Tell me what you want me to do.”
“How did I live all these years without you?” Emotion—he could always call it up on cue—trembled in his voice. “You’re my guardian angel. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you.”
He took her hands again. Looked at her as if she was his only salvation.
She’d have done anything for him.
“Charlotte’s having a gala in Beverly Hills next month.”
It thrilled. For a woman who’d experienced little excitement, even the act of donning a wig—ash blond, a smooth updo—equaled the thrill of a lifetime. She wore the body padding as well, padding that added several of the pounds she’d so diligently taken off.
The understated (boring) black gown fit over the padding well. A few fake jewels—but nothing eye-catching. She shouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. She applied her makeup meticulously, following Sparks’s instructions. Slipped on the black-framed glasses, then the mouth appliance that gave her a prominent overbite.
She looked matronly, something that would have upset her if not for the thrill. Her name fit the look. Millicent Rosebury. She’d paid for the fake ID, the credit card she’d used to buy the gala ticket.
She had those items, a lipstick, tissue, a small amount of cash, a pack of cigarettes, some already removed, a silver lighter, and what looked like a small perfume sprayer inside her black evening bag.
She’d left her car, as instructed, in a public garage blocks away. When she’d done what she came to do, she’d return to her hotel room, change, pack up Millicent in the single tote she’d brought with her, check out via the TV, walk to her car, and drive back to San Francisco.
It was all so simple really. Grant had such a brilliant mind.
Secretly, she worked on his story—their story. When finished, it would be for his eyes only once he lived free. Once they lived free together.
She walked to the Beverly Hills Hotel. Grant said to walk.
She struggled not to look awed—by the hotel itself, the glamorous people. After clearing check-in, she stepped into the ballroom. Had to muffle a gasp.
The flowers! White, all white, calla lilies, roses, hydrangeas, spearing out of gold vases on every table. Glittering chandeliers spilling sparkling showers of light. Champagne frothing in crystal flutes. Women in stunning gowns already seated or strolling.
Grant had told her not to come too early, not too late.
She knew, her greatest skill, how to be invisible.
Accepting a glass of champagne with what she considered a regal nod, she wandered. She didn’t intend to sit at her assigned table, or if needed, not for long.
It only took a moment to spot Charlotte Dupont, flitting, swanning, holding court. She wore a sleek gold gown, like the vases. She dripped with diamonds, like the chandeliers.
Rage rose up inside Jessica. Look at the lying, deceitful bitch, she thought. She thinks she’s a queen, thinks she’s untouchable. She thinks this is her night.
Well, in a way, it would be.
Her husband, old, frail, and looking both, sat at the table in front of the stage. He sent his wife adoring glances, chatted with people who stopped by the table, with his tablemates—no doubt as filthy rich as he.
She bided her time, watched for her moment as she wandered closer.
There would be a speech from Charlotte—undoubtedly tooting her own brass horn, probably working up a few tears as she did so. Then dinner, an auction to raise more money, entertainment, and finally dancing.
The two women at the table rose, walked away. Ladies’ room, Jessica assumed, and slowly moved forward.
While she could pick her time, Jessica felt the sooner the better.
Sooner came when one of the servers approached the table. She set something in a tall, clear glass with a lime on the lip in front of Conrad.
Slipping her hand into her purse, Jessica removed the top from the little atomizer, palmed it carefully as she stepped forward.
“I beg your pardon.” She used the haughty voice she’d practiced, believed it came across well. “Could you possibly direct me to table forty-three?”
“Of course, ma’am. Just one minute.”
As the server rounded the table to serve the other drinks, Jessica leaned down to Conrad. “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for the good work you and your beautiful wife are doing.”
“It’s all Charlotte.” He beamed a proud smile, looking up as Jessica gestured upward with her empty hand. Misdirection, Grant called it.
“A beautiful setting for a beautiful cause,” she said as she tipped the contents of the atomizer into his drink.
“Thank