be saying that if they knew she’d torched her own brother to death. But the voice he’d heard that night he’d left Big Carl’s was revealing its intent. Of course. They now had millions in the bank, more money than Lester could ever imagine–and he was entitled to every last dime. Oh yes, they had a very big score to settle.
And then, just like that, the golden opportunity had arrived. It was perfect.
Lester pushed himself up on to one arm and reached for the side, hauling himself to his feet. His cock still hurt from where that hooker had kicked him. He scratched at his balls, yawning, preparing for the day ahead.
Every day he was preparing.
This summer, in three months’ time, the premiere of Lana’s new movie was going to that bastard’s hotel. Lester kept track of every damn move those killers made.
When he was done with them, there would be nothing left. No more Lana Falcon and no more Robert St Louis. Patience, at long last, would be rewarded.
Vegas was going to be a glorious reunion.
Los Angeles
Kate diLaurentis lit a second candle, a slender, violet stalk set in silver, and stepped back to survey the table with satisfaction. There, perfect.
She had spent all afternoon at the mansion preparing a sumptuous anniversary banquet for Jimmy, who was due home any moment. Nerves jangled. Tonight was important–it was the night she would steer her marriage back on track, and she knew what that meant doing. Anxiously she fiddled with the neck of her aquamarine satin dress, encouraging a little more chest to spill forth. Smoothing her blonde hair, held in a hard knot at the back of her head and drawing the skin up so tight it was verging on painful, she reminded herself that she had a very good reason to feel confident.
This morning she had secured, albeit last minute, a role in George Roman’s new production. Her comeback was finally within reach–à la Demi and Courtney, she was about to make forty-something sexy again–and who better to be championed by than the man with the golden touch? He was even jetting her off to London to meet the rest of the cast.
In celebration she had given her kitchen staff the night off–it couldn’t be that hard to cook a meal. She checked the lamb one more time. Who knew how long it took, but it had been in there practically all day so it must be done. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and waited for Jimmy to come home.
Minutes later she heard the door go and her husband stumble into the hall. She balled her fists. He’d better not be drunk.
‘Hello, darling!’ she sang, sailing out to greet him and positioning her body to award him the best view of her legs, which were almost entirely visible where the dress split up one side. She was pleased to see he had only tripped over their son’s toy truck–hadn’t she told Su-Su to put that stupid thing away?–and appeared, at least, to be sober.
‘Hi,’ he said, clearly in a bad mood. He trudged past her, failing to take in her clinging dress or killer heels. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, helping himself to a beer from the refrigerator, ‘happy anniversary.’ He knocked the bottle open and swigged from it, before wiping his mouth with his shirtsleeve and burping gently. ‘Something smells good.’
‘It’s dinner,’ said Kate tightly, determined not to let his behaviour affect her evening.
‘You’re cooking?’ He went to laugh, realised she was serious and caught himself in time. When they’d first been married Kate had taken to the kitchen quite frequently–she’d explained she had never been allowed to when she was living with Cole; he insisted his staff did it all–and every meal she’d produced had been practically inedible. It had become, or at least it used to be, a standing joke between them.
Instead he looked surprised. ‘Wow, OK. Thanks. Um …’ He spotted a vase of white roses on the side and plucked one from the water, hoping charm would win out. ‘Here you go.’
It was inexcusable that he had failed to bring her a bouquet. Swallowing her disappointment, Kate took the rose from him and forced herself to smile.
‘Come on through,’ she purred, leading him out on to the candlelit terrace. The table was set beautifully in purple and vanilla linens–one thing Kate’s hostess skills did stretch to–with an elaborate, silver-leafed flower arrangement at its centre. Soft music played on the stereo.
‘This looks good,’ said Jimmy, taking a seat and pulling his chair in. He turned to his wife. ‘Are you feeling OK?’
She put her hands on his shoulders, which felt quite bony, and began to rub. ‘You just relax,’ she soothed, bending so she could whisper in his ear, ‘and let me take care of things.’ Quick as a flash her tongue darted out and licked his earlobe.
‘What was that?’ he cried, swatting his ear.
‘Relax,’ she said again, running her hands down his arms. Hmm, he had got rather thin. She hoped he wasn’t on drugs. Gently she began kissing his neck, moving her hands down over his stomach until they reached a slowly but surely swelling bulge in his trousers. Jimmy had the biggest dick in Hollywood–a fact that had once delighted her but was now quite frightening. But the night was young and there was a marriage to save.
She unscrewed a bottle of red wine and filled both their glasses. Holding hers tight, she floated over to the stereo system. When the music came on, she started to move, swaying her hips sexily and winding to the floor. Phew, that was hard on the legs. Raising her arms above her head, she pushed out her chest and her ass. To hell with the dinner. Maybe she ought to strip for him, that’s the sort of thing he liked–show him what he had been missing all this time.
Jimmy remained at the table, visibly uncomfortable. ‘What are we listening to?’ he asked, anything to make conversation.
‘A new band,’ Kate murmured, closing her eyes as if the song had transported her. ‘I thought you might like them.’
He frowned. ‘It’s a bit … I don’t know, rock. Didn’t think you were into that sort of thing.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ she said huskily.
Jimmy picked up the sleeve for something to do. ‘The Hides.’ He flipped it over. ‘Bit of a stupid name, isn’t it?’
Keeping her eyes fixed on him, Kate continued the slow dance. ‘Their producer sent me a copy. Felix Bentley, you know–we’re friends. Good friends.’ She giggled coquettishly.
The attempt to make her husband jealous flopped, as he continued to scrutinise the album cover. She sensed he was avoiding looking at her. Maybe she’d acted too quickly, too much too soon. They’d eat, talk, she’d tell him about her new venture. And then …
‘I had some good news today,’ she said, meandering into the kitchen and bringing out an incinerated rack of lamb with over-steamed vegetables. She laid everything on the table. ‘I hope it’s all cooked,’ she said, taking a seat opposite him.
‘It looks … well done, Kate.’ He watched for a reaction but none came. When he pulled at the meat it came apart in coarse grey ropes. ‘What’s the news?’
Kate
