Brian Freeman - Stripped

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

They pulled up to a stoplight, and Cordy kept humming the song without: the radio.

“Tell me something,” Serena said. “You had a good thing going with Lavender. Why’d you screw it up?”

Cordy pointed out the window. A leggy brunette was on the corner, jogging in place as she waited for the light to change. “You see that? That’s a sexy muchacha. I see her, and the first thing I do, I peel off her clothes in my head. What color are her nipples? How big are they? You know, quarter, half-dollar, bigger? What kind of panties is she wearing? Bikini, thong, maybe nothing at all? Then I wonder what she likes in bed, okay? Her, I’m thinking-”

“That’s enough,” Serena said, interrupting him.

Cordy Shrugged. “You asked.”

Serena hoped he would drop it, and he did. She didn’t need a man’s advice anyway. What was going on in her head wasn’t about lust. Or not only about lust.

She wondered if she was bisexual. She hadn’t thought that in years. Even when she was with Deidre, she had never thought of them as girl on girl, just as two friends who used sex to comfort each other. She had never dated any other women. Her experiences with men, until Jonny, had been rocky at best, but she chalked that up to her aggressive defenses, born of the hell she went through in Phoenix.

Nothing happened with Claire , she told herself. But she couldn’t take much comfort in her willpower. When Claire tried to seduce her, she was on the verge of giving in, and only Jonny’s call had broken the mood and given her an excuse to leave.

“Here we are,” Cordy said, turning into a grungy strip mall on Spring Mountain Road that looked like it would blow down in a stiff breeze. They were about two miles west of Las Vegas Boulevard.

Serena looked up and frowned. “This is Premium Security?”

Cordy pointed at a sign on the glass door in front of them, which advertised the name of the agency in flaking white paint. The windows were blackened so that no one could see inside. Serena took note of the other occupants in the tiny mall, including a fast-food gyros joint, an auto parts store, and a pawnshop advertising handguns.

“Low overhead,” Serena said.

“Uh-huh.”

They got out of the car and approached the door but found it locked. Serena saw a buzzer and pressed it several times. She peered into the darkened windows, not seeing anything, but she suspected they were both on camera. A few seconds later, she heard a soft click, and she pulled the door open. They entered a claustrophobic vestibule, about four feet by four feet, with another locked door on the other side. She had been right: There was a camera pointed down at them.

She heard a female voice through an overhead speaker. “Please let the outer door close behind you.”

Cordy let it shut, and this time they heard two locks click into place. When he tugged on the door again, it was locked from the inside. They were trapped.

“How can we help you?” the disembodied voice said.

Serena explained who they were and held up her shield in front of the camera. There was another click, and the inner door swung open for them.

They entered a surprisingly plush waiting area, which didn’t fit at all with the surroundings in the rest of the mall. Big band music played gently overhead. There was a cherry-wood welcome desk with a large vase of bright yellow daffodils. A petite blonde sat behind the desk, and Serena caught a waft of her perfume.

“Have a seat,” she said with a big smile. “Mr. Kamen will be with you in just a moment.”

Serena and Cordy sat on an overstuffed sofa that seemed to swallow them up. In front of them, a coffee table sported current issues of the Economist , the New York Times , and Variety. They waited less than a minute before the door to an inner office opened behind the receptionist, and a man emerged to greet them. They both struggled to extricate themselves from the sofa and shake his hand.

“I’m David Kamen, the president of Premium Security.” Kamen was dressed in a black knit turtleneck and gray pants. He was in his mid-thirties, tall and good-looking, with sandy blond hair and a freckled, southern California complexion. He wore boxy black glasses that had been out of style for so long that Serena assumed they were hip again.

Kamen guided them into his office, which was as attractively decorated as the lobby. Serena noted that the door was heavy and closed behind them with a solid thud.

“Before we sit down, may I see your identification, please?”

Serena and Cordy both presented their shields, and Kamen studied them carefully. He handed them back with a polite smile and gestured for them to sit around a circular oak conference table. Inlaid wood. More daffodils.

“We have some ex-Metro personnel on our team,” Kamen informed them.

Serena nodded and rattled off two names. She wanted Kamen to know they had done their homework. He gave her a small nod of appreciation.

“You’re a shooter, huh?” Cordy asked, pointing at a photograph on the wall that showed Kamen in camouflage, a rifle in his hand. It was one of the few pictures on a wall with dark, metallic wallpaper.

He nodded. “ Afghanistan.”

“A sharpshooter with glasses?” Serena asked.

Kamen winked. “You caught me. My vision is perfect. Better than perfect. The glasses make people think otherwise, and I like it like that. Besides, they’re cool, don’t you think?”

“Long way from shooting ragheads to guarding models in Vegas,” Cordy said. “How’d you wind up here?”

“I was recruited.” Kamen folded his hands together and smiled, not offering details. He wasn’t the kind of man who volunteered information. He waited for them to continue, keeping a polite expression on his face but glancing at the clock on the table.

Serena saw Cordy reaching for the police sketch inside his sport coat, but she gently reached over and took his arm, restraining him. She wanted to hear what they could coax out of the man before putting the killer’s face in front of him.

“You know that Tierney Dargon was murdered last night,” she said.

“Of course. Terrible thing.”

“Your firm provided security for her, right?” Serena asked.

“Mrs. Dargon often used our security personnel when she was in Las Vegas. Moose is an extremely wealthy man, and they were concerned about kidnapping attempts, but they felt secure while they were at MiraBella and didn’t use us there.”

“Bad move, huh?” Cordy said. “Guess they should have had some of your boys around.”

Kamen didn’t reply.

“Did Tierney call and cancel security arrangements with you yesterday?” Serena asked.

“Yes, she did.”

“What were the original arrangements?”

“She was going to spend the evening at one of the Strip casinos. One of my men was going to pick her up and escort her. But she contacted us around noon and indicated she was planning to stay home that night and would not need our services.”

“Did you talk to her directly?”

Kamen shook his head. “She talked to our receptionist.”

“You work with a lot of stars, I bet,” Cordy said. “Must see a lot of wild things. Guess it’s like the Secret Service, you have to keep your mouth shut.”

“We’re very discreet.”

“How about that soap star? The one that did the porno with MJ Lane. You ever work for her?”

“Karyn Westermark is one of our clients, yes,” Kamen acknowledged.

“But not MJ Lane?”

“No.”

“How about last Saturday?” Serena asked. “Was one of your men with Karyn?”

He nodded. “Ms. Westermark contacted us when she arrived in town, and Blake, one of our people, stayed with her while she shopped in the afternoon. She prefers shadow security, where we stay in the background, not with her. We’re there if needed, but we’re not obvious.”