Page 42 of Donovan Blake: Adrenalin

“I’ll have Phoebe’s costume made overnight and have it sent to you first thing in the morning. And the glue, assuming I can find it.”

“You must, Sam. That glue is imperative. Now I’m off. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Donovan.”

Ending the call, Donovan looked around the empty grounds then raised his eyes and gazed at the myriad of stars in the clear sky. It was calm and peaceful, a far cry from the mayhem he’d be entering the following evening.

But a smile curled his lips.

Phoebe was waiting for him.

Walking back inside, he made sure the door was locked, then ambled into the bedroom and slipped out of this clothes.

“Is everything okay?” she murmured. “You were gone a long time. At least, that’s how it felt.”

“Time always drags when you’re waiting,” he replied, crawling into bed and lying on his back.

As she snuggled against him and he moved his arm around her shoulders, he experienced a deep wave of fatigue. Realizing just how truly exhausted he was, he closed his eyes and savored the feel of her warm, curvaceous body pressed against his. He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, then slide into her warmth and ravage her. But his eyes were heavy and already closing…

* * *

Phoebe was tired too, but she was also excited at the thought of being with Donovan at the Masquerade Ball the following night. She knew it wasn’t definite, but she sensed he was very close to asking her to join him. As she told herself not to do anything to jeopardize her chances, she was swept up by a long, heavy yawn. Closing her eyes and snuggling even closer to him, she let herself drift away.

* * *

When Franco Giancana had arrived in Manhattan a couple of hours earlier, he’d checked into a suite at the Ritz Carlton. It was pricey, but he had the money, and with Boris Federov now out of the way he had reason to celebrate.

The moment he’d heard about Boris’s dramatic demise Franco had expected a visit from the cops, but they hadn’t shown up, and he wasn’t about to sit around waiting for them. Fortunately he had an airtight alibi. He’d been at the race track and had plenty of witnesses, not to mention security camera footage verifying his whereabouts. But even if he’d decided to get rid of the Russian bastard, he wouldn’t have pulled the trigger himself.

Moving to the drinks cabinet and pouring a generous glass of whiskey, he walked across to the windows and stared down at the bustling city.

“Whoever you are, thanks for taking care of him for me,” he exclaimed, raising his glass in a toast.

Taking a satisfying swallow, he thought about Manny Trubello. The hit had been carried out by a pro, and he knew Manny used highly paid personnel for such matters. Though Franco wasn’t aware of any problems Manny had with Boris that warranted the assassination it didn’t rule him out.

“Maybe it was another Russian gangster with a score to settle,” he muttered to himself. “Whoever it was, I sure would like to know the details.”

A knock caught his attention.

He smiled.

His special visitor was right on time.

Placing his glass on the coffee table, he walked across the room and opened the door.

“Are you Frankie?” the escort asked.

“I sure am,” he replied, gazing at her ample cleavage spilling over the low-cut, figure hugging red dress. “And you must be Heidi. Come in and let’s get acquainted.”

Franco loved having sex with call girls. They looked exactly how he wanted them to, did exactly what he asked, and there were no complications. After a quick drink and some small talk, he told her to perform a sexy strip as he removed his clothes, then ordered her onto the bed on her hands and knees. As he sheathed his member and thrust inside her channel, he closed his eyes and imagined she was Candace Barrow.

He’d been crazy about Candace from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. It had been years before at a strip club. He’d spent night after night getting to know her, but when he’d arrived ready to pluck her from the sordid life, to his great dismay he’d discovered Manny had beaten him to it.

Then he’d heard Manny had started calling her Candy Bright.

Franco had been furious.

She may have been a stripper, but she had class, and the name Candy Bright cheapened her.

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