Douglas, Nelson - Midnight Louie 05-Cat in a Diamond Dazzle

"Do you model for romance covers anymore?"

"No, too busy." His smile again showcased the Teflon teeth.

"Or . .. there are so many other male cover models competing now."

Fabrizio shook his head until his split ends whipped the sofa back. "No. Covers are start, not end.

Small fries for international multimedia personality. I only come to do walk-through for pageant because G.R.O.W.L was a good start for me. But I do not need this audience. Fabrizio is for whole world now."

"Then you don't feel threatened by all the up-and-comers?"

He shook his golden mane again, his distant watchers shiver-ing with delight. "Fabrizio not threatened by anybody." The lothario's smirk was back. "Except lovely woo-mahn who believes she is afraid of height. This makes Breezy feel very bad, that she does not think he is strong enough to hold her."

"So you're not even threatened by a murderer?"

The last word froze the look on his face, but the intimacy had left it.

"You think a murderer would want to kill Breezy? No. This dead model, this Cheyenne. He was new to this, and he did not have the physique of Fabrizio, no?"

"Still, he apparently had done some modeling abroad. That's usually a sign of a rising career."

"Peanuts, how you say? Little stuff. Fabrizio does all the big stuff, leaves that small fries to the others now. He would be no threat to what I do, what I am. No man is."

"We may assume that you are not a suspect, then, since you had no motive?"

"Suspect? For small woo-mahn you play big games. Why should Fabrizio wish anyone ill? He is rich, famous, happy. Many woo-mahns wish to be picked up by Fabrizio, all over the world!"

The massively muscled arms spread wide again, the better to display his firm, rounded, fully packed pectorals. Funny, Temple thought, that used to be a female secondary sexual characteristic.

Breezy's thigh pressed into hers, hot and hard. It reminded her of an encroaching Christmas ham.

She slapped the notebook shut. "As the second Incredible Hunk winner, you can't compete again anyway, can you?"

"No. But there is no need. Fabrizio has won every heart, because he speaks from the heart." A ham-sized hand pounded the tan-gilded breastbone, in case Temple had overlooked a part of his anatomy. "Sincere, that is the secret of Fabrizio. And we do very well with that."

How odd that he referred to himself in both the third person and the royal "we," when mentioning his business enterprises. Temple supposed that he was a one-man conglomerate of sorts. Pneumatic Man, able to spread himself into million-dollar multimedia areas with a single muscle flex.

Temple stood. "Thank you. This will help ground my anchors."

Fabrizio snapped his fingers. A harried-looking woo-mahn trotted over, tote bag in hand. "This is Cindee, my publicist. She has press kit."

A glossy folder with a color image of a hip-up naked Fabrizio was thrust into Temple's hand. The photo was so lifelike that Temple expected her palm to suffer an oil slick.

Fabrizio stood, too, towering over her as he had loomed over countless swooning, swept-away cover models. His eyes, already too close together, narrowed horizontally as well. "You will one day like to be picked up by Fabrizio."

On that threat and promise, he strode back into the mob of woo-mahns, who closed on him like eager antibodies surrounding an infection.

"See!" Kit had materialized from somewhere, and was as happy as hell's bells. "He doesn't bite.

Learn anything relevant?"

"Only that there is no justice in who gets rich and famous, and how."

"Pshaw, we knew that already."

"He's not worried about being a victim," Temple said thoughtfully. "Either he hasn't thought about the possibility, or ... he knows why Cheyenne was killed."

"Maybe we could waylay him late at night and interrogate him."

"Aunt Kit! You don't find that bloated hunk of overdeveloped ego attractive?"

She shrugged, shameless.

Temple headed for the elevators, Kit by her side.

"You were right, though," she told her aunt. "Pretending to work with tabloid TV is an open sesame. Works much better than legitimately being employed by a local TV station years ago."

They were edging into the chiming slot machine area, for no one can go anywhere in a Las Vegas Hotel without passing these garish coin-catchers for the eternally hopeful.

Temple suddenly grabbed Kit's arm, jerked her into an aisle and sat them both down on two adjoining stools--hard.

"I can't believe it!" she said indignantly. "Keep your head down."

"Why? Is Fabrizio trolling for redheads again? I fear I'm a bit faded--"

Temple's red head was bobbing up and down like a dunking apple on Halloween. "Shhhh!" she ordered, her fierce eyes focusing over the top of the slot machine. "What are they doing ...

together! Of all the nerve."

"Who?" Kit cautiously peered over the machine in the direction that Temple was staring. "Those two cover models?"

"They are not cover models!" Temple was almost rabid with rage. "They have no business being here. Especially together."

"Temple! Who are they? They look innocuous enough."

"That was my first mistake. One is the Mystifying Max--"

"Your ex?"

"So to speak. And the other is Matt Devine."

"Oh. Your ... maybe current." Kit tilted her head almost horizontal to the floor to sneak another look. "Which is which?"

"Who cares? What are they up to?"

"I would say about six-three, if you're looking at the tall one. Hmm, not bad, Niece. Either one could compete in the pageant. If you don't need both, I'm available."

Kit was summarily jerked back down to her stool.

"Fine, if you're in the market for traitors!" Temple was still fuming.

"What have they done?"

"Well, the last time I saw them together, you could carve the hostility into chunk-size pieces and feed it to the sharks. Now they're strolling around the Crystal Phoenix like buddies. And Max claimed he needed to keep out of sight! Sure. Of me!"

Kit ventured to stretch her neck up again. "And so he is. Now. Matt too. Pity. I'd sure like to see them closer up."

Temple stood slowly, ready to duck again. "I don't know whether they make me more nervous when I can see them, or when I can't."

"That's men for you, every time." Kit yawned. "Well, now that I've had my daily dose of excitement, I'll pop up to my room for a beauty rest before dinner." She patted Temple's hand.

"Don't let this worry you. I'm sure that there's a very simple explanation."

"There isn't," Temple said grimly.

Clutching her Fabrizio folder until the glossy paper squeaked, she ventured to the elevator with her aunt. She kept scanning the area for another sighting.

And never saw hide nor hair nor pectoral nor tempestuous mane of anything that resembled a cover hunk the entire way back to her room.

Electra was lounging on the bed when she got there, studying a folder full of papers.

"How did the writing class go?" Temple asked, tossing Fabrizio facedown on her bed's coverlet.

"Terrific. We had a two-hour lunch break, so I dashed up and began my contest entry. That little machine is so adorable and petite, just like you!" She didn't notice Temple grinding her teeth. "It makes such cute little words, all prancing across the itty-bitty screen. So much more interesting than a typewriter. I'm glad you brought it."

"So am I. I'm going to have to punch some notes in tonight. The cast of characters at this circus is larger than the extras roster in a Hollywood epic. Speaking of epic, I had another close encounter with the scrumptious Fabrizio."

"Oh." Electra was so intent on her class papers she hardly reacted.

"And guess who I just saw strolling through the lobby? Max Kinsella and Matt Devine."

"That's nice, dear. I've got to concentrate on my scene-and-sequel writing exercise."