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.