This Year's Black (Killer Style 2)

“Jesus Christ.” He started to pace the room. “How did we not notice that?”

The previous day rolled through her mind. The car on the road from the hotel. The wine at dinner. The almost uncontrollable urge to touch Devin after she’d drunk it. Her jumbled thoughts skittered to a stop. No one else had drunk from the special bottle.

“Maybe it was a setup. The bad driver in the van. The old woman with the wine?” The possibility made her muscles twitch with the need to move. To jab. To take out the bastard who’d just fucked with the wrong chick. “Sarah’s been harassing us since we stepped off the plane.”

Clenching her jaw, Ryder slowly counted to ten, timing her breaths so they lasted as long as each number, until a familiar calm loosened her muscles. Paulie had taught her a pre-fight routine to clear her mind, and she followed it now. She closed her eyes, released the fists her hands had formed, and pictured an empty ring. Her domain. Her home. No one fucked with her there.

“She doesn’t realize it yet, but Sarah Molina just made a grievous error.” Ryder opened her eyes. “She made it personal.”

Chapter Nine

“Creativity comes from a conflict of ideas.”

— Donatella Versace

Andol Fashion Week didn’t have the glitz and glamor of Paris or New York, but fashionistas from all over South America and even Europe packed into luxury homes and five-star resorts hastily converted into fashion destinations where six-foot-tall models strutted down narrow runways showcasing the best the continent had to offer. The clothes were on display, but all the ladies-who-lunch could talk about that morning were the thieves who’d hit the city’s main hotel and swiped enough diamonds to fund a trip to the moon.

Ryder could give a shit if some ultra-rich women lost a few baubles that were no doubt insured. She’d hauled her ass halfway across the island for one reason only: to find Sarah Molina. A confirmed fashion junkie who’d been a part of the fashion world for three decades, there was no way she’d miss out on the continent’s premier fashion event.

Walking up the stone pathway to a covered Zen garden, her kitten heels clicking on each flagstone, Ryder scanned the small groupings concentrated near the three bars placed strategically around the potted bonsai trees. These shows never started on time, allowing even the latecomers like her and Devin time to see and be seen. Her earlier rage had congealed like mozzarella cheese on a day-old slice of pizza, leaving her mind free of the red haze coloring her vision. She scanned the glittering crowd as she circled the empty runway, searching for Sarah’s distinctive ebony bob. She spotted plenty of blondes, a handful of brunettes, and even the occasional white, but no bob. The lack of results turned her last nerve into a tiny nub of discontent and free-floating aggression. Well, that and the frustration of pretending she was Devin’s happy little assistant even though she wanted to knock him in the nuts for thinking she’d leaked the news about the store’s financial troubles.

A shadow fell across her path. She didn’t have to look up to know the most annoying man in the world had stopped beside her. A tingling up her spine had told her he was near long before he darkened her sight lines.

“Do you see her?” The intensity in Devin’s hushed words made a mockery of his casual stance and the loose way he held a champagne flute.

She shook her head as a short man in a blue seersucker suit rushed toward them. Immediately on guard, she pivoted and braced her shoulders in case of attack. He had a paunchy belly, teeth so white they were nearly florescent, and a bulbous nose that would make a perfect first target. She rose onto the balls of her feet, keeping her muscles loose but ready.

The man started talking before his feet even stopped moving. “Mr. Devin Harris, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Louis Pucci, The Andol Republic’s cultural minister.”

She relaxed back onto her heels, wishing she could exhale the fight-or-flight adrenaline rush from her veins instead of having to let it tweak through her system, making her muscles contract under her black lace sleeves.

“So good to meet you.” Devin shook Louis’s hand. “We’ve been impressed with the setup for the shows today.”

The other man beamed. “Thank you, we are most proud of our South American geniuses.” He turned to Ryder. “Madam, I apologize for so rudely interrupting your conversation, but I could not let an opportunity to talk to Mr. Harris go by.”

“That’s not a problem. This”—Devin turned to Ryder—”is my assistant, Ryder Falcon.”

Louis’ smooth fingers clasped hers and he brought them up to his lips. “We are so pleased you are both here with us enjoying the wonderful designs. Let me take you to your seats.” He walked them to the chairs lining a raised, sixteen-feet-long catwalk. “I made sure you have premium seats. We really are hoping you find a local designer or two to feature prominently at Dylan’s Department Stores across the globe when the merger goes through.”

“That is the goal today.” Devin’s voice had a breezy tone, but his left eye twitched.

Muscle spasm or something more? She didn’t give a shit. Her job was to track down Sarah, not be Devin’s babysitter, and she refused to give him an inch after this morning. The only nursing she’d be doing would involve a grudge—or a bottle of tequila.

“I hope you have found our country pleasing so far.” Louis stopped in front of a pair of front-row seats located three-fourths of the way down the runway and held out his hand.

Again, Devin shook the man’s hand, but his gaze flitted around the gathering. “It is beautiful here.”

“Wonderful.” Louis executed a short bow toward Ryder. “If there’s anything you need, please do not hesitate to call upon me.”

“There is one thing.” She ignored Devin’s censorious look. He wasn’t running this investigation and it was time he realized that. “We’re hoping to chat with Sarah Molina while we’re here. You haven’t seen her yet, have you?”

“No, señorita.” His posture stiffened and a vein quivered against his otherwise smooth forehead. “But if I do, I’ll be sure to let her know you’re looking for her.” He took three quick steps back, not bothering to wait for a reply.

After practically fawning over Devin, now he couldn’t ditch them fast enough. Alarm bells clanged in Ryder’s head, but she wasn’t about to let him get away that quickly.

“Do you know her well?” She gave him her best just-a-dumb-employee eye flutter.

He paused, one foot caught mid-step, hanging in the air. “I do. Her family and mine have been close friends for generations.”