Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson Read Free

and
sprawl, it looked cold and hard and expensive. The blue of the
water beyond held the unreal look of a movie set.
    I scooped in a breath of salt air. My big
break. Photos on the beach. My name is Claire Thomas, and The
Bradford and Sims Modeling Agency is going to make me a
star.
    “Remember,” Morrissey said out of the corner
of his mouth, “she can’t be harmed.”
    That again.
    I was going to ask him what the deal was with
that when the front door opened, and a man wearing a blue polo
shirt and gray trousers stepped out. Shoulders as wide as a
linebacker’s, he squinted blue eyes into the sun, his scalp pink
under blond stubble. He stood at the top of the staircase, a Tec-9
submachine gun hanging under his arm on a strap.
    What kind of modeling agency required that
much fire power?
    “Follow my lead.” Morrissey gave me a final
look and stepped out of the car. He circled the Lincoln and opened
my door. Like a good chauffeur, he offered his hand to help me from
the car.
    I took it. His skin felt rough, a man used to
doing more than driving for a living. Jacob hadn’t told me anything
about him, but most likely his work was similar to mine. Though I
didn’t let on, I liked that he noticed my dress. After all this,
maybe we’d have an opportunity to get together. There was no room
in my life for a real relationship, but that didn’t mean I had no
needs. Someone like him might be just the ticket. No strings, no
complications.
    He hauled me out into the sun and released my
hand. I allowed myself to look him over as I followed him up the
steps. The stillness I’d noticed earlier left his body, and his
stride took on the swagger of a man who fancied himself a player.
He tossed a look over his shoulder, pride with a hint of ownership
in his gaze, as if he’d just won a hand of blackjack in Vegas and I
was his prize.
    I had to wonder if I changed that drastically
when settling into character. Probably. It was hard to know who
another person really was, but in this line of work it was damn
near impossible.
    I’d be smarter to stick to the usual outlet
for my sexual energy; random men picked up in bars.
    Morrissey stopped in front of the burly
sentinel and cocked one leg. “Hey, Udelhoffer. How’s it going?”
    The behemoth eyed me. “Who is this?” His
accent carried hints of Eastern Europe but with Brooklyn overtones,
suggesting to me he’d been in the States for a while.
    “Nice, huh?” Morrissey said, continuing with
his schtick. “Your boss said if I found girls to model, he’d give a
bonus. If they had something special clients liked, a little
extra.”
    “This is a closed shoot.”
    “Not what I heard.”
    The big man gave Morrissey a dead-man’s
stare. “You heard wrong.”
    I kept silent. A young girl in my situation
wouldn’t dare be too forward, not with her dreams on the line. If
Morrissey couldn’t pull this off, I’d find another way.
    Morrissey thrust out his hand, palms up. “So,
what? You expect me to turn around and drive all the way back to
the city?”
    Another stare for an answer, silent this
time.
    Morrissey shook his head. “Not gonna happen.
I was given promises. I stuck my neck out here. This one?” He
motioned to me, “A favor for Tony D’Angelo.”
    The man didn’t even spare me a glance but
kept his attention on Morrissey.
    “You know who D’Angelo is, right?”
    A nod from the hired help.
    Morrissey continued, punctuating his words
with thrusting waves of his hands. “I said I’d help her get a job,
know what I mean? He’s not going to like it if I don’t come through
on my word. He might even call some of his friends, you know? And I
ain’t going to take all the blame.”
    Udelhoffer let out a heavy sigh. “Wait here.”
He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.
    I did a quick scan of the doorway and eaves.
No closed circuit cameras. Probably not needed with an armed guard
at the entrance. Even so, I kept my voice low, paranoid