Palm Springs Heat Read Online Free PDF Page A

and yet alone in the shroud of the night mist. Lara would lean against
the railing, her hair blown by the same ocean breeze that drove the tiki
torches into a frenzied demonic dance. Clay could distinctly hear the crackle
of flames…a siren calling to him from the rocky shoreline.
    “Mr. Creighton?”
    “Call me Clay.”
    “Sir?”
    Oh, for the love of—
    It was Turnbow, Fast Lane’s
security chief, on the intercom. Clay went to the control panel by the door and
flicked the switch.
    “Turnbow?”
    “Evening, Mr. C.”
    “I thought it was your night off.”
    “Yes, sir. Your guest is arriving.
Would you like me to escort her up to The Box?”
    “No. I’ll be right down.”
     
    * * *
     
    Lara looked out the window as the
limo Clay had sent moved slowly up
Rodeo Drive . Two limo rides in one week! This ride, though, was tinged with
melancholy. Lara thought about her previous visits to this neighborhood. Like
most people who walk this mile without the money to back it up, she had always
felt like a rubberneck. An interloper. A tourist in her own hometown. She had grown up in a nice
enough neighborhood in the valley, but the valley was
nonetheless on the wrong side of the proverbial tracks. Except that the barrier
separating Lara’s L.A. from here
wasn’t railroad tracks, but mountains.
    During her marriage to Kyle Lobo, a
producer of low-budget, straight-to-video actioners like Death Chase and Terror Strike: Bel Air (which had been shot entirely in Encino), Lara
had ventured into the shimmering swimming pool of Beverly
Hills on occasion. But with her budget, she was barely
able to dip her toes into the water.
    The car passed a Catalan eatery
that charged sixty-five dollars for a hamburger and fries. It amazed her how
many people were accustomed to the high cost of extravagance. The dress she was
wearing was extravagant, but Gina hadn’t batted an eyelash when they found it
at Century City.
White cotton with a scoop neck and puffs of pima encircling her waist, it looked like something Gina would buy for herself. And
while Lara could tell why it didn’t cost $23.95, she also saw no reason it
should cost nine hundred dollars. Especially since she was wearing it to a
glorified sports bar. On the other hand, it looked great with her new dark
hair.
    The limo pulled to the curb, and as
Lara got out, she found herself looking into the face of a pretty young blonde
she knew she’d seen somewhere before. On TV? Singing? The blonde looked Lara
over with a steely gaze, a look reserved for serious competitors in the mating
game, before turning her head with a flick of her ponytail and marching off
with her nose high in the air.
    That is a very good sign.
    An imposing doorman in a coat with
epaulets that made his shoulders look even bigger intercepted Lara as she
approached the entrance to Rev.
    “Welcome, Miss Dixon,” he said in a
decidedly unimposing voice. “Mr. Creighton is waiting for you.”
    “Actually,” came Clay’s voice from
just beyond the doorman, “Mr. Creighton couldn’t wait, so he came down to meet
you himself.”
    The doorman stepped back as Clay
stepped up. “I see you’ve already met Chip,” Clay said. The doorman nodded
politely. “And that’s my security man, Turnbow.”
    Turnbow stood against the building,
keeping his eyes peeled. He looked like a bank robber.
    Chip opened the door.
    “Shall we?” Clay placed his hand in
the small of Lara’s back. Just that gentle touch sent a zing of electric energy
through her body. Did he feel that, too?
    When they were inside, Turnbow put
a hand on Clay’s shoulder and tried to speak to him privately, but Lara could
hear him just fine.
    “I assume you will be going to your
box?”
    “Actually, I assume we’ll go to the
main floor.”
    “I think your guest might enjoy the
more intimate atmosphere of The Box.” Turnbow nodded at Lara and smiled.
    “Why don’t we ask her? Lara, would
you like to go to my private dining room, or to the main