for the swimsuit edition of Inside Sports.”
For the first time, Vanessa felt excited at the chance to grace the cover of Inside Sports. The assignment stoked her competitive streak. Her gaze darted to Renee. That the Governess and her contacts had managed such a coup was quite a bonus. The modeling career she’d tanked was returning with a bang.
“Agent Mackenzie, Vanessa, I know that you two have just met, but you were each considered the best we could find for this assignment. Mackenzie, your work with the DEA in Miami has been highly commended. You must also be proud to have placed your photos in various art and photography magazines.”
Mackenzie closed his briefing file. “Thank you. But now we’ve got a job to do.”
“I’d already planned to take two independent study classes in the upcoming term at school, but I’ll need at least a day to square things with my family,” Vanessa put in quickly, making a concerted effort to avoid the agent’s gaze. Still, she felt the weight of it and suppressed the impulse to explain. She didn’t owe him an explanation.
“A day or two is fine,” Renee informed them. “Vanessa, you’ll need to at least check in with Erin Branch at the MFD. Both your Inside Sports contract and the details on where you’ll be staying can be found in your file. Any questions?”
Mackenzie asked about the chain of command on and off the team.
Matter-of-factly Renee faced him. “This is a joint operation between the Gotham Roses and the DEA. You’re considered equals. Mackenzie’s supervisor at the MFD and I expect to be kept up to date on your progress. The MFD is available to provide you with any local help and backup you might need. Mackenzie, you’re still expected to follow DEA rules and procedures. We’ve already cleared your use of our technology and wardrobe for this assignment with your supervisor. Vanessa, you know our rules of operation. You’ll turn over your evidence to the MFD. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”
Renee’s statements didn’t surprise Vanessa. She’d worked alone on the last assignment. All of the women in the club’s undercover organization were trained and capable of working alone. The wild card here was Cody Mackenzie. Would he make the assignment a breeze, or become a full-blown pain in the ass?
“If there’s nothing further, Alan’s got a few gadgets for you and Kristi’s worked up a wardrobe profile and several additions for both of you.” Standing,
