“Come with me.”
I followed Udelhoffer to the back of the house, taking note of my surroundings as I went. The house was furnished in a modern, generic style, the pieces and arrangements big on price tags but low on originality or warmth. I smelled gardenias from the back porch, a hint of some sort of animal musk, and the distinctive oniony, deep-fried smell of McDonalds coming from the kitchen and breakfast nook. A police scanner erupted in fits and starts, blending with a faint Latin beat drifting from somewhere in the house.
“How many girls are you shooting today?” I said without selling the obvious irony.
Udelhoffer kept walking, not bothering to answer. He led me out to a patio surrounding a kidney-shaped pool. The air smelled of salt water and fish, and beyond the pool, sunlight shimmered on Long Island Sound. Three other men stood near the diving board. They weren’t armed that I could see, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they had weapons nearby. The blonde in Jacob’s picture perched on a chaise lounge, dressed in a miniskirt and tee, a small carry-on suitcase on the paving stones in front of her sandaled feet.
No one even pretended to be snapping photos.
Udelhoffer stopped in front of a swarthy man with a hawk-like hooked nose, and they shared a few hushed words. Too quiet for me to hear, but I’m a fair lip reader. I saw Gambino, favor, and ice.
Even though the big man towered above, it was clear from their body language that Hawk Nose was in charge. Dressed in a button-down open at the neck, he looked more like a South American businessman than a thug, except for the shoulder holster under his jacket.
The third was average height and skinny, yet judging from the sinewy muscles in his arms, as strong as steel wire. He had ex-military written all over him and reminded me of a man I’d killed in Columbia. Tight shirt, and I didn’t spot his carry until I noticed the bulge on his right ankle.
The fourth was portly, with sweat stains in the armpits of his Hawaiian shirt. He wore khakis and loafers, no socks, and I couldn’t spot a pistol on him. An investor, maybe? Or a perspective buyer?
Udelhoffer finished his briefing, and Hawk Nose slowly walked over to me, a smile on his face that was pure mockery. “So … you ever model before?”
I pegged his accent as Venezuelan. “I’ve done some—”
“Then you know how this works.”
I had no clue. But since I doubted he did either, I gave him what I hoped was an enthusiastic nod and motioned to Julianne James, the real reason I was there. “Should I go sit down with the other model while you get ready?”
“In a minute.”
His smile widened. He grabbed a nearby bag, rummaged inside, then held up a skimpy bikini.
“Put this on … for the pictures. And since you’re a model, you should be used to dressing and undressing at the shoot.”
These men might not be overly concerned about selling their modeling agency cover, but they weren’t stupid. Making me strip in front of them provided more than a cheap thrill. It let them check if I was wearing a wire. Or a weapon.
“Sure.”
I unslung my purse. Leaving my heels on, I pulled the dress over my head. Next I slipped off my bra, stepped out of my panties and stood in front of them totally nude.
The fact that four men were staring didn’t bother me. After all, I was a model, used to being gawked at. I tried on a playful smile and held out my hand for the bikini.
After a lengthy pause, the man in charge handed me a scrap of a swimsuit.
I pulled it on, keeping my voice steady. “Let me know when you’re ready for me,” I breathed, then wiggled across the patio and took the chair beside the blonde.
“I’m Claire.”
“Julianne.”
I peered into her sunglasses, but only my reflection stared back.
“Are you going to be part of the shoot?”
A slow shake of her head.
“They say I’m going to Paris.” She didn’t seem convinced, and the syllables took too long to roll off her tongue. From all appearances she was under the influence of something beyond the lust for modeling stardom.
“Really?” I forced awe into my voice. “To model? When?”
“They said soon.”
Jacob might not have a lot of information about this operation, but what he did have was correct as usual. Now I only had to figure out how to get her out of here before “soon” rolled around.
“Have you signed a contract?”
Another head shake. For someone who’d been told she was about to go to Paris to model, Julianne was acting incredibly detached.
“I know an attorney. He told me what to look for. You know, just to make sure you’re getting what you’re worth.”
I didn’t know if an eighteen year old would care about something as practical as contract negotiation, especially when she was sailing on whatever drug they had given her. But I needed to lure her away from the pool and the men watching us, and beyond physically dragging her, I had few options. “If we could go somewhere private for just a few seconds, I’ll fill you in.”
“No, thanks.”
“It’ll just take—”
She lowered her voice. “They aren’t going to like you talking to me.”
Then I understood. I wasn’t hearing disinterest in her voice. I was hearing worry.
“Why not?” I asked.
She leaned in closer. “They haven’t taken any pictures of me. They won’t let me leave. I can’t even make outside phone calls.”
“You’re the only girl here?”
“No. There are others. But they’re doing X-rated stuff.”
“Have they made you do any?” I asked, feeling myself grow cold.
“They haven’t even asked. No one has tried anything.” She shook her head, like she was denying an accusation. “Men have always liked me. I’ve never been around guys who didn’t try to hit on me.”
My first thought was surprise that these men hadn’t tasted the goods.
My second was that maybe there was a reason.
“Julianne, are you a virgin?”
Virgins fetched top dollar on the slave market.
A crease dug between her eyebrows. “What?”
“Are you?”
“Not since I was fourteen.” She lowered her sunglasses, staring into my eyes. They were glassy, but there was panic dancing beneath the dope haze.
“Have they hurt you? Threatened you?”
“They mostly ignore me. I thought maybe they were gay, but I saw two of them messing around with the other girls.”
I considered repeating what Jacob had told me, that she was going to be sold. But I didn’t see how scaring her even more would improve the situation. Besides, something wasn’t adding up.
“I don’t think they’re taking me to Paris,” she said.
“So why are you here?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes focused on me, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m scared.”
“I can get you out of here,” I said. “Do you want me to?”
She nodded. “Will you? Please?”
“Leave it to me, okay? Just be ready when I tell you.”
“Thanks.” She reached over, squeezed my hand.
I squeezed back.
Movement, in my peripheral vision. Hawaiian Shirt had left the other men and was now circling the pool to where we sat, an expensive-looking digital camera around his neck. He motioned to me, the tip of his tongue flicking out and running across his bottom lip.
“Okay, you. Miss Hot to Trot. Come on.”
I didn’t want to let Julianne out of my sight, but I couldn’t exactly refuse my chance to become a big star. A few bikini shots in the sand would still give me a chance to keep an eye on her. I scrambled to my feet, doing my best to look excited.