One

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

Stan Waverly looked good for a dead man.

With the unwavering stare of a predator, she watched the tall, dark-haired man in the Tommy Bahama floral print shirt and green slacks make his way through the crowd of people in baggage claim. The expressions on her victims’ faces never failed to amaze her. Waverly had flown to Los Angeles to have a two-day fling with a woman he had only recently met. He was about to commit adultery, break one of the most sacred vows, and to look at him, you’d think he’d just won the lottery. She doubted if he’d been this happy on his wedding day.

Stan had always had women on the side, or so he had boasted the last time they’d had dinner at Lorenzo’s, a small Italian restaurant located on lower Greenville in Dallas. Since Stan was contemplating making a run for the state senate next year, he’d been forced to curtail his extracurricular activities. Lorenzo’s was seldom frequented by the rich and powerful, but Stan still considered it too risky. When she provided him with a seemingly foolproof solution, she had gone from sexy to downright irresistible.

The short blue dress she was wearing was one of her favorites, as it made her waist look small and accentuated her breasts. Her hair was a tousled mass of auburn curls, her lips a shimmering movie-star red. On her feet was a pair of matching blue heels. Wearing them in an airport was perilous, and for her, painful. Men loved heels, the higher the better. They didn’t care if a woman was miserable.

Stan saw her and headed her direction, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her tight against his body. "Feel that," he said, referring to his erection. "That’s Texas-size, sweetie pie."

She tilted her head to one side, causing the hair on the right side of her face to fall forward and obscure one eye. He was pumped up on something, probably Cialis, which was referred to as the "weekender" because it lasted several days. She doubted if he had a legitimate problem with erectile dysfunction, more a need to have a larger and longer-lasting erection. Obviously, he had wanted to impress her. How sweet, she thought facetiously. "How was your flight?"

"You look fantastic," Stan commented, stepping back so he could check out her body. "Better than I remembered, actually."

She wanted to tell him it was because he was sober. "You look great, too, baby." She clapped her hands lightly like a teenager. "I’m so excited, Stan. We’re going to have a super time. I can’t believe you’re really here."

Stan noticed a middle-aged man in a brown jacket watching them. "Maybe we should get out of here," he said, placing his palm in the center of her back. "I doubt if anyone will recognize me here, but I can’t take a chance. I do business all over the world, remember."

She gave him a wide-eyed girlish look. "I don’t know why you want to go into politics, Stan. Being an international attorney sounds so exotic. You get to travel to all these great places. Do you go to Paris very often? I adore Paris. Rome is terrible in the summer. I visited the Tivoli Fountain in August and almost got sick. It was like a giant dust bowl full of smelly people." Men expected idiotic chatter from pretty women, so she had incorporated it into her routine.

"I don’t have any clients in Paris," he said, disinterested. "I go to China and Japan frequently. All I do is work. Where did you park?"

"Across the street," she told him. As they headed toward the exit, she walked several feet behind him so no one would notice they were together. She had no intention of hurting his wife. Before making her final decision, she had met Belinda Waverly and even talked to several of her friends. Stan’s wife was a beautiful, gracious woman, who seemed to do everything possible to please her husband. She ate like a squirrel, worked out every day, and was already busy organizing Stan’s campaign. A good woman like that didn’t deserve a man like Stan.

They were outside of the terminal, waiting for the light to change. Cabs and cars were lined up at the curb, people excitedly waiting for friends and loved ones, children jumping up and down, businessmen pacing and talking on their cell phones. Families were clustered together in colorful clothing, more than likely headed to Disneyland. Los Angeles was the best place to be in August. Even if it warmed up during the day, it always cooled down in the evenings. At present, it was midday and the temperature was in the low eighties. Compared to the triple-digit heat in Texas, Los Angeles was paradise.

"Did you check into the Hyatt like I told you?"

No one told her what to do, but he would learn that lesson later. "Hotels are so impersonal, Stan. I’ve arranged for us to use my uncle’s cabin."

His face muscles tensed. "We’re staying in a damn cabin? This is L.A., for God’s sake. How far away is this place? I’ve been on a plane for three hours. I thought we were going to spend the next two days in the sack, not cooped up in a car."

"It’s not far," she said with the same cheerful tone. The light changed and they crossed the street to the parking garage. "It’s only two o’clock, Stan. We shouldn’t have to worry about traffic this time of day. My uncle’s cabin overlooks a lake. We can even skinny-dip if we want. There’s not a soul within thirty miles." He still had an annoyed look on his face. Spoiled prick, she thought, knowing he was used to getting his way. "You’ll love it, I promise. I stocked the kitchen with food and bought us two bottles of Dom. Don’t worry. I didn’t forget your Jack Daniel’s. I bought enough to fill a bathtub." She halted among the rows of cars. "Are you sure you feel comfortable about this? If you’re not, we can call it off right now."

Stan had just been presented with the biggest decision of his life. If he displayed even a flicker of hesitance, she might reconsider killing him. But she knew he wouldn’t. None of them did. A man never refused a piece of ass, particularly one he’d never had before.

"Trust me," he said, smiling playfully, "I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been fantasizing about you for weeks." He paused, trying to remember something. "By the way, that company you turned me on to is terrific. Whoever came up with the idea is brilliant. I don’t say this very often, but they could double their prices. I know guys who’d pay a fortune for what this operation offers."

Tell me something I don’t know, she thought, stopping and unlocking the door to a black Hummer. "There’s other people out there providing these kinds of services, Stan," she told him. "You have to be extremely cautious about who you use in a delicate situation like this. You might be an attorney, but I know you’re also a businessman. There’s a right and a wrong way to do things. The company I referred you to doesn’t rely on other members. Their employees seem both discreet and professional." She stopped herself. For one thing, she sounded too intelligent, and for another, Stan would be dead soon, so there was no reason to pitch him. It was as foolish as throwing bait to a fish you’d already reeled in. Giggling, she said, "Gosh, they acted like they were the CIA or something. All this secret...