“Mr. Petrovich would like to see you,” the young man said. “Please come with me.”
The guy didn’t waste a minute,” Mattheus thought, as he followed the tall young man to an alcove off another large deck, which had its own bar and was filled with more people milling around, flaunting their beauty and wealth.
“Mr. Petrovich will be here in a minute,” the tall, young man said.
Mattheus realized that was an order to stay and wait where he was.
“Sure,” he said.
Each spot had its own dazzling energy and Mattheus enjoyed taking it all in.
The young man left and Mattheus turned to the bar for a drink. The moment he got there, a slinky, red headed female in a low cut sequined dress slithered up to him. She seemed to have had one or two drinks by now.
“Scotch on the rocks,” Mattheus ordered, as the bartender approached.
“I love men who drink scotch,” the gorgeous woman cooed, staring up at him.
Mattheus was amused. She was so blatantly coming on to him.
“My name is Alana Badoyvich,” she smiled, parting her rich, ruby red lips, her strong perfume overcoming his senses.
Despite himself Mattheus was intrigued.
“From Russia?” he asked.
“Naturally,” she cooed. “I am a guest of the great Sasha Petrovich,” and she laughed, a gurgling sound. “And you, my darling? Where you are you from?”
This gal really knows how to play it, thought Mattheus.
“I’m a detective from the U.S.,” he answered straight forwardly.
Her smile decreased just slightly, and her eyebrows lifted.
“Now you are even more fascinating to me than before,” she murmured. “A detective? And exactly what are you investigating, if I may be so bold to ask?”
Mattheus thought he detected a slight tremble in her well-modulated voice.
“There’s trouble on this island,” Mattheus answered softly, throwing her a bone.
She took it, and moved even closer to him, her mouth wide open.
“Trouble?” she said, “I am used to trouble. Tell me about it.”
She certainly had a way of drawing a guy in. For a second Mattheus wanted to tell her about the trouble, but he stopped himself. For all he knew she worked for Petrovich. He pulled back.
Alana sensed Mattheus withdrawing immediately.
“Everything you say will be secret with me,” she uttered quickly. “I do not work for Petrovich. I am only his guest. Sasha loves filling his home with beautiful women, he can’t live without us.”
“I can see that,” smiled Mattheus, looking around.
She put her hand on his arm then, and drew him closer.
“Don’t look around at the others, darling,” her voice became husky. “That does not make the woman you’re with happy.”
Mattheus grinned. They’d been together for two minutes and already she thought she was with him –
“You have plenty to look at right here with me,” she continued.
Mattheus thought he might as well take advantage of this sudden connection to find out all he could.
“Tell me about Petrovich,” he said as the bartender brought him his drink, and the two of them lifted their glasses.
“Petrovich is a delicious monster,” Alana smiled, pursing her lips together. “It’s common knowledge.”
“A monster? How?”
“He eats up woman up and then throws them away.”
“Doesn’t sound pretty,” said Mattheus.
“So what? Sasha grows bored easily, like plenty others.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Mattheus asked as she drew so close he could felt her warm, sultry breath on his face.
“I am here for the party, no more, no less. I am here to be happy. I long to be happy. How about you?”
Mattheus liked her. She was different most women he ran into. He felt sad for her too, there was a lonely, desperation about her.
“I am happy,” said Mattheus, in a soft voice.
Alana lifted her hand and stroked his sun tanned face.
“You are beautiful, darling,” she said, “but you do not look happy. You cannot fool Alana.”
Mattheus smiled.
“And you have a magnificent smile, gorgeous, white teeth.”
It was enough. Mattheus wanted her to stop. She was hitting at feelings he’d left buried long ago.
“How long are you staying on the island?” he asked.
“As long as you’re here,” she responded.
Mattheus stopped cold. He didn’t want to lead her on and yet he wanted to hear what she knew about Petrovich.
“How long have you been a friend of Petrovich?” he asked.
“No one is really a friend of Sasha’s,” she smiled, her beautiful green eyes slanting, looking at him like a Cheshire cat. People know Sasha, travel with him, drink his whiskey, eat his food, sleep with him when convenient, but be his friend – impossible. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”
Mattheus wondered for a moment if she knew it, but then looked up and to his surprise, saw a huge, dark, burly man walking towards him.
“Oh my dear, it’s beautiful Sasha,” she said, throwing her hands up in the air, as if to seem thrilled with seeing him.
Petrovich liked that.