I jumped up and down to make sure I wouldn’t unexpectedly have a wardrobe malfunction. I jiggled a little, and my nipples didn’t pop out of my bra, so I figured I was good to go. I gunked up my eyes with a lot more mascara, added some eyeliner, and applied a fresh coat of blood red lipstick. I looked at myself in the full-length ladies’ room mirror and worried that I still might not be compensating enough for my lack of language skills, so I pulled the scrunchie off my ponytail. Whoosh, my hair instantly expanded. I worked at it with water and hairspray until the natural curls were back. I now had a lot of hair, and a lot of it was frizz. This is why I usually wear a ponytail. Still, I thought it might be sexy, if you like the big frizzy-hair look. I mean, you see it in Vogue all the time, right?
I went back to the full-length mirror and took another look. Yikes! Good thing my mother wasn’t here or I’d be grounded. I might have overdone the toilet-paper thing.
Ranger called my cellphone. “Babe,” he said, “you’ve been in there a long time. Is everything okay?”
“Yep. It’s peachy.”
I hurried out of the ladies’ room, took a deep breath, and set out across the room with what I hoped was a confident stride. Stephanie Plum, cunning sexpot, about to embark on a dangerous mission.
“What do you think?” I asked Ranger when I reached the high-top.
“Babe, you don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”
I actually had a pretty good idea what he was thinking, since his pupils were totally dilated. Like maybe we should forget about the two Russians at the bar and get a room. And now that I was slutted up and getting into the role, I was having similar thoughts. Problem was, undressing was going to be awkward.
“You do realize that I have half a roll of toilet paper stuffed into my bra?”
“I wouldn’t share that with the men at the bar,” Ranger said. He gave me a tiny earbud. “You can stay connected to me with this.”
“Will you be able to hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
I stuck the earbud in my ear and sashayed over to the bar. I took the barstool next to one of the Russians and crossed my legs, letting my skirt ride up to a couple inches below my doo-dah, and asked the bartender for a champagne cocktail.
Conversation stopped, and both men looked my way. The man next to me smiled wide, displaying a gold-capped molar. He said something in Russian, and I did a palms-up display of I no speak that language. I accompanied the palms-up with a giggle, and I jiggled around a little. It was like airhead bimbo–meets–ADHD Pomeranian.
“My name Leo Stolchi,” he said. Heavy accent. “I sees you do not speak Russian.”
“Honey, I have enough problems with English.”
This got a big laugh, and his eyes tracked down to my boobs and from there went on to my crotch, which was demurely hidden by a small amount of black skirt fabric.
“You are very pretty,” he said.
“Well, thank you,” I said. “Aren’t you sweet.”
My drink arrived, and Leo told the bartender to put it on his bill.
“And generous,” I said.
Leo looked unsure of “generous.”
“What is ‘generous’?” he asked.
“It’s like … rich. You must be rich.”
The smile was back. “Yes! Very, very rich.”
“How did you make all your money?”
“Vodka,” he said. “I makes the best.”
I glanced over at Ranger and smiled. Jackpot.
“Do you know that man?” Leo asked.
“He’s a friend of the family,” I said.
“He look like a bad man.”
“He has his moments.”
No sound came over the earbud from Ranger, but I thought I sensed him smile.
“Are you staying at this hotel?” I asked Leo.
“Yes. It close to the consulate building where will take place the meetings. There is party soon.”
“I love parties,” I said.
“This a good one. They serving my vodka.” He looked at his watch. “I should be going.”
Damn! I was losing him. I put my hand on his leg. “That’s too bad. We were just getting to know each other.”
“It no will be long,” he said. “Two hours.”
My hand moved an inch closer to a place I really didn’t want to go, and I leaned forward to give him a better look at the girls. “My friend has to leave, and I would be here all alone.”
“I would stay but this important party.”
Good grief, this guy was dense! “I could go with you,” I said. “And then we can have our own private party when we come back to the hotel.”
His eyes opened wide. “Yes! That is perfect plan.”
“Last week I met a Russian named Vlatko,” I said. “Do you know any men named Vlatko?”
“Vlatko is much common name in Russia.”
“This man had an unusual tattoo on his neck. And he might only have one eye.”
“I know a Vlatko what has his initials tattooed on forehead,” Leo said. “This must be different Vlatko.”
“Have you been inside the consulate building already?”
“Only for the short times yesterday. I went to register.” He signed the tab over to his room and got off the barstool. “What about family friend?”
“Maybe he could come to the party with us. He loves vodka.”
“I guesses that would be okay. He isn’t going to have the party with us after, is he?”
“Not unless you want him to. He’s gay, you know.”
“He doesn’t look gay.”
“Of course he does. His skin is flawless and his haircut is perfect. And look at his slacks. Not a single wrinkle.”
“How does he do that?” Leo asked. “I always get the wrinkles.”
We stopped at Ranger’s table and invited him to join us at the party. He dropped some money on the table and stood.
Leo stared at Ranger’s slacks and gave me a sideways glance of acknowledgment. No wrinkles.