"Jesus Christ, you're a real pain in my ass."

"One of these days I could be your stepmother-in-law," she announced, teasing him. "Wouldn't that be a blast. Imagine what holidays would be like. Christmas Day-you and me in the bathroom, me sucking you off, while Annabelle and Ralph bond like a father and daughter should."

"You're sick, you know that?"

"Oh yes, and you're so perfect," she said, knowing that she was turning him on.

After a long pause, he said, "You coming over?"

"When did you have in mind?"

"Later-after everyone's gone."

"Why do I always have to wait till everyone's out of there?" she complained.

"Because I say so."

"Seems you're forgetting that I'm a legitimate client again."

"Premature."

"Excuse me?"

"Forget it," Eddie said gruffly. "Be here at six. Use my private elevator."

"And we'll discuss our project?"

"Sure."

"Anything else you'd like from me, Mr. Big Shot Falcon?" she asked coyly.

"I'd like you to stop fucking my father-in-law," he said with a surly grunt.

"I'll take it under consideration," she said, clicking off her phone and grinning to herself.

Eddie was jealous. Good. It would force him to pay attention. And if there was one thing that Willow loved, it was attention.

Alejandro surfaced late in the afternoon. Matias gave him his messages-including one from Rafael saying he was on his way back to L.A. Summoning his housekeeper, Alejandro ordered coffee and an omelet, then he reflected on the previous night's activities. He pictured the two plain Valley girls standing in front of him wearing nothing except the plastic baggies of drugs taped to their imperfect bodies. Then he pictured himself ripping the baggies off the girls, listening to them squeal with pain as the tape tore at their skin.

Thinking about it gave him an immediate erection, which pleased him. He'd been taking so much Viagra lately that he wasn't sure if he could get it up without the little blue pill.

It wasn't that he needed Viagra like some decrepit old man. No, he simply enjoyed the explosive effect. In his mind, Viagra was heroin for his cock.

Sitting up in bed, he reached for the remote and tuned into afternoon television. He really enjoyed the talk shows with their dyke hosts and needy audiences. So many women seeking love advice. Who wouldn't enjoy imagining them naked-all different shapes and sizes-all searching for a man who could satisfy them?

The women in the audiences reminded him of the two girls, his obedient drug mules. Girls who would do anything for money.

Thinking of money reminded him of Willow. Matias had mentioned she'd called, so he reached for his cell and called her back.

"Where's the money?" she said, sounding shrill. "We can't get anything started without the cash."

"Rafael's on his way back. He'll have everything."

"He only just left," Willow pointed out.

"What difference does that make?" Alejandro said, watching a female on The Daytona Rich Show burst into tears because her boyfriend had cheated on her. She exhibited no shame in front of millions of people.

"Does this mean you'll have the cash tomorrow?" Willow asked impatiently.

"Maybe," Alejandro said, opening his nightstand drawer and reaching for a small glassine packet of coke, which he proceeded to tip out onto the top of the nightstand.

"I hope so, 'cause I've got everyone on hold," Willow said.

"Keep 'em there," Alejandro said, leaning over to snort a line.

"Should I come by later?"

"Not tonight," Alejandro said, thinking that if the Puerto Rican with the juicy ass returned, she was going to be all his.

Willow couldn't make up her mind whether she was relieved or pissed off. Relieved won out-because how many cocks could she service in one day? First the afternoon fling with Ralph. Then later she knew Eddie would expect oral-he always did. So dealing with Alejandro might've been one cock too many.

"Then tomorrow for sure?" she said. "I'll come over around noon to pick up the cash. We can work on an announcement for the trades, and maybe discuss hiring a top PR. Publicity is king, and it's essential that we hire the best."

Alejandro snorted another line. "Okay," he mumbled.

They both clicked off at the same time.

Settling back into his bed, Alejandro continued watching TV.

Willow went into her bathroom and started getting ready for her meeting with Eddie.

Soon their movie would be set to go.

Both of them envisioned a place for themselves in the Hollywood sun.

CHAPTER SIXTY.

Persuasion is a funny thing. Sometimes it takes money. Sometimes it takes violence. Chris was adept at either, depending on what the situation called for.

Pedro, it turned out, was the scruffy and unkempt brother Chris had encountered earlier-except now he'd cleaned himself up and he actually resembled the man from the security tape. Chris suddenly realized that he was the man.

Exactly as Chris had expected, Pedro came up behind him in the parking lot, stuck a gun in his ribs, and muttered, "Who t' fuck send you t' me, mothafucker?"

This was not the first time Chris had experienced a gun in his ribs, and it probably wasn't going to be the last. It didn't faze him. In fact, it didn't bother him at all, for he knew that whenever he felt like it, he could disarm this ass-wipe and take control.

Timing was everything.

"You killed a girl in Chicago," Chris said evenly. "Why'd you do it?"

"Who're you, her husband?" Pedro sneered.

"Nope. I'm simply an interested party."

Pedro dug him hard with the gun, not understanding why the pedazo de mierda wasn't shaking in his boots. "I ain't askin' again-where'd you hear 'bout me?" he snarled.

"Tell me what happened in Chicago," Chris countered.

"Listen t' me, mothafucker-"

Enough, Chris thought. I don't have the time to be standing here going around in circles.

With one swift move that Pedro didn't see coming, he disarmed the man-sticking Pedro's own gun in his stomach. "I'm asking nicely. It's up to you, because if you don't care to answer, we'll be here until you do."

"What t' fuck-" Pedro fumed, trying to figure out what had just taken place. He was not used to being the victim.

"Yeah, what the fuck is right," Chris said. "Glad that you're finally getting it, 'cause I don't have the time nor the inclination to hang around waiting for you to tell me something that you will tell me, whether it be now or hours from now. Your choice. Now, who hired you to go to Chicago?"

There was something in Chris's tone that convinced Pedro he meant business. But Pedro was canny enough to realize that if this big lug wanted information, then why shouldn't he get paid for it?

"How much?" he muttered.

"How much what?" Chris responded.

"How much you gonna pay me for the info I got?"

It's never easy, Chris thought with a weary sigh. How come I always have to end up hurting someone before they give it up? And this ass-wipe will eventually give it up, whether he wants to or not.

Of course he could pay him. But why would he pay a piece of shit murderer? No. He'd get the information he required, then he'd do Detective Cole's job for him and point the detective in the direction of the real killer, because he had no doubt that's who Pedro was.

Jamming the gun in Pedro's stomach, he began moving him toward his van.

"Okay, okay," Pedro muttered. "We stay out here. I tell you what you wanna know."

And with that he jerked his knee up-making a vain attempt to throw Chris off balance. Chris saw it coming and swiftly sidestepped, jamming the gun even harder into Pedro's soft gut.

"You want me to shoot you?" Chris threatened. "How do you feel about a bullet in your belly? 'Cause one more move like that, an' I'll do it."

Pedro grunted.

They reached the van. Chris shoved him roughly into the back. It was time to get some answers.

A couple of hours later, Lucky felt the phone she had tucked under her pillow vibrate.

Rolling over in bed, she glanced quickly at Lennie. He was sleeping soundly. Grabbing her phone, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen.

Chris had texted her. Pedro A involved with Bobby setup. No connection to Gino. Call me a.m.

Did he honestly think she was waiting until the morning to call him? No way.

Grabbing a 7-Up from the fridge, she made her way into her study, shutting the door behind her. Popping open the can, she called Chris.

"I thought you'd be asleep," he said.

"And I thought I'd hear from you earlier."

"I got held up. Had to deal with some uh ... dental work."

"Dental work?"

"Don't ask."

"So ... tell me everything."

"Not over the phone, Lucky. I'll meet you for breakfast."

"It's not a good idea for you to come to the house. Bobby's starting to make noise about getting involved, and that's the last thing I need. I want Bobby kept out of this."

"Where, then?"

"There's a breakfast truck parked above Zuma beach. I'll see you there at seven."

"Got it."

At six-thirty A.M. Lucky managed to exit the house undetected. Lennie was a heavy sleeper, and the boys were sleeping too, having played video games until three A.M.

She informed the security guard at the front of the house that she was taking a drive.

"Should I come with you, Mrs. Golden?" the guard asked, edging toward her.

"No thanks," she said.

"Mr. Golden told us-"

"Yes, I know," she said impatiently. "He told you I should have company, and you can tell Mr. Golden that you tried, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."