A Model Spy

Prologue

"Renee, are you available? There’s a call for you on the private line in your office."

Olivia’s voice drew Renee’s attention away from the limousine taking off from the front of the town house to enter the 68th Street traffic. It was carrying her husband, Preston, and her daughter, Haley, to a matinee.

With Preston newly released from prison, it should have been the best of times for her family, but the man who’d come home a few months ago was a pale shadow of the one who’d left. Worse yet, she barely recognized Haley, who’d recently transformed into an angry, rebellious teen.

Renee promised herself that she would hold her family together and make things right, but now, she had a job to do.

With an incline of her auburn head and murmured thanks to her personal assistant, Renee Dalton Sinclair crossed the Persian rug and passed the spiral stairs on the first floor of The Gotham Rose Club to head back to her office. Nervous excitement made the back of her neck itch. The only person who ever called on her private line was the Governess, a mysterious benefactress who was well placed in the government. Whenever the calls came, one of the Gotham Rose’s undercover spies soon took on a dangerous mission to bring down a high-society criminal.

Whoever the Governess was, she’d been powerful enough to pull the strings necessary to have Renee’s beloved husband, Preston, released from prison early. Despite Pres’s refusal to discuss what had happened, she knew he had been the scapegoat for his corrupt family and their investment firm.

The Governess had approached Renee four years ago with a deal. In return for Pres’s early release, Renee started an undercover organization with her exclusive Gotham Rose women’s club. Renee had started the club to get New York’s wealthiest young heiresses to put their names and fortunes to good use by raising money for charity. The secret spy club included only a small number of the more than two hundred Gotham Rose members. The women were trained to take down upper-class citizens who used wealth and power to cover their crimes.

In the quiet sanctuary of her office, Renee secured the door, then slipped into her powder room and locked that door too. Making herself comfortable on the overstuffed, white love seat, she lifted the receiver from the vanity table.

This is Renee Dalton Sinclair.

Renee…I trust you’re enjoying Pres’s return? the mechanically distorted voice began.

Renee was overjoyed to have her husband back, but the sound of his name spoken by the disembodied voice sent chills through her. Was there a threat lurking beneath the Governess’s question?

I love my husband, she answered simply, her tone ringing with conviction. Having him home has brought the life back to our house. In the ensuing silence she added, Of course, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done—

Preston Sinclair was innocent, the Governess cut in. Now let’s move on to the business at hand. Have you seen the story in the papers about the two models who were killed in their Miami apartments? Another model was caught at Miami International yesterday, trying to smuggle heroin in a case of bubble bath.

I saw the stories, Renee confirmed. You’d think that fashion models would have more options than the poor desperate souls who normally end up being mules in the drug trade.

The Governess expelled a contemptuous puff of air. Someone made those models an offer they couldn’t refuse. We need to identify this drug ring, find out who’s at the top, get the evidence and take them down fast.

Shifting the phone and its cord, Renee used her key to open a drawer at the carved antique vanity and remove the large file containing pictures and press information on all the Gotham Roses. Some of the women were just members of her charitable organization, which required all its members to pay twenty-five thousand dollars to join, ten thousand a year thereafter, and then asked that they help raise at least one hundred thousand dollars annually. She knew by heart which members were also a part of her undercover organization. They were the best, the brightest and the most capable women imaginable.

We need someone who can move in the modeling world without raising suspicion, she murmured, paging past several members. Someone they would actually welcome.

We also need a high-profile, well-connected operative who can take care of herself. Vanessa Dawson would be ideal, the Governess said firmly. "We’ve arranged for her to get a contract with Inside Sports magazine for the Fantasy Swimsuit edition."

Finding Vanessa’s gorgeous picture and press information in the stack, Renee shook her head. Vanessa left the modeling world under less than ideal circumstances, she said. It would take a lot to get her back into that life.

The stakes are high, the Governess insisted. Lives have been lost. The murdered models moved in circles that include some of the younger members of the old-money set. What if there is a connection between their money and the models acting as mules for the drug trade?

What, indeed? As an heiress and bona fide member of the old-money class, nothing surprised Renee anymore. Bored people with more money than they knew what to do with were unpredictable. Renee closed her file, already imagining Vanessa back in the wild, unpredictable world she’d barely escaped. She knew Vanessa could successfully complete the assignment—but at what cost?

Chapter 1

In the secret basement training room at the Gotham Rose Club, mirrored walls surrounded a hardwood floor dotted with mats. Covered with protective gear beneath her loose, white workout gi, Vanessa Dawson flicked back her highlighted ponytail and aimed a long-legged side kick at trainer Jimmy Valentine.

He blocked it with a padded, muscular forearm. Good kick, Vanessa, but we know your kicks are always good. Move in and throw some punches.

Vanessa hadn’t planned to spar with Jimmy. She’d arrived early to work off a little frustration and excitement before her scheduled tea with Renee. Once Jimmy had spotted her at the abdominal machine, he’d refused to take no for an answer. She’d been long overdue for a training session. Now here she was sparring with the master of several martial arts forms, while she tried to preserve her fresh manicure.

Knees slightly bent, Vanessa crouched in a ready position. Tonight, she, Madison Taylor Pruitt and Tatiana Guttmann were going out for dinner and a night on the town. That meant she would not have time to sit through another manicure. Wrinkling her nose and lifting her arms, she balled her hands into fists and curled the thumbs underneath. Her fists flew, connecting with his protected forearms more often than she liked.

Jimmy laughed. A lock of shiny, dark hair fell over an eyebrow to lend a rakish appearance to his handsome face. With his good looks and height, he easily could have graced the pages of a fashion magazine. C’mon, Vanessa, hit harder. You won’t be fighting the girls. You have to be able to trade more than a few punches with a man.

That got to her. Was he calling her a sissy? A wimp? Vanessa took pride in her ability to adapt the various fighting styles and techniques Jimmy insisted on teaching and make them her own. Because of her family’s wealth and her days spent strutting down the catwalk or preening in front of a camera, most people thought she was eye candy and about as useful as a Christmas tree ornament in the middle of spring. She knew that nothing could be farther from the truth.

With the Gotham Roses and some of her wealthy friends, she raised hundreds of thousands of dollars every year for her favorite charity, The Golden Key Foundation for Battered Women, and several others. The bottom line was that her training, her important charity work and the exciting undercover missions all made her life worthwhile.

Balancing herself, she threw her body into the barrage of punches she aimed at his torso. Jimmy’s corresponding grunts as he scrambled to block the blows were music to her ears.

Good job! he called out, mixing things up with a few punches of his own. Next time, don’t make me ask for it. If you’re in a situation where you have to throw a punch, you need to give it all you’ve got. You might not get another chance.

At Vanessa’s acknowledgement, his hand snaked out to shift her balance and throw her. She flew through the air to land sprawled on her left hip in an ungraceful heap. Because she knew how to fall, she wasn’t hurt. As Jimmy advanced, two well-aimed kicks kept him from getting too close. She scrambled to her feet, lifting her arms to block.

That’s enough for today. Jimmy pulled the Velcro on the pads covering his arms and drew them off. Good work overall, but you’re a bit distracted, Vanessa. What’s wrong?

Other than the fact that she’d spent a good part of her morning arguing with her little sister, Michelle, and it had gotten her nowhere, there was the distinct possibility of an upcoming mission. Vanessa met Jimmy’s gaze and smiled. I guess I’m just excited. I’m having tea with Renee. She wants to discuss a new project.

I see. Jimmy patted her on the shoulder, a knowing look in his eyes. Whatever it is, I know you’ll give it the attention it deserves.

Of course, she agreed. Pulling apart the Velcro on her own padding, she drew it down and off her arms. Her gaze dropped to her index finger and she cursed under her breath. The nail had broken off at her fingertip. In the heat of their sparring she hadn’t noticed.

Jimmy moved close to examine it. I don’t see any blood, he murmured, his dark eyes sparkling. And those beautiful nails wouldn’t look half so good on a corpse.

Glowering at him, Vanessa threw a playful punch to his wide shoulder. She knew what he was getting at. He’d told her on more than one occasion that her little vanities, which included the highlighted brown hair hanging past her shoulders, her long nails and the four-inch heels she loved, could make it difficult for her to defend herself. Jimmy’s comments had only made her work that much harder to hone her skills. She didn’t need Jimmy to tell her that she was good at defending herself.

Just keep your focus on your opponent, he chided gently.

I will, she promised.

And good luck on your project.

Thanks, Jimmy. She leaned forward to plant a little kiss on his cheek. He didn’t move, but she sensed him waiting defensively to see if she would try to press herself against him, as had other Gotham Roses who affectionately called him The Heartbreaker.

Jimmy was extremely loyal to his wife, something that many of the wealthy socialites in the Gotham Roses couldn’t understand. Vanessa could. Her father, Manfred Dawson III, was still married to her mother, Lonette, and from all appearances, neither had ever been unfaithful. A number of her wealthy friends’ parents had been married and divorced so many times that fidelity was almost a novelty.

Tell Linda I said hello, she murmured, tossing the arm pads into Jimmy’s box of athletic aids. She hurried to the dressing room, excitement building within her. She was ready for a challenge.

By the time Vanessa arrived at Renee’s private dining room, she’d filed the tip of the broken nail and changed into a pink dress designed by DooRi, an up-and-coming designer friend who had been featured in Chic magazine. The dress had a plunging neckline accented with lace, and a drop-waisted skirt with a gathered, asymmetrical hem. She’d twisted her hair into a roll and stepped into her strappy, pink suede Manolo Blahniks to complete her outfit. Slightly distracted, Renee looked fashionably elegant in a fitted, black Sonia Rykiel suit with the trademark knotted bow appliquéd onto the left side of her jacket.

She was already seated at the linen-covered dining table. At the sight of Vanessa, she stood, and they embraced.

Is everything all right? Vanessa asked, as Renee commandeered a Verne porcelain teapot with a nautical theme inspired by Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

Pouring tea, Renee flashed her usual, serenely confident smile. "Things are perfect. Of course we’re still trying to catch the Duke, and life is just a little crazy as could be expected with Pres’s return. Then there’s a minor annoyance or two that I’m handling." Her tone deepened and she cut her comment abruptly.

Vanessa knew that Renee and the Governess suspected that the Duke was a wealthy criminal who controlled most of the corruption that went on in moneyed circles. The members of the undercover organization were determined to bring him down, but so far, he’d managed to keep his identity secret.

Observing Renee, Vanessa hoped that the minor annoyances that Renee was referring to had nothing to do with her or the undercover project she sensed just over the horizon. It took a lot to shake Renee Dalton Sinclair and distract her from her work at the Gotham Rose Club. Whether she admitted it or not, something pretty serious was going on.

Since Renee obviously didn’t want to talk about it, Vanessa accepted her cup of tea and asked, Did you get a chance to look at my proposal for a fall charity ball at the Waldorf-Astoria? With all of the Gotham Rose charities to benefit, it would be the event of the season. Then there’s the fact that I’ve personally lined up several friends and family members who would love to attend.

Renee offered Vanessa the tray filled with pastries. Vanessa, your proposal is an excellent one. Of course it would be good for the Gotham Rose Club. I’ve already asked Olivia to make some calls and gather preliminary dates. With the number of people our members are capable of drawing to such an event, we’re looking at locations that can service a large crowd.

Beaming, Vanessa leaned forward, careful to keep her elbows off the table. Cool. I can hardly wait to tell the staff over at my foundation. It’s been a hard year for them.

For everyone, Renee corrected.

Vanessa was certain she was talking about more than the various charities the Gotham Rose Club championed and served. Someone had nearly killed Agent Emma Bosworth at a post-Oscar party in L.A. several months ago. The main suspect was the Duke.

When we’ve got more information, we’ll meet with everyone and make some decisions. Is that satisfactory?

Yes. I can see you’re on top of this.

Of course. Renee smiled confidently. The work we do is very important. They sipped tea in companionable silence. How’s school? Renee asked a bit too smoothly. You were working toward a business degree?

Vanessa explained that if she went full time, she was about a year and a half from getting her business degree at Columbia University. She added that she’d taken the summer off to focus on the charity ball.

Renee threw Vanessa a rueful glance. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, there’s something else I need to discuss with you. Vanessa nodded and Renee went on. The Governess has another project and she asked for you personally.

Really? Flattered, Vanessa resisted the urge to hunch forward. She was never quite sure how people got picked for the undercover assignments, but she’d had two within the past couple of years.

On her last assignment she’d worked alone, planting bugs and identifying records and files that proved that one former classmate’s father’s business was illegally dumping chemicals and poisoning the environment. Now she was hoping for something more exciting.

So tell me about this assignment, Vanessa prompted, anxious to hear the specifics. It wasn’t like Renee to hold back on the details.

As you know, our assignments are important and involve real danger. Renee paused, her blue eyes full of concern. It’s a modeling assignment. If you accept, Renee explained, "it’ll take you back to the world you left a couple of years ago. It’s even been arranged for you to get a contract to model swimsuits in the coveted Inside Sports Swimsuit Fantasy Edition."

Vanessa’s chest constricted. She found it hard to swallow past the thickness in her throat. Considering the fact that she hadn’t modeled for two years and there were many younger models clamoring for the Inside Sports swimsuit edition, the contract was quite an achievement. However, after she’d left the glittering yet caustic world of modeling and spent months recovering in a private clinic, she’d promised herself that she never had to go back. She’d modeled from the time she was fifteen until she was nearly twenty-five, and between the job, the people and life she was exposed to, she’d nearly died at least twice. Others hadn’t been so lucky.

Was she really strong enough to go back into that world and stay focused enough