All or Nothing Read Free

consideration and Laguna had expensive real estate.
    Laurie Martin studied her weary client from behind her rose–tinted sunglasses. He was attractive, nice brown eyes, not too tall, and thin. She couldn’t stand men with paunches and love handles. She pushed a drift of pale blond hair from her eyes and smiled at him, the kind of smile that lit up her triangular little–cat face.
    Transforming her, Steve thought, suddenly realizing he was looking at a pretty woman. “I’m sorry,” he said repentently, “I’m so busy worrying about houses, I forgot to ask if you would like a drink.”
    She pushed the rose–colored glasses up into her hair, fluffing out her blond bangs with her French–manicured fingertips. “Well, it has been a long––and tiresome––day.” She glanced at her watch. “If you’re sure you have time   .   .   .   ?”
    “Oh, I’m sure. As I told you, I’m here all alone.”
    “Well then, a martini would be nice.” As he signaled the waiter, Laurie thought that this would be an easy sale. A piece of cake, and she might just have the right house . . . the only trouble was the price. . . .

3
    A week later, Marla was driving back from a brief sojourn at Rancho La Puerta, a spa in Tecate, Mexico, that she visited every now and again “to regain her inner balance,” she told Al.
    Actually, what she did was hike to the top of Mount Kuchumaa in the early morning before the Baja heat struck its blow. There she would sit, in the lotus position, eyes open to the beauty of the sunlit chaparral, her head cleared of all extraneous thoughts, breathing deeply of the clean air and the peace. After an hour, she would hike back down again, jog through the grounds and dive into one of the swimming pools.
    That was it. Her activities for the day were over. Not for her the aerobics dance class, aquacize, circuit training, super–cross–training or water volleyball. A salad of greens with herbs picked fresh from the garden for lunch. A nap. A laze in a hammock with a book, perhaps late–afternoon yoga. Then––her special treat––a full–body massage that left her feeling limp as a sleepy kitten, ready only for supper and bed––perchance to dream of Al Giraud.
    Anyhow, after three days she was up and rarin’ to go. Ready to take on Al and whatever he might offer.
    She grinned as she swung the big silver Mercedes S500 through the border crossing near Tijuana. They were to meet at the Hotel La Valencia, in La Jolla, where they would spend the night. She couldn’t wait to see him.
    This time, though, it was Al who was late. Marla checked in, unpacked, took a shower and paced out onto the balcony. She was just wondering where the hell he could be when the phone rang.
    “Where are you, you louse?” she asked, without bothering to greet him.
    “It’s like this, Marla. I’m here at the track at Del Mar with some of the guys. Had a couple of winners, you know how it is, we just had to catch the last race. . . .”
    “Hmmm.” Her foot in its red suede slingback tapped a staccato rhythm of annoyance. “So you stood me up for a horse, Giraud.”
    “Never. Anyhow, it was a mare, a gray, and she came in at ten to one.”
    “Good thing she did because this is gonna cost you.”
    “Sweetheart, name your price. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
    “I’ll be out on the terrace, having a drink.”
    Damn it,
she
had driven all the way from Tecate and gotten there on time. But Al was a man who loved the ponies. She sighed, she guessed you took the good along with the bad.
But an hour and a half late?
She’d kill him when she got her hands on him.
    She was sitting on the terrace sipping a vodka martini when she saw the guy and the blond real estate agent again. They were sitting a couple of tables away, just like before, only this time it was obvious they knew each other better.
    Marla sipped the icy–cold martini, taking them in over the top of the glass. The blonde had no taste but