Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me. Shannon McKenna
to Val. “And you smell…as good as ever. Mmm, delizioso.”
Tam watched Donatella do the Italian two-kiss choreography, then cup Val’s face in her hands, gaze adoringly into his eyes, fling her head back, and give him three more. Smack, smack, smack.
Tam’s hackles rose. My, how very, very friendly Val and Donatella were. Old pals. Touching. It would have irritated the living shit out of her, had she not been distracted by the second woman, who appeared in the doorway at that moment. Tam’s stomach lurched, abruptly.
Oh, yes. It was Ana, all right. Looking better than Tam might have hoped. Black hair swept into an elegant roll, her buxom figure shown off by a simple black sheath dress. Her ass was a bit on the large side, but the shelf of her surgically enhanced bosom balanced it out. She’d had some work done on her forehead and neck that made her look weirdly smooth and taut under her makeup, like a television personality.
Ana ignored Tam completely as she watched Donatella crawling all over Val. It was clear from her face that she was accustomed to being the center of attention. As such, Donatella was not her favorite person.
Huh. Tam could relate. Donatella’s spike-clawed nails dragged possessively over Val’s chest, palpating. Tam’s own nails dug into her palms.
Well, well. Val hadn’t said anything about having fucked this Donatella woman. Not that Tam had any right or reason to be annoyed if he had, but still. Her lip curled involuntarily. That petulant, pinheaded, plastic slut? How had he gotten through it without fainting from boredom?
Men were such indiscriminate pigs. She did the introduction routine, shaking both women’s cool, manicured, diamond-laden hands, and kept her smiling mask riveted in place. Ignoring the die, bitch vibes that were ricocheting wildly all over the room.
“…permit me to introduce you to Ms. Steele, the artist behind the designs,” Val was saying, smiling and making no effort to extricate himself from Donatella’s tentacles.
Donatella and Ana swiveled their perfectly coiffed heads in unison and cast identical cool glances over Tam.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Ana said. “Donatella has been telling me about your jewelry. Very intriguing. You’re not at all what I expected.”
Tam smiled sweetly, eyes big, and refrained from asking what Ana had expected. She was entirely uninterested in what went on in Ana’s empty head.
Then Ana surprised her by frowning and taking a closer look.
“Have we met?” she asked.
Val’s smile froze. His eyes flicked to hers, alarmed.
Tam shook her head. “I’m sure I would remember,” she said.
Ana preened. “I imagine you would,” she said, dismissing the matter with a wave of her crimson claws.
But Donatella had now been languishing for too many seconds off of center stage. “Valerio, you are an angel for arranging this for me,” she broke in. “And a private showing, too. I’ve been dying to lay my hands on some of these pieces.”
“Actually, it’s not the wearer who is supposed to die,” Tam pointed out helpfully. “If all goes well, that is. There is an element of risk that has to be considered.”
Donatella’s blank look turned into a fuck-you smile. “Of course.”
“Is there a table where I can lay them out for you?” Tam asked.
Things proceeded smoothly from that point. For all Ana’s glaring shortcomings as a human being, and all Donatella’s stomach-turning grabs at Val, the women were dream customers. Deep pockets, limitless self-indulgence, an absolute sense of entitlement plus a pinch of competition all added up to big, big sales. The not so subtle one-upmanship probably prodded the two women to buy three times as many pieces as each one would have on her own. It was a possible sales technique that she’d never considered.
Not that she’d ever use it. Women like these annoyed her too much. Forced to spend time with them, she would feel like killing them. Problematic, killing your customers. Word got around. Bad for business.
That was one of the reasons she esteemed the McCloud Crowd women. Not one of them were cat bitches, pretty though they all were.
Tam wondered if the sales would go through. It depended on the timing. She could make two hundred thousand bucks, and in these complicated days, she could use the cash. But hey, she had a date with destiny to kill this woman’s father. It wouldn’t do to get greedy.
“Usually, I just leave instructions on how to arm the pieces on a password-protected Internet bulletin board,” Tam explained. “But for special customers like you, I’ll make an exception. I still need to obtain the explosives and the poisons. I’ll come back another day and show you personally how to arm them.”
“How soon?” Ana’s eyes glittered with eagerness, and suddenly, Tam wondered about the woman’s relationship with her husband.
“Tomorrow?” Val suggested. “At four o’clock?”
Ana frowned. “Four o’clock is not good for me,” she said. “I have an appointment at five. Can you come earlier?”
“Three?” Tam offered.
“Very well. I will expect you tomorrow at three.” Ana gave her a sugary smile. “I assume you prefer cash?”
“If possible. And you might consider dismissing the domestic staff for the day,” Tam said. “So we can have privacy to speak freely.”
“I’ll see to it,” Ana assured her.
They exchanged bright, glittering fuck-you smiles once again.
Donatella broke in. “And when can we meet to arm mine?” she demanded petulantly. “I need my jewelry armed soon.” Her voice dropped, and her eyes flicked toward Val. “I will need them, to keep a certain tall, dark, and handsome lover in his proper place. In Paris.”
Paris? What the fuck was that about?
Tam made an appointment with the woman for the following week, but such was her feeling of unreality, she did not even note the time or date they agreed upon. The information just came out of her mouth and then floated out of her head. Who knew if the appointment would take place? She could die a horrible death by that day.
But who knew from one minute to the next when death would pounce? It was always a rude surprise. Who could have imagined that hot August morning that her family had gotten up. A morning like any other. Breakfast like any other. Laughing and teasing and squabbling.
But that had been it. The last day. The last morning. The last breakfast. Who knew?
The high-pitched, empty-headed chatter of the two women faded in her mind. The sound of hens clucking. Faraway dogs barking. The distance between herself and the rest of the world widened into a vast buffer of awful silence. She was utterly alone, sealed inside it.
Tomorrow she was going to find out once and for all if revenge could make any difference. Ghosts clustered around her: Mamma, her father, and Irina standing next to her, clutching Tam’s knee with her chubby, dimpled ghost hand. Her liquid dark eyes so uncannily like Rachel’s eyes. She’d been barely two when—
No. Not now. No fits. Not in front of Ana and Donatella.
Tam shut her eyes and saw the dirt scattering into their wide-open eyes. Her ears were starting to roar, her heart to pound.
She tried to tune into the hens clucking, dogs barking, just to grab onto something else. Focus on anything else. Anything at all.
“…so we can eat late,” Donatella was cooing into Val’s ear, in a tone Tam was not meant to overhear. “The cook at La Cantinola will be happy to cook for us, even after eleven o’clock. I’m a special client. And there’s a lovely room above La Cantinola, with a sea view…”
Listen to that. Brazen slut. Trying to coax Val into