The Girl with the Golden Spurs (10 page)

Nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to her. Then a cool breeze blew over Lizzy’s hot, damp skin, reminding her again of just how little she had on. Goose bumps pricked, and she felt her imagination begin conjuring stalkers again. She couldn’t let go of the uneasy feeling someone was watching her.

She had to get to that party and find Bryce fast.

Houston, Texas

Joanne

In college, Joanne had been fascinated by her friend Electra, who’d been so willful, exciting and daring. Dread filled her now as Joanne peeled off the last of the brown paper. Slowly she lifted the cardboard lid. Inside was a leather-bound book. No, not a book exactly. A photocopied manuscript.

Not a manuscript exactly, either. She flipped a page and recognized the loopy handwriting as that of her former best friend, Electra Scott.

Somebody had sent her a copy of what appeared to be Electra’s journal. But who? Why?

She was mortally sick of Electra. Sick to death of her.

As she thumbed through more pages, a photograph of two young girls with blond hair fell out. Next she saw that some passages had been highlighted with a yellow marker, so that even if she didn’t read the entire journal, she wouldn’t miss these.

She began to read. “Twins. Girls.”

At first Joanna thought she was talking about Mia and Lizzy, who hadn’t really been twins at all even though she and Caesar had told everyone they were fraternal twins. But the dates on the pages didn’t match the dates when Lizzy and Mia had been born.

No
… These girls were a little younger.

Electra wrote about Caesar coming to Columbia to rescue her when she’d been kidnapped. She’d been weak and vulnerable, and Caesar had saved her. Neither had been able to resist the other even though they’d tried.

In the end, she’d slept with the lover of her youth again. The daring rescue had taken a week. Caesar had stayed with her a whole week. They’d made love constantly, which Electra wrote about much too vividly Joanne thought.

While I was home alone…not alone…raising our children
.

Afterward, when Caesar had gone home to his wife, Electra had given birth to twin girls, but she’d never told Caesar.

Joanne looked up from the journal.

Caesar had betrayed her. Cherry wasn’t the first. What else had Caesar done?

Joanne slammed the journal shut. She had tried so hard to make their marriage work. Had Caesar ever really tried at all?

Where were his other daughters now?

What did this mean for the ranch? For her own children? Lizzy had been enough to swallow.

Electra. Always Electra and her camera.
And to think, I
brought her here to the ranch. They met because of me
.

Then Jack had died, and Electra had gone away. Joanne had found out she was pregnant and had told Caesar. He, in turn, had learned Electra was pregnant and didn’t want to raise the baby herself or to marry him. At the time, a marriage of convenience had seemed the best solution. She and Caesar would raise both children as their own. They had sworn it would be a real marriage and that each of them would view both children as his.

Those promises had been easier to make than to keep. Having her own children had made Joanne know how differently she felt toward all others. Especially her rival’s. Although Electra had once been her best friend, she’d been so vital and colorful, Joanne had felt diminished when around her. There had always been an element of competition in their relationship, as well.

Joanne clenched her hands. Oh, my God. Caesar, how could you? How could, when you promised…

Joanne opened the book again and studied the dates. She remembered those two weeks all those years ago. Caesar had said he needed some time alone to think about their marriage. When he’d come back, he’d said he’d keep trying. Joanne
had thought he’d been in Houston or Dallas. When she’d pressed him for details, he’d refused to talk.

Twins?

They were out there…somewhere…and someone knew. Maybe lots of people knew. What would Caesar’s secret daughters want when they learned of their heritage?

What could she do about it?

For no reason at all, Joanne felt furious at Lizzy.

Manhattan

Cole

B
ehind the hot gorilla mask, Cole felt like his eyes were sticking out on stems. He was rock-hard, riveted. His carefully planned speech to Lizzy about her dad was blown to smithereens by the city… No. Admit it—by that tight skimpy red dress. By her breasts and legs. His brain, never in perfect shape these days, felt scrambled. He forgot his purpose. He couldn’t focus on anything else but her.

The city’s roar blasted him like the blows of a giant, angry beast as he leaned back against a corner building and watched Lizzy through the slits in his gorilla mask. The blare of horns, the squeal of brakes, the hustle-bustle of heels on concrete and of too many bodies jostling for position on the sidewalk made him wince. At the same time he felt like an ant trapped in the maze of an alien ant bed jammed with too many self-important ants all desperate to get somewhere.

He was used to wide-open spaces, to big skies, to grass blowing in the wind, to silence. Didn’t any of the people here get it? They were all going nowhere.

How the hell could he ever figure out now how to tell Lizzy about her father when he couldn’t get past the way she was dressed? For the life of him he couldn’t quit staring at her breasts and legs—even though doing so had him hard and pissed because he figured the other guys who saw her got hot for her, too. He felt jealous and possessive even though he had no right to.

Why the hell didn’t Lizzy just unzip that tight red dress, shimmy out of it and get naked right here on Columbus and 69th? Some guy would jump her. Cole would attack. He’d prefer a brawl like that to this infernal traffic and his raging lust.

Cole frowned. With her teased white-blond hair, glittery bangles, bulging bosom and long shapely legs in black mesh hose, Lizzy didn’t look a thing like the shy, sweet girl he knew.

One minute Lizzy was hugging her cheap-looking girlfriend and Vanilla. Then in the next, the redhead with the tattoos on her breast and all the piercings sashayed off, up Columbus Avenue toward The Plaza.

With Vanilla!

Vanilla!
Lizzy didn’t show a shred of concern about the baby.

Confused, he took a step after the baby that was supposed to be his daughter and then stopped. Hell. He had to trust Lizzy’s judgment when it came to baby care.

He’d come to see Lizzy. To tell her about her father. Only how he’d ever manage that now, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d better stick with Lizzy. She seemed vulnerable, and dressed like that, she could damn sure get into trouble. The girlfriend could definitely handle herself.

Why hadn’t he buzzed her apartment the minute he’d gotten there and told her about Caesar? Because he knew how close she was to her father, because he hated the thought of
how the news would affect her, because he’d needed time to work up his nerve to talk to her.

If he’d known she was going to prance out of those double doors dressed like a hooker, he’d have bounded up those stairs like a jackrabbit first thing.

The plastic gorilla mask was beginning to make his face drip with sweat. His wet hair felt plastered to his head, and his jeans were too tight.

Maybe the mask was uncomfortable, but he was glad as hell he’d bought it along with that canvas hat with the long black ponytail from that fast-talking vendor in Central Park, who’d grabbed his arm and all but forced him to buy both disguises for Halloween.

Lizzy suddenly glanced straight at him and Cole started. She squinted and stared at him harder. Quickly he lowered his head and typed on his PDA so clumsily he dropped it.

When he knelt to get it, she bolted down the stairs that led to the subway. Dashing after her, he kept to the middle of the throng, bought a subway pass, and managed to catch the same train.

Every time they stopped at a station, he jumped off and watched for her. When he began to perspire underneath the gorilla mask again, he took it off and put on the canvas hat with the long black ponytail.

She got off in the Village, so he did, too. Blending into the crowd again, he followed her down streets and sidewalks that were jammed with laughing, shouting people, who wore garish makeup and masks.

Music blasted from most of the bars and crowded restaurants. The Village pulsed with people and holiday spirit. Girls in sparkly dresses undulated together outside one bar to the heavy beat of drums while a crowd of young men clapped and ogled.

Lizzy paused near a streetlight and studied a piece of
paper in her hand. When she glanced up at the street numbers uncertainly, her gaze swept over him and then returned, lingering even after he’d stepped deeper into the shadows. She continued to stare into the darkness. The streetlight froze her heart-shaped face with a cold marblelike clarity that made his heart pound. He wanted her, and he hated himself for the weakness because he knew how she felt about him—probably for good reason. He grimaced, not liking the role he was playing very much.

Her huge eyes told him she was scared, but she was so damned beautiful, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

Lusting after her, asshole
.

When he turned, pretending an interest in a violin for sale in the shop window, she ran.

He’d scared her. He hated that, but he kept up easily, relentlessly, following her down the dark streets.

A stalker was after her! If only she could find the party
and find Bryce; then she’d be safe
.

Lizzy was so tired from running in the tight corset and heels, she was gasping for every breath. Her heart had been racing ever since she’d spotted the tall man in the shadows.

He was like a vicious cat stalking a mouse. No matter how fast she ran or how cleverly she’d tried to evade him, his legs were longer, and his body powerful and his mind focused on her with the deadly determination of a true predator.

Suddenly, she found herself halfway down a blind alley. When she turned, she saw him at his end of the alley, standing statue still. When she cried out, she thought he laughed.

Not that he came closer. He knew he had her. Like a cat, he savored her fear. He was playing with her. But surely she was close, very close to the address on the invitation. Maybe…maybe…

At least he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He just stood there, almost patiently, waiting for her to give up.

Good—the delay gave her time…a chance…to think…

Her eyes climbed the brick buildings on either side of her. They were tall, at least five stories. Tall enough to shut off all moonlight. Since there were no streetlights, it was very dark. In the utter blackness, she couldn’t see much of the man who had chased her through the ever-narrowing streets, but she heard his slow, measured tread on the asphalt when she ran deeper into the alley. Stumbling into a doorway before she got to the end, she prayed again that she was at least on the right street. Or maybe someone on the other side of this door would let her in and she could call the police.

Leaning against the rough, unvarnished door, she stood still, gasping for every ragged breath even as she listened to his heels clicking, the hollow sounds growing louder as he moved slowly toward her.

She began to beat against the door.

“Open the door!” she screamed.

Above her cries as she pounded the rough wood, she heard running footsteps in the alley.

She screamed. The door opened, and a beefy fist snatched her inside. The last thing she heard above the deafening roar of the music as she was pulled across the threshold was a sexy, vaguely male baritone, drawling her name.

Then the door slammed and she found herself in a small room with a man who had heavy features, leering black eyes and a cold grin. If the stalker hadn’t been outside, she would have bolted.

“The password?” the door man said.

“I don’t know it.”

“Do you have an invitation?” The man leered at her breasts, causing her to pull her shawl higher.

Indignantly she handed him the invitation she’d retrieved
from the garbage after Bryce had walked out on her. “Am I at the right place?”

Loud knocks boomed against the outside door, and he broke off, nodding abruptly. “You just got lucky, sweetheart. Go on in.” He pushed a button under a counter, and a door he’d been blocking with his huge bulk swung open.

She heard the gatekeeper behind her demand the password of the stalker. Rock music and the howl of musicians blasted her as she read the purple graffiti above the door.

Dark Entry—Where Wild Things Happen…

The crowded room was so huge, she immediately wished herself safe and snug at home. The beat of the music shook her. Hundreds of guests screamed in laughter as they gyrated and shouted to each other. Some were dancing; some embracing. All were in costumes and masks. A lot of the women wore skimpy costumes that looked like lingerie.

The party was so noisy, she put her hands over her ears. The strobe lights were so bright and flickering so fast, she had to squint and shade her eyes. The place was packed, and she didn’t see a soul she knew, not even Bryce.

As she moved toward the bar, the evening took on a wicked, surreal quality. The man in the alley had scared her to death, but the party scared her, too. She didn’t belong here. If only she’d stayed home with Vanilla. If only…

Bryce was right—she was hopelessly dull.

On her way to the bar, she bumped into a woman with long, shiny black hair and a mask covered in hot pink sequins. The woman smiled, lifting her glass so Lizzy could ooze past her.

“Welcome to hell.” The woman giggled and turned to kiss her burly date who was dressed like a pirate. Lizzy looked away. Flames leapt in massive fireplaces against one wall to give the illusion of hell, she supposed. Not that the fires gave off any heat. Even with all the people, the air felt icy.

“Lizzy…”

She twisted her head, hoping Bryce had spotted her. But he wasn’t there, so she hurried on toward the bar.

On the opposite wall of the vast room, draperies hung from the high ceiling. Just as Lizzy was wondering what they were for, a man in a tiger suit grabbed a girl dressed like a yellow butterfly and threw her onto a low couch. The butterfly squealed in delight when he pulled the thick drape around their couch, creating their own private boudoir.

Lizzy slipped through a doorway into a smaller room filled with couches and plump pillows and plush Oriental carpets. Finally, at last, she found herself standing in the line at the bar. She licked her dry lips. It came as a surprise that she was very thirsty.

She glanced around. Along one wall there were doors of different rainbow colors—yellow, green, blue, pink. From time to time a man or a woman or a man and a woman together opened one of the doors and vanished inside. For what purpose, she wondered nervously. The party felt wild, much too wild for her. She shivered.

Then suddenly Bryce was standing in front of the blue door, holding hands with a pretty, young blonde in a black bondage costume. They were talking earnestly. Bryce was holding her whip and appeared to be pleading with her.

Pain shredded Lizzy’s heart.

“What’s behind those doors?” Lizzy asked the woman in front of her, who was dressed like black jaguar.

“Your wildest fantasy, sweetie.”

Lizzy felt her jaw drop a notch.

“You open a door and go inside with someone you find attractive…man or woman. Anything can happen. There’s a bed…a tub… You’re obviously dressed like a hooker. If that’s your fantasy, find a guy to sell yourself to. You make him pay. Then you do whatever he wants.”

Lizzy gulped. Whatever
he
wants.

Lizzy reached the bar just as Bryce opened the door and vanished inside, his nervous date running away.

Lizzy’s heart began to pound again. What if she opened that door and played the whore for Bryce? Would that really change anything? Would things be worse? Doubts besieged her. Would he want her to go to more parties like this? Could she?

“You having tonight’s special, honey?”

When she nodded absently, the bartender placed an icy drink in her trembling hand.

Play the whore? How could she? Even for Bryce? Her eyes glued to those doors, she felt herself losing her nerve, so she bolted the drink. It was sweet and thick and made her thirstier. Her heart began to beat like a drum.

“My, you were thirsty.” The bartender laughed and handed her another. “Slow it down,” he advised. “Those are potent.”

Sipping the second drink more cautiously as she wondered what to do, she walked slowly toward the doors like a sentenced person going to her execution. Her mind blurred. Yellow, green, blue, pink.

By the time she reached them, her temples were throbbing painfully. She felt hot and tingly and strange, not herself at all. What was wrong with her? The rock music pulsed along every nerve ending.

The doors seemed to grow larger, brightening into fierce rectangles of glaring light and then disappearing from sight altogether. She swayed, feeling a little dizzy when they reappeared. She couldn’t help thinking about Alice falling into that rabbit hole.

She blinked.
Where am I? What am I doing here?

Bryce—she had to get him back
. She loved him. She had to show him that she loved him, that she could be the woman he’d fallen in love with that first night.

She could be a sexy New York girl—even if it killed her!

Still, she stood there for a long moment, fanning herself with her hands. She was fine, she told herself even as the doors began to spin.

The air felt close, too close. It smelled of sandalwood and incense and exotic perfumes. She didn’t want to play the whore, not even for Bryce. Deep down, she knew that. All she wanted was to sit down or lie down, just for a little while until she was herself again.

But Bryce was in there. And the stalker might still be somewhere near looking for her. Fear had her heart thudding even faster than the music. It was now or never.

When she put her hand on the green door, she wasn’t sure which door. So, she moved to the blue door. No… Bryce hated blue. Which door? Which door? Dear God… The music was so loud she couldn’t think.