Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson Read Online Free

be sold. But I didn’t see how scaring her
even more would improve the situation. Besides, something wasn’t
adding up.
    “I don’t think they’re taking me to Paris,”
she said.
    “So why are you here?”
    “I don’t know.” Her eyes focused on me, and
she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m scared.”
    “I can get you out of here,” I said. “Do you
want me to?”
    She nodded. “Will you? Please?”
    “Leave it to me, okay? Just be ready when I
tell you.”
    “Thanks.” She reached over, squeezed my
hand.
    I squeezed back.
    Movement, in my peripheral vision. Hawaiian
Shirt had left the other men and was now circling the pool to where
we sat, an expensive-looking digital camera around his neck. He
motioned to me, the tip of his tongue flicking out and running
across his bottom lip.
    “Okay, you. Miss Hot to Trot. Come on.”
    I didn’t want to let Julianne out of my
sight, but I couldn’t exactly refuse my chance to become a big
star. A few bikini shots in the sand would still give me a chance
to keep an eye on her. I scrambled to my feet, doing my best to
look excited.
    He turned in the direction of the house.
    “I thought we were going to shoot on the
beach, since I’m wearing a swim suit and all.”
    He opened the patio door and ushered me
inside. “Trust me, honey. This will be better.”
    Inside he made for the staircase to the
second floor.
    I could guess what kind of pictures he was
planning to take. A guess that was confirmed as we went deeper into
the mansion. A long hallway opened at the top of the stairs, doors
flanking both sides, most standing open. I peeked into the first,
hearing moaning.
    The lighting—a simple klieg on a tripod—was
strictly amateur hour. And so was the talent. But what she lacked
in professionalism she made up for with enthusiasm. I guessed this
shoot could have been called, I Love Fruit , because that’s
what the girl was doing.
    “Now the Bartlett, babe,” the cameraman cooed
as he snapped away. “And put the strawberry up to your lips. No,
your other lips.”
    The next door down was a video production of
the more vanilla variety. Guy on girl, pretty standard stuff.
    Scratch that. An animal musk odor made me
look closer, and I noticed a miniature donkey next to the bed.
    I’d call that production, A Piece of
Ass .
    “You like to watch?” Hawaiian Shirt asked,
leering over his shoulder.
    “I’m more of a doer than a watcher,” I
answered, hoping my grin looked real.
    We passed another door, saw another video
shoot.
    I’m pretty shock-proof, but my cover persona,
Claire Thomas, wouldn’t be.
    “Yuck.” I gave a shudder. “That’s gross.”
    “Gotta keep upping the ante,” Hawaiian Shirt
said. “We’re calling it Three Girls, One Cup . You want to
join in?”
    “No, thanks. I already ate. And I don’t want
to eat that .”
    We were almost to the end of the hall when a
sound caught my attention. More a beat in my chest than a noise,
but I recognized it immediately.
    A helicopter.
    Many millionaires had vacation homes in the
area and few suffered the inconvenience of traffic snarls on their
way back and forth to Manhattan. Around here, helipads were as
common as tennis courts. But as much as I told myself all these
facts, my gut said the arrival of this particular aircraft was no
coincidence. It was here for Julianne, and I was stuck modeling for
nudie shots with this chubby Seymore Butts wannabe.
    He chose the last bedroom on the left.
    The room was large, furnished only by a king
size bed. It smelled of new paint and sheets that needed changing.
Windows looked out on the Sound, and I spotted a purple Bell
corporate-type helicopter approaching the beach.
    “Let’s try a few on the bed. Take off your
top, show me those sweet tits again.”
    I struggled to look unsure.
    “Come on, all the famous bitches did nudes.
Marilyn Monroe did nudes. You want to be famous like her,
right?”
    I chewed my lower lip and pretended to think
it over.