Amanda Stevens - Unauthorized Passion

“You want me to stalk this woman,” he’d said incredulously. “Is that what I’m hearing?”

“No, of course, not.” Max slid his hand down his silk tie. “I’m not asking you to do anything illegal. We’re a legitimate business concern here.”

“Yeah, well, sounds to me like you’re walking a fine line,” Jack muttered. “So maybe you’d better spell it all out just so there’s no misunderstanding later on.”

Max nodded. “Fine. I’ve nothing to hide. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get you on board. You’re one of the best investigators I’ve ever worked with. We need a man with your talents around here, and if you play your cards right, you could be looking at a partnership down the road. Think about it, Jack. No more ground beef dinners. No more ten-year-old sedans that leave you stranded on the Southwest Freeway during rush hour.” Max’s critical gaze swept over him. “I’ll even give you an advance so you can get yourself some decent clothes and a good haircut.”

Or pay his back rent. Designer duds, or a roof over his head? Tough call.

Max removed a folder from a drawer and placed it on top of the desk. “As I told you earlier, we have a very elite and discriminating clientele. The man who comes to us is more often than not a self-made millionaire, usually in the high tech field. He’s in his thirties or forties, extremely intelligent, reasonably attractive and physically fit. He has all the accoutrements of wealth including investment portfolios, fast cars and beautiful homes in the most desirable locations. What he doesn’t have is the perfect woman.”

So who does? Jack wondered.

“But he’s seen her. He knows who she is.” Max stood and walked over to the bar to pour himself a drink. He offered one to Jack, but he declined. Scotch on an empty stomach? Asking for trouble.

Max came back to the desk and sat down. “Maybe he caught a glimpse of her getting into a cab. Or maybe their eyes met across a restaurant or their shoulders brushed on a crowded elevator. The point is, he knows she’s the one. But so do dozens of other guys because this woman is something special. She has class, beauty, grace. Men flock to her in droves. Attractive, successful, very often wealthy men, not unlike our client. So how does he set himself apart from the rest? How does he get her to single him out from the crowd? That’s where we come in.”

Max propped his feet on the desk and folded his hands behind his head. “We lay the groundwork for him. We talk to her friends, family, co-workers…anyone who can give us insight into her likes and dislikes. Her hopes and dreams. Her deepest, darkest secrets. We even look up old school chums and ex-boyfriends—all handled very discreetly, of course. We find out her favorite books, her favorite restaurant, the kind of music she listens to. Then, when we have everything we need, we design a coincidental meeting between her and the client. We arrange for them to be seated next to each other at an Astros game…or at the Wortham Center, depending on her tastes. We arm our client with the right information to arouse her interest, ignite that initial spark and then…the rest is up to him. And nature.”

“It’s dishonest,” Jack said flatly. “It may not be illegal, what you’re doing, but it sure as hell ain’t ethical.”

Max picked up his drink. “Think of it this way. If these two are meant to be together, all we’re really doing is giving fate a little nudge. But if it doesn’t work out, they go their separate ways. She never has to see him again. No harm, no foul.”

“But what if she does want to see him again? What if she falls for him?” Jack argued. “He’s selling her a bill of goods by pretending to be something he’s not.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never pretended to be interested in something just to get a woman’s attention?” Max gestured with his glass. “Say you meet her in a bar. You get to talking. She mentions a movie she just saw and loved. You saw the same movie and hated it. But this woman…she’s hot, you know? Someone you’d definitely like to hook up with. Do you admit you’re not into chick flicks and risk turning her off, or do you lie and say you like any film with Tom Hanks just to keep the conversation going?”

Jack scowled. “That’s different.”

“Yes, it is,” Max agreed. “Because this woman you meet in the bar…you’re not looking for anything more serious than a good time. No commitment. Just a casual relationship. Maybe even just a one-night stand. But our client is looking for the woman of his dreams. Someone with whom he can share his life—and his money, I might add. Given all that, some might say we’re doing the woman a favor.”

Jack still wasn’t convinced, but did he really have a choice here? Offers hadn’t exactly come pouring in since he’d gotten the boot from the police department. In the meantime, Casanova was still out there somewhere. Without funds, Jack had no way to find him and stop him before he killed again. And he would kill again. It was only a matter of time.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Tell me more about the target.”

With one finger, Max shoved the folder across the desk. “Take a look for yourself. There’s a picture of her inside.”

Reluctantly, Jack opened the folder and removed the eight-by-ten glossy. As he studied the photograph—obviously a professional headshot—something prickled along his backbone. Not nerves or even a lingering distaste over what he’d been reduced to. No, his reaction was purely visceral, a physical response to the woman’s blatant sexuality. She practically oozed sex, from her tousled blond hair to her heavy-lidded blue eyes and her full lips that were glossed and parted and looking as if they were made to—

“Jack?”

He glanced up.

Max grinned. “She’s something, isn’t she? Do you recognize her?”

“Can’t say that I do.” Jack returned his gaze to the picture. “Is there some reason I should?”

“She’s been in a few movies, done some TV spots. She’s still relatively obscure, but her last few roles have won her a fair amount of critical acclaim and she seemed on the verge of breaking out before she became embroiled in a scandal that pretty much stopped her career dead in its tracks.”

“What kind of scandal?” Jack’s curiosity was piqued in spite of himself.

“She was involved with some big shot producer by the name of Owen Fleming out in L.A. Ever heard of him?”

Jack shook his head. He didn’t pay much attention to movies unless he wanted to impress a woman. Which kind of made Max’s earlier point, he supposed.

“They managed to keep the affair under wraps for several months,” Max said. “Then he bought her this huge diamond which she flashed around L.A., and the wife got wind of it. The whole thing blew up into a nasty PR mess, and apparently Celeste decided to get out of town until things cooled off. We figure that’s why she’s back in Houston.”

“What do you mean she’s back in Houston?”

“She went to school here. From what I understand, she’s still pretty tight with her old drama professor at the university. They even lived together for a while before she took off for L.A. You may want to talk to him at some point as well as to her current roommate.” Max reached for the folder and flipped through the pages. “Olivia D’Arby. She’s an actress, too, although her parts seem to be few and far between.”

“What about the client? Who is he?” Who was the guy willing to plunk down $75,000—and that was just for starters—for a “chance” encounter with Celeste Fortune?

“I can’t tell you that. The identity of our clients remains confidential, even to our operatives.” Max took another sip of his scotch. “So…what do you say? Are you in?”