Black

Chapter 8

They drove home, full of organic pasta and cheap Chianti, and Black escorted them upstairs to his apartment, bid them good night, and headed back down to the waiting Cadillac. Thankfully, Gracie's apartment was dark, so he wouldn't get hijacked. By the time her Scotch ran out it was sleepy time, and she was reliably out like a light by nine.

Bel Air loomed like royal palace grounds above the city's twinkling lights. Its pristine real estate was the most coveted in L.A., every other home owned by a star or a mogul, Bentleys and Rolls Royces and Lamborghinis prowling the hilltop lanes, while only a few short miles away street people pulled cardboard over themselves in preparation for another long night. The old Eldorado sputtered to a stop in front of Hunter's gate, and Black jabbed at the intercom button and waited for the ornate iron barrier to swing open, wishing he'd had a little less wine with dinner. Then again, it wasn't common for him to be on call at night, so he'd had no way of knowing he'd be doing his second interview by starlight.

He pulled up the circular drive and rolled to a halt in the same spot he'd occupied that afternoon and killed the big engine. A silence fell, and his ears detected the soft chirping of crickets from the surrounding trees. Off in the distance, a large dog barked halfheartedly before stillness descended again. Up here was none of the noise that was constant closer to the city, and he had to strain to make out the sound of traffic from the 405 freeway a scant mile away.

The Caddy's door groaned open and he stepped onto the cobblestones, debating for a moment whether to don his hat before dismissing the idea. He straightened his tie and smoothed his hair with a steady palm as he studied the hedges for any signs of the drunken daughter, but she must have graduated to other forms of amusement than tormenting new arrivals, and he was alone under the night sky, the house looming large in front of him.

He was mounting the stairs when the front door opened. Meagan stood backlit like a goddess, her nightgown nearly translucent in the warm glow from the interior. He wondered whether she knew that her outfit hid no secrets when the light was right, then decided that it didn't matter - this was his new client's wife, and the man was a heavyweight mover and shaker. If she had an exhibitionist thing, that was Hunter's problem, not Black's, although he couldn't help but admire her toned legs and perfectly sculpted-

"Well, hello again, Mr. Black. I didn't think we'd be seeing you so soon, but looks like it's my lucky day," she said, her voice a siren's song, every note melodious and in tune, with a feline sensuality that was undeniable.

"Mrs. Hunter..."

"Meagan, remember?" she chided, still in the doorway, barring his entry while giving him a million dollar view.

"Right. Meagan. I talked to your husband earlier, and he wanted me to meet him at the house at ten."

"Oh, he hasn't gotten in yet. But do come in and make yourself at home. I'm just having a margarita before I go to bed. Would you like one? On the rocks?" she purred, stepping back and inviting him in with a wave of her half-empty glass.

"I don't drink when I'm on the job, Meagan," he said, stepping into the foyer, keenly aware of her voluptuous figure only a few short feet away.

"Nonsense. You're not on the job right now. I insist. Besides, I hate to drink alone. It's so lonely and desperate, you know? I'm guessing you like it hard over the rocks. None of that blended stuff for you," she said, closing the door softly behind her and brushing by him. "No, I can see you're a real man. Maybe even prefer just a straight shot of tequila? Skip right to the chase?"

Black shrugged in surrender. "Maybe just a small one. Margarita, that is."

"There's a good sport. Thanks for humoring a lady," she crooned and moved to the kitchen, where an orange glass pitcher sat on the expansive granite island next to a bucket of ice. She lifted out three cubes out and dropped them into a Mexican leaded glass tumbler and then poured it three quarters full of the amber fluid, taking the time to squeeze in a lime before picking up the glass and bringing it to him. "Try this. It's my special recipe. Been in the family for literally hours."