Vargas leads me to an elevator next to a long staircase. He presses a button and the door opens.

“Wait,” I say, “there is an elevator inside this apartment?”

“Yes, it travels the five floors owned by MissMacCall.” He presses 24. The doors close and we go up two floors. The doors open and he motions me out.

I step out into another spectacular apartment with a view. This one is maybe a tenth the size of Lorena’s, but that’s still pretty fucking huge.

Lorena sits on a large white couch in front of a glass coffee table, the port of Miami on full display in the bright morning sunshine in front of her. She’s typing away on a laptop. So cool to see someone her age fluent with modern technology.

“Hello, Jayd!” she says. “Just one moment, dear. I’m posting a status update.”

She finishes and then stands, moving over to hug me.

“Sit,” she says. “I’m sorry about the restaurant, dear. It had to be done. Besides, I don’t know if you noticed but the food there lately was drifting downhill somewhat.”

“Yeah, I got that complaint a lot.”

I feel nervous for some reason, suddenly. I don’t know why.

“So do you like it?” she says.

“Like what?”

She makes a motion with her arms. “Your new place.”

I snicker. “This? My place?”

“Yes, dear. This is yours for as long as you need it.”

I look around. It’s truly spectacular. Ultra-modern and well-decorated. I see a huge kitchen off to my left. Looks brand new.

“But how—”

“I told you, dear. I own the building, as well as several other properties in Miami Beach. I’ve done well for myself and now that I’m the age I am, I want to share them with people I care about.”

“Wow, I don’t know what to say except thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, dear. But, of course, you are intrigued about my offer. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Um, yeah.”

“I see it in your eyes, dear. Lukas Thorn lights you up like nobody you’ve ever known. That’s true, isn’t it?”

Wow, didn’t expect that question right out of the bag.

“Yes.” The word falls out of my mouth.

“Good. Then, we both have his best interests at heart.”

“How do you expect me to free him?”

“You are the perfect antidote to the only other woman he has ever loved.”

Fine by me. If she wants to pay me big money to do the very thing I’ve been trying to do since stepping onto that plane, then fine.

“May I ask why you personally want me to do this?”

She gazes out the window and takes a fake puff. “Because I owe him only the best. I saved him from something truly rotten a long time ago.” A warning buzzer goes off in my head. The expression on my face must show what I’m thinking. “Oh no, dear. There was never anything between Lukas and me. It wasn’t like that.”

“How am I supposed to seduce Lukas Thorn?”

“By offering him his favorite fantasy.”

“Which is?”

“Control. You’re going to present yourself to him in a way no girl has ever presented herself before.”

“How am I supposed to do this?”

“That’s my job.”

“What’s your job?”

“To train you. We have two weeks. I know where he’ll be on August 14th.”

“Where?”

“At a house in the Bahamas. There is a street festival that weekend and every year he visits his brother in Nassau to enjoy the festival. You and I will be there. Well, specifically, you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

The sun catches her eye and sends an all-knowing glint at me. “Something dirty and obscene.” I uncross and re-cross my legs. “What do you think of that, dear?”

“I . . . like the sound of that.”

“I thought you might.”

Chapter 11

The Redmond Apts may not be a luxurious paradise, but it’s a hell of an upgrade from the Clarion Towers.

That’s my thought as I approach Karissa’s left hand steps in the blistering steamy heat.

I took a taxi this time, asking the driver to wait outside. You never know. I may need to run quickly.

I hate to say that, but after everything, I’ve learned about Karissa lately I’m a little leery about her. Not to mention the way she de-friended me completely.

Such a shame. We got to be such close friends, but she couldn’t tell me her main source of income.

Abigail, wake up! The signs were all there for you to see! You made yourself deliberately blind, choosing not to see it!

Yeah, probably true.

I want to make amends, though.

I mean, I’m not going to move back in with a hooker, naturally. Especially not with the new pad I have.

But I need to make things right with Karissa. I have no idea how, but I’m going to do my best.

The man with the towel over his waist is there as always. He just smiles at me. A fly lands in his white beard.

I stifle an urge to vomit.

There it is, ahead of me. The door I called home for a brief while. I would like to get back the paltry few pieces of clothing I left here, too. There was one print top I especially liked.

I take a deep breath and knock on the door.

Nothing but silence. The courtyard doesn’t make a sound. The man in the towel doesn’t make a sound, just smiles.

Everything tilts oddly, like I’m seeing it through a bent lens. What’s up with that?

Then it all rights itself again. WTF?

A ball of anger rises inside of me. I knock again, harder this time.

Nothing.

I take out my key and try putting it in the lock, but it doesn’t fit. Shit, the lock has been changed. She changed the fucking lock! The bitch!

Now I’m mad.

I bang on the door.

“Karissa!” I shout. “Open up! I want to talk to you!”

Shit, the sun is desperate today and the dew point is so high I might vaporize.

I pound on the cheap door.

“Yo, Karissa! Hey! Yo! Open up!”

Nothing.

Another pounding.

“Karissa, I’ve got stuff in there! If you don’t want to talk to me, at least let me have my things!”

The door finally begins to open.

Oh, thank God.

I’m about to launch into a big spiel about how we fell out of touch, but the person who greets me at the door makes me take three steps back.

He’s a big black man about the size of Delaware. His hair has a carved part in it, but that’s the only sense of style about him. He’s dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. I take another step back.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he says.

“Oh,” I say, “um . . . I thought . . . I was just looking for Karissa. Is she in?”

“I don’t know no fucking Karissa.” He looks me up and down. His mean demeanor softens as he leans on the door. Then he smiles.

“This is her place. She lives here.”

“Not anymore she don’t. This is my place. I just moved in. But seeing as you’re a friend of the previous tenant, I’m more than happy to have you in.”

Shit.

I’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

I don’t even wait for my slow brain to think of anything to say. I just run to the taxi and tell the driver to take me back to the beach.

As we pull away, I catch a glimpse of the man in the towel.

He’s just smiling at me.

Shit.

Where the fuck is Karissa?

Chapter 12

I’m in a suite at the British Colonial Hilton in downtown Nassau, laying prone on the bed, which is covered by a tarp. Wet strokes dance this way and that all over my body as the artist paints me.

Lorena flew in Karl Werz, a sixty-ish pony-tailed man in a white pirate shirt open to his waist, who is supposedly the world’s foremost body paint artist. He doesn’t seem to be fazed in the least by my nakedness, fully absorbed in his meticulous brush strokes.

Gotta admit, I love the sensations. I mean, you know me by now, right? Pretty much anything sparks my girl down below to life. I’m doing my best to channel the ever-growing sexual energy into mental rehearsal of what I need to do tonight.