The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [0]
MISSIE O’BRYAN—She rescued the Ivanoff gems and buried the Ivanoff secret for a lifetime—until the cursed emerald came back to haunt them all.
GENIE REESE—What began as a routine TV network assignment soon became a web of deceit and seduction—the scoop of the century for a reporter smart, lucky, and daring enough to discover the truth—and survive.
VALENTIN SOLOVSKY—Suave, sophisticated, handsome, a Soviet diplomat and trained killer in search of the “Lady” … on a mission that could cost him his life.
FERDIE ARNHALDT—It was only a matter of time before the invisible third player secretly stole the prize. And in matters of blood and money, the Baron Arnhaldt put the KGB to shame.
LEYLA KAZAHN—K ravishing Eurasian model, she was the courier who would unwittingly unleash the hounds of hell on the “Lady” she was pledged to save.
“ADLER’S EVOCATION OF FLESHPOTS LIKE
MANHATTAN AND HOLLYWOOD
IS ADMIRABLE … WIDE-SCREEN
ROMANCE/INTRIGUE.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Books by Elizabeth Adler
LÉONIE
PEACH
FLEETING IMAGES
INDISCRETIONS
THE PROPERTY OF A LADY
FORTUNE IS A WOMAN
LEGACY OF SECRETS
THE SECRET OF THE VILLA MIMOSA
NOW OR NEVER
SOONER OR LATER
For my husband Richard and
my daughter Anabelle
with love
Prologue
Bangkok
The girl stepping from the air-conditioned taxi outside the Oriental Hotel was tall, with long, polished brown legs, glossy black hair that swung around her shoulders, and a face that was an elegant mix of the East and the West. Despite the blazing heat and humidity, she looked cool in an expensive linen dress and broad-brimmed hat.
She sauntered past the sparkling fountain and the quartet playing chamber music in the lobby toward the arcade of shops at the back of the hotel.
“My sister left a parcel here,” she explained to the assistant in the antiques shop. “She asked me to pick it up for her.”
Carrying the bag emblazoned with the name Jim Thompson Silk Shop, she strolled back along the arcade to the beautiful orchid-laden terrace overlooking the Chao Phraya River, where she ordered tea. With the bag on the floor beside her she sipped the tea unhurriedly, watching the busy floating traffic. Half an hour later she left the terrace, descended the steps to the river, and took a water taxi to the downtown area.
She walked quickly now, away from the river. After hailing another taxi, she asked to be taken to the Hotel Dusit Thanai.
In the ladies’ powder room, she changed into a plain white T-shirt and jeans, folded her smart black linen dress carefully, and placed it in the bag. She pulled her smooth hair into a ponytail, secured it with a white elastic band, and added a brighter lipstick. As she left the hotel by the back door, she covered her eyes with an expensive pair of Ray-Bans—not the cheap copies sold at every street corner in Bangkok—and took another cab to the Patpong Road.
The cab driver grinned slyly at her through his mirror. He knew all about Patpong, the honky-tonk area of red-light bars, seedy clubs, massage parlors, and sex shops, and he figured he knew what her trade was. After ignoring his attempts at conversation, she paid him off with a modest tip and threaded her way expertly through the maze of littered alleys. She paused outside a narrow gray building squashed among a hundred others on a side street, checking the name on a small, stained business card pinned to a board with a tack. Satisfied, she hurried past the clinic offering treatment for VD and other sexual “malaises” to the second floor, where she pressed the entry phone, waited for a reply, and then gave her name quietly. The door opened to her touch and she slid inside, closing it firmly behind her.
She was in a dark, narrow passageway smelling faintly of urine and chemicals, at the end of which was a second door. Unhesitatingly she walked the long corridor and pushed it open.
A small, high-intensity lamp blazed onto the surface of a shabby desk, leaving the man sitting behind it in half shadow, but she could see that he was immense, a grotesque caricature