Notorious, Page 2

  “Very clever,” Carey said. “And when am I to deliver these twenty pieces of silver?”

  “We’re on our way to her apartment now.” Sabin lifted a brow. “You can still back out. I’ve never seen you so reluctant to do a job.”

  “She’s got guts,” Carey said simply. “For the last three weeks I’ve been watching her every night on the evening news, and she’s taken everything they’ve thrown at her and never lost her dignity. She may be a bitch, but you still have to admire her.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Barely contained savagery tinged Sabin’s voice. “I don’t admire cheats. I only collect from them.” He drew a deep breath and when he spoke again his voice was even. “Tell her you’ll meet her at Marasef airport. We’ll take the Lear Jet to Sedikhan tonight.”

  Carey nodded as he placed the script and the envelope in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “She impresses me as being very intelligent. She’ll check with Global to be sure it’s on the up and up.”

  “She’ll get the right answer. I bought Global last week.”

  Carey’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sabin smiled sardonically. “Because every night when we watched the evening news I noticed just how enthralled you were with her.”

  “You thought I’d betray you? For Pete’s sake, Sabin. She’s not Helen of Troy.”

  “Close enough. I didn’t want to take the chance.” He looked out the window again. “Is she sleeping with James Delage?”

  “I told Randolph you’d inquired. He said he didn’t think so. Delage seems devoted to his wife.”

  “I didn’t ask what Randolph thought. I asked if she was sleeping with that damn shyster lawyer.”

  “Easy,” Carey said. “Randolph said he’d have a report on your desk by five this evening.”

  “Good.”

  The limousine pulled up in front of a brown-stone and the chauffeur jumped out and hurried around to open the door.

  Carey got out of the car and stood in the street looking hesitantly at Sabin. “I don’t suppose you’d change your mind?”

  “No way. Come back to the office when you’re through.” Sabin’s expression suddenly softened. “You’re doing the right thing, Carey. Believe me, she’s the kind of woman who can turn any man inside out before she’s through with him.”

  “I believe you.” Carey still hesitated. He had the feeling there was something more behind all this. “It’s just hard to—” He broke off and took a step back. “I’ll stop and have lunch before I come back to the office. I may need to wash the bad taste out of my mouth.” He wheeled and started up the steps of the brownstone.

  The chauffeur closed the car door and soon the limousine was gliding through the tree-lined streets of Greenwich Village en route to the Wyatt building.

  Sabin leaned back and closed his eyes trying to control the anger and impatience surging through him. Even though he’d known Mallory Thane would be acquitted, it had been difficult waiting until the trial ended. In fact, he had assisted her defense. His investigators had turned up a piece or two of the evidence linking Ben to the mob and sent it to Delage. But knowing she would soon be free hadn’t quelled the temptation to whisk her away during the trial. Such an abduction was easier to arrange than most people could imagine, and he’d wanted to be done with the waiting.

  He had sat in that courtroom day after day and watched Mallory Thane face her accusers, watched her grow thinner and more finely drawn before his eyes, and felt a raging need to end it. If she was to be punished, he should be the one to do it. He had grown fiercely protective of that right in the last months.

  Lord, he was acting like a nut case, he thought in disgust. She was becoming as much of an obsession to him as she had been to Ben.

  No … in his own way Ben had been wildly in love with her, he reassured himself quickly. What Sabin felt for Mallory Thane was lust. Lust was tolerable. He could use lust, but pity and admiration were totally unacceptable.

  He wouldn’t think of Mallory’s expression as she’d flown down the stone steps pursued by reporters. He wouldn’t think of the quiet dignity she’d shown in the courtroom, the dignity Carey had so admired.

  But he was thinking about it.

  Sabin impatiently reached into the compartment that had held the script, drew out a videotape and slid it into the video recorder beneath the television screen.

  He switched on the machine and smiled sardonically as Mallory Thane’s face appeared on the screen. Voila, the magic formula. Instant lust.

  But lust wasn’t the emotion engendered by these first shots that showed only her face. Helen of Troy. Carey’s words had been sarcastic but his own had not. In his opinion the great beauties of the world were the women who displayed not only beauty but character: Mallory Thane had been blessed with both. On the tape she was laughing impishly, her face alight with mischief. Her features were as close to perfection as any he had ever seen, but what was truly noticeable was the spirit and vitality illuminating them. The wide-set eyes were an incredible blue-violet shade framed by long, dense dark lashes, and her blue-black hair was drawn severely back from her face to reveal the startling beauty of her bone structure and then allowed to fall in a long silky mass to the middle of her naked back.

  Not that he could see her back now. That would come later when she took off the full-length ermine coat and revealed that long elegant naked spine that was more erotic than most women’s breasts.

  He could feel himself harden at the thought, and desire brought a welcome end to pity.

  She was lying down on the chaise lounge now, carelessly showing glimpses of long legs and beautifully formed shoulders as the ermine coat fell away from them. Then, slowly, seductively, she took off the coat revealing she wore nothing beneath the fur but her own glowing, silken flesh.

  She smiled lovingly at the camera, and then slowly raised her hand to shake back her long hair.

  Sabin could feel the heavy, hot throbbing between his legs and wondered why he didn’t shut the machine off. The tape had accomplished its purpose, and he knew if he continued to watch he’d be in a fever for the damn woman.

  The tape was both graphic and explicit—a woman displaying herself in the most intimate ways imaginable for her lover. Yet there was nothing obscene about the way Mallory Thane tempted the viewer. She was as natural as Eve and as exquisite as man’s first dream of woman. Sabin knew every movement, every toss of her head by heart and still he couldn’t stop himself from watching in fascination even though the sight of her was enveloping him in a hot haze of need.

  “Lord, it’s …” He didn’t know what he had been about to mutter as he reached out with a trembling hand and switched off the tape.

  It didn’t help. After he reached this point, it seldom did anymore.

  The scene on the tape still played out its beautiful, erotic exhibitionism in his mind.

  Mallory’s gaze searched Carey’s lean, freckled face. “Why me, Mr. Litzke?”

  “Your face,” Carey said simply. “We know you’re a competent actress but that’s not what Global is buying. You have a very memorable look and that’s what we need for this role. Peter Handel, the director, saw you on television two nights ago and said he had to have that face.”

  “I see.” Mallory stood up and wandered to the window and stood looking blindly down at the street. Litzke’s proposal sounded logical and she liked the man. At first glance his curly red hair, bright brown eyes and freckled face gave an impression of Huckleberry Finn charisma, but he hadn’t been in her apartment for more than ten minutes before she realized that his charm was accompanied by a forthright manner and shrewd intelligence. “‘That face’ carries a considerable amount of notoriety with it. Global’s taking a chance.”

  “We’re banking on your bad press dying down by the time the picture’s in distribution.”

  She looked back over her shoulder. “It’s only my face? No nudity?”

  He looked surprised. �
�The film doesn’t call for it.”

  She smiled ruefully. “The only offers I’ve gotten lately are for less than respectable films. I don’t do porn, Mr. Litzke.”

  “Carey.” Carey’s face lit with amusement. “No porn, I promise. Though after meeting you, the idea is certainly titillating. Let me tell you a little about the script. Breakaway takes place during World War II in North Africa. You play Renee Salanoir, a café singer and member of the resistance movement. The film’s targeted at being a sort of cross between Top Gun and Casablanca.”

  “Sounds like a winning combination.”

  Carey’s smile faded. “You don’t seem too eager to accept our offer. Isn’t the money good enough?”

  “The money’s a lifesaver.” She turned to face him. “The job’s a lifesaver. I just want to be fair to Global.”

  Carey’s lips tightened as his gaze slid away from her own. “That’s admirably ethical but Global can take care of itself. Is it a deal?”

  She hesitated. “Will the role be physically taxing?”

  Carey’s gaze shifted back to her face. “You’re not well?”

  “I just need rest. I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

  “Or eating either, I’d bet.” Carey’s gaze went over her slim figure. “Have you been to a doctor?”

  “I’m fine.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “I’m not up to rough location shooting, and I don’t want to get sick and force you to have to stop production.”

  “Stop worrying about Global.” Carey’s voice held a strange note of suppressed anger. “Worry about yourself.” He looked away from her again. “The role doesn’t call for any rigorous desert treks.”

  “Good, then it’s a deal.” She crossed the room, picked up the pen, and quickly signed the contract on the coffee table. She put down the pen and held out her hand. “I’m going to enjoy working with you, Carey.”

  He rose to his feet, took her slim hand and shook it gravely. “I hope you’ll still feel that way once you reach Marasef.”

  She smiled. “I will. I’m usually a good judge of character and I think you’re a man who’s definitely true-blue.”

  “What an old-fashioned term.” He dropped her hand and turned away. “I’ll meet your plane and drive you to the location. I’m leaving tonight for Sedikhan. If you have any problem with arrangements, contact Global.”

  “I can handle everything. I’ve been on my own for a long time. It breeds a certain independence.”

  He nodded absently as he moved toward the door. “I heard you were orphaned when you were fifteen.”

  “Was that in the papers too?” She made a face. “I thought they’d concentrated on my marriage.”

  “I must have read it somewhere.” Carey opened the door and turned to face her. “You’re sure you want this role? Sedikhan’s half a world away and its reigning sheikh, Alex Ben Raschid, is an absolute monarch. You’ll find things very different there.”

  She gazed at him, puzzled. “Of course I want it.” She paused. “If Global wants me.”

  “They want you.” Carey’s smile was forced. “I just thought you might like an opportunity to back out. Everyone deserves a last chance. See you in Marasef.”

  The door closed behind him, and Mallory stood there a moment gazing at the stained walnut panels. The adrenaline that had kept her going through the interview drained away leaving only the familiar, chilling exhaustion in its place.

  Litzke’s offer was almost too good to be true, she thought. She now had a job, money to pay James’s legal fees, a safe haven, and a nice guy like Carey Litzke to smooth her way. Maybe things were ready to take an upturn. She had always found that life moved in cycles of darkness and light, and even when things were darkest there was usually something bright to hold on to. In the year since Ben’s death, she had been hard put to find that light, but now life was beginning to look more promising.

  She just wished she had been more honest when Carey had asked her about her health. Her lips twisted ruefully as she realized she hadn’t dared tell him what the doctor had told her last week. This job meant too much to her. She’d rest after it was done and the picture was in the can. Carey had said the picture shouldn’t be strenuous and she could …

  The phone rang on the table beside her.

  She tensed, her gaze flying to the cream-colored receiver.

  It might not be him.

  The phone rang again.

  She whirled and picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.”

  A moment of silence. Then the receiver was quietly replaced on the other end of the line.

  Mallory shivered as she hung up the receiver. If the phone rang again, she wouldn’t answer it. She shouldn’t have answered this time, but she had hoped once the trial was over he would stop calling. But why should the caller stop now when the phone calls had been going on since the week after Ben’s death?

  The phone rang again and Mallory gazed at it in fearful fascination before turning away and hurrying into the bedroom. Thank God, the day after tomorrow she would be half a world away from New York. She would begin packing and keep busy and eventually the ringing would stop.

  The person on the other end only wanted to remind her he was still there, waiting for her.

  “It’s done.” Carey dropped onto the visitor’s chair and glared at Sabin across the width of the desk. “She took the bait.”

  “You’re upset.” Sabin’s gaze raked his face. “Why?”

  “Why?” Carey asked. “Because she’s a damn nice woman. Because she spent most of the time worrying whether Global was getting a fair shake, and because I felt like Judas all the time she was telling me how ‘true-blue’ I was.”

  “Did you get her to sign the contract?”

  He nodded. “She didn’t even study it. She thinks she’s a good judge of character and I’m ‘true-blue,’ remember?”

  “That seems to have rubbed you raw,” Sabin said. “She’s a good actress.”

  “Not that good. She wasn’t playing a part.” He frowned. “Look at what Randolph’s found out about her. She’s always worked hard at her craft, she’s well liked by everyone, and before she married Ben there was no evidence of lovers or sugar daddies. I think you’re wrong about her, Sabin. The pieces just don’t fit together.”

  A smile tugged at Sabin’s lips. “And everything has to fit or it drives you crazy.” His smile vanished. “If I’m wrong, then we’ll have the opportunity to discover that in Sedikhan.”

  “Before or after she gets hurt?”

  Sabin didn’t answer. “You’re out of it. I’ll send a car to pick her up in Marasef. I think you’ve—”

  “Had a bellyful,” Carey finished tersely. “You’re damn right I have. You’d better be right, Sabin, or you’re not going to be able to live with yourself.” His gaze fell on the paper in the middle of Sabin’s desk. “Is that Randolph’s report?”

  Sabin nodded. “Just a preliminary one. Randolph said he’d send a complete dossier later, but this has the information I wanted. She’s not sleeping with Delage. She and his wife went to acting school together.”

  “That must have been a big disappointment to you.”

  “No.” Sabin’s expression was shuttered as he looked down at the report. “On the contrary.”

  TWO

  IT SEEMED TO Mallory the limousine had been traveling for hours since they left the outskirts of Marasef when she finally saw the large white stucco structure looming like a desert mirage against the scarlet and lavender of the sunset sky.

  It was all one would have expected of this Oriental wonderland, she thought. More a palace than a house, with rounded archways, long narrow windows shuttered in lacy fretwork, and a mosaic tiled courtyard that would have done justice to an Arabian nights flick. She leaned forward and tapped the mustached driver on the shoulder. “Is that the location, Omar?”

  He smiled and nodded. “Kandrahan.”

  “Why aren’t there any other vehicles around?

>   Is there another site other—” Mallory broke off when she met the driver’s bewildered gaze in the mirror. She was being a complete idiot. Omar spoke only a few words of English as she had discovered immediately after she’d cleared customs at the airport. The man had held a sign with her name and Global Cinema on it, and by sign language had indicated his name was Omar and he was to take her … somewhere. She had gotten only a blank stare when she had mentioned Carey Litzke’s name and had finally given up in discouragement. Evidently, there had been a snafu and Carey had been unable to pick her up. It happened all the time on location, and she had been too jet-lagged to fuss about it.

  And it was only jet lag, she assured herself quickly. Everyone experienced this chilling lassitude after long flights.

  “Kandrahan,” the driver repeated as he drove into the courtyard and stopped before the double front door.

  “I understood that,” Mallory said, again wishing for the comforting presence of Carey Litzke. The palace seemed alien, and the stark desert both enclosed and isolated it all at the same time.

  Chattering cheerfully in a tongue she presumed was Sedikhan, Omar opened the car door, then helped her out. At least the chauffeur wasn’t intimidating.

  She was probably being foolish, she thought suddenly. If her nerves had not been strained from the past weeks’ ordeal she would have been amused and curious now, not afraid. She watched Omar take her suitcases out of the trunk and set them on the tiles of the courtyard.

  No one came out of the palace to greet her. Surely there were servants or secretaries or …

  “Kandrahan,” Omar said again as he got back into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  “Wait!” She took a hurried step forward. “Where are you going? Why—”

  “Kandrahan.” Omar stepped on the accelerator, and the limousine shot across the courtyard and in minutes was speeding down the road toward Marasef.