Read Online Midnight Club by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page A

still wet, combed straight back. He wore a puffy, white half-robe. She thought she ought to be writing some of this down.
    “I haven’t been with anyone for three weeks,” the blond woman said. Her voice was soft, melodic. Her smile was slightly crooked, even more appealing because of the imperfection. The nipples of her breasts poked and pointed against the nightgown.
    “You look so good to me, but you always do. I love the way you dressed for me tonight. All over Chanterelle, men and women were staring at you. Did you happen to notice, Gerard?”
    The older man smiled, and seemed taken in completely by her. His ego was obviously close to bursting. A pair of expensive Italian loafers lay turned on their sides near the bed.
    “Where did you go on your little trip?” he asked.
    “Oh, I was on St. Bart’s. Lazing out completely. A friend of mine owns a villa up in the hills.”
    “A friend?”
    “Oh, a girlfriend.” The young blonde’s movements were almost feline; she had a natural grace, a poise that suggested dance training, maybe even professional dancing. There was a faint rustle of her nightgown, silk against soft skin. Sarah imagined somebody paying for her dancing lessons once upon a time. It made her sad to think about that. What a waste.
    The girl curled herself around the old man’s back. She began to massage his furrowed temple with both hands. Her nails were bright vermilion. He sighed at her touch.
    After several minutes of massage, she suddenly left the bedroom suite. The romantic music in the background was subdued and sensual. Every detail had been attended to. Had it been this way for Alexandre St.-Germain? Was it always like this at Allure?
    The young woman returned with a silver metal carton that looked like a pillbox. She and the silver-haired man each selected a different-colored pill from the many rolling around inside the box. They had obviously practiced this routine before. They were laughing now, giddy as children allowed to stay up too late.
    Stefanovitch had heard about one or two highly expensive, very private bordellos in New York. So this was what they were like. “He took a Quaalude,” he said. “I don’t know what she had in her hand.”
    Standing in front of Silver Hair, the prostitute slowly stretched the straps of her gown down over slender, freckled shoulders. The silk gown was finally bunched at her waist, her breasts revealed to the man, but not to the camera.
    Next, she reached forward, underneath the man’s robe. Sarah felt that she finally understood the word “courtesan.” Things she had only read about in police reports were coming to life.
    “I really missed you, Gerard,” the blond woman said in a soft stage whisper.
    “Touch yourself down there, too.” The older man suddenly seemed humble. He slowly began to stroke himself.
    Touch yourself down there, Sarah silently mocked the scene. She was angry at the man for using the young girl. When she had heard about her husband Roger’s lover in California, she’d felt betrayed and used herself. She had also felt that somehow she must have been at fault for losing him.
    “You’re such a beautiful, beautiful man. You’re so elegant. You do everything with such style, Gerard. I’m not just saying it because… you know.”
    Sarah could tell that the silver-haired man needed to believe the words he was hearing. She had an urge to talk back at the movie. The scene was powerfully moving. Across the small room, Stefanovitch self-consciously cleared his throat.
    “I have some Halls Eucalyptus, Lieutenant,” Sarah said. He deserved every zinger she could come up with.
    Stefanovitch felt his face flush. His neck and his chest were tingling. He nearly laughed, though. Sarah McGinniss was quick on her feet. “The pills probably made their bodies more sensitive,” he finally said.
    “Have you used Quaaludes yourself?”
    “Once or twice,” Stefanovitch said. Then he frowned when he thought about his remark ending