Bird In A Gilded Cage

By Christy Poff

Mira Sinclair's schedule leaves her no time for a personal life. As the owner of a highly successful international fashion magazine there is no such thing as down time, especially while she co-ordinates the life of a high profile and elite model - the mysterious Mirabella. Max Dunbar and his partner head up an international investigation into the co-incidental thefts of gold bullion and dead models - all found golden and posed, as if paying court to fashion royalty. Working as Mira's security analyst, he tries to protect her, as well as the elusive Mirabella, from the Golden Killer's threat. Can Max put an end to the serial crimes or will Mira become the next bird in a gilded cage? Will the myth of Mirabella be revealed or safe-guarded? Can Max and Mira hold onto the deeply passionate love they've found?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Torrid Books
• Release date: Sep 1, 2007
• ISBN: 9781603130035

Book preview

Prologue

Dunbar.

Max.

Where?

Maxwell Dunbar dreaded answering the phone. At six foot tall, he had a gorgeous smile to go with his handsome body only the case he’d been working on had not allowed him to flash it in a very long time.

Paris.

Paris? He’s gone international?

Seems so.

What about Interpol?

They’ve given you free rein. Since the previous discoveries came under American jurisdiction and you’ve made headway into the investigation, they’ve offered up their assistance. It’s your case, my boy.

Wonderful, Dunbar muttered.

They’re holding the crime scene until you get there. I’ve got a jet waiting at Dulles for you.

Good. I’ll be on my way as soon as I…

Packed for you already.

John, I hate when you do this.

Part of the job.

Wonderful.

Let me know what you find. The White House is a little edgy about this.

"I’m very aware of the situation. Fort Knox’s security has been increased but after the bank theft in New York and the heist in Los Angeles… Damn it!"

What?

Check this out for me and send me the date ASAP.

What?

Time frame between gold thefts and murders for all three… It looks like he robs the city he leaves his calling card in. See if Paris had one also.

You got it. Anything else?

Where’s Locke?

On his way in from Stockholm.

Good.

What cover do you want?

"I think the high-priced, works for a cool million security expert. That’ll get the important players coming to us."

I’ll take care of it. It’ll take a day to set up, so be careful.

A few moments later, they ended the call.

Max grabbed some files, stuffing them in his attaché and left his DC office for Dulles International. Since graduation from college, he had been employed by the Treasury Department and worked his way up to the highest level—covert operations. He and his partner specialized in difficult or high-profile cases, especially ones dealing with money or precious metals. He had a magical touch in the way he operated and sometimes reported directly to the President.

He went to the airport then boarded a private jet to deGaulle International in Paris. With the possibility of having a break in the case, he’d caught a second wind. If the thefts and murders could be connected, they’d have some time after the next theft to try to put a stop to their perp but unfortunately, there would be at least one more death before the guilty party slipped up and Max arrested him. That thought ruined his day.

Once the jet settled into its flight plan, Max sat back and started to mark down similarities. With a third murder, the pattern for their serial killer began to take shape. He spread his notes out on the table in front of him and started with the first case.

Starr, the first victim, died of a gunshot wound neatly through the heart. She had been scheduled to model at a Beverly Hills show but disappeared hours before. When they received the call, it came from an upscale gun club a few blocks away and a few days later.

The secretary had signed for a delivery from an art gallery—nothing unusual. Workmen uncrated a golden statue of a beautiful woman, a Greek goddess in a sheer dress. The odd thing had been the statue wore an actual dress, not a gilded one. Regardless, no one thought it strange until one of the night cleaners touched the statue and didn’t like the way it felt. He immediately called the police who responded to find the murdered model encased in gold. The gilding had completely hidden the bullet wound.

The murder had been committed after a Dutch bank in L.A. had discovered the theft of its inventory of gold bullion. The amount of the theft equaled five million dollars. The question Max kept asking—Where did they take the gold and how did they transport it?

At first, Treasury concerned itself only with the theft but, when the Los Angeles M.E. reported the gold body paint used on the murder victim had registered as pure 24K, his department took a closer look before taking over the case. In the back part of his mind, Max had unsettling thoughts. Had their perp gilded his victim after melting down the gold? If so, whoever did it needed a factory large enough to accommodate a smelting operation. He made a note of this.

Sable, the second victim, had been found hanging from a tree in the area of Central Park where Garth Brooks and Billy Joel had given their concerts. The autopsy showed she’d been hung before her gilding then quickly posed to look like an angel. She’d been dressed in a sheer dress like Starr.

When he checked, Max found a Dutch bank in New York’s financial district had been robbed several days before Sable missed a show. Three days later, a young couple jogging through the area found her. He noted New York had numerous factory settings where their perp could ply his trade.

Now with Paris, the Golden Killer had gone international. When would it stop?

Chapter 1

Mira Sinclair wasted little time in her extremely busy life. As editor-in-chief of Joy, her very successful magazine, Mira constantly strived to make her brainchild something beyond compare. Joy promoted the wonderful parts of women’s lives from fantasy to reality.

It had been a huge success but it seemed she didn’t have the time to rest on her laurels. She had a second task scheduling the elusive, exotic and secretive Mirabella, the world’s most sought-after model. Between the magazine and constant travel around the world, Mira rarely had time to enjoy simple things though on most days, she preferred it that way.

She’d had her share of bad relationships. Most of the guys used her to get to Mirabella. When they found out they couldn’t, they’d dump Mira using one lame excuse or another, never to be seen again. As far as Mara was concerned, men sucked and she had better things to do with her life. She’d had enough.

Thanks to Mirabella and Joy, she owned homes in Miami, Beverly Hills and Tuscany, three semi-central points to the various sites she scheduled into. She also kept penthouse apartments at the offices of Joy in New York and London.

Mirabella appeared on rare occasions at the season debuts of certain select and high-profile design houses. She commanded a huge fee for one appearance, usually the final creation of the showing. She wore a mask or heavy make-up to look like a mask which added to her allure while allowing her life to be full and private.

Mira loved what she did. How else could she see the world and meet people from entertainment, politics and all walks of life? She had interviewed world leaders, performers and some oddballs for Joy. Every other issue, she published something of her own even though she had final approval of each month’s publication.

Life became its trickiest when dealing with Mirabella. Between making sure of accommodations, menus and scheduling among other things, she had to ensure Mirabella remained a mystery. The model had granted one interview in her entire career to Mira for Joy, a coup on any level.

Mirabella liked her instantly and trusted Mira to manage her life. Mira easily took on the challenge and ran with it, their friendship one for life. As long as Mirabella remained an elusive figure, she was fine.

Because Mira made sure Mirabella did only one outfit per show and always the final creation of the designer, the houses of Dior, Gucci and Versace fought for her, Mira keeping everyone pleased. Mirabella commanded a million dollar fee but they paid it without hesitation. To have Mirabella wear one of their fashions became the acme they strove for.

All in all, she enjoyed her life, Mira Sinclair happy and wealthy in so many ways.

Patrice, Mirabella’s wearing black this week. Check her mask and make-up. If she needs anything, buy it.

Yes, Miss Sinclair.

The woman left and Mira sat back in thought. She turned on MSNBC and listened to the headlines. A report on the latest in Iraq ended before they switched to a live feed from Paris.

Shiloh, one of fashion’s reigning beauties has been found dead in a trendy Paris restaurant. Details are sketchy but we have learned police are treating her death as a homicide.

The report went into Shiloh’s life. Mira listened, sorry about her death. She made a note to extend condolences both personally and in the magazine.

Damn, three in the last three months.

* * * *

Max looked at his notes and the many similarities between the murders. All the victims were well-known by one name, had been scheduled for huge extravaganzas, from which they disappeared several hours prior to and all had been found painted in gold or gilded. The murders coincided with gold thefts from large foreign banks and each city had at least two or three sites capable of handling smelting and huge vats.

He made a note to have Locke check the Interpol database to see if they had any other similar investigations in progress or cold. He had a feeling the three he looked at were the tip of the proverbial iceberg. He sat back in thought. How did the guy get away with leaving the victims in extremely public locations without being seen?

He could understand the L.A. job because of the shipment of a supposed statue, but Central Park and Paris? Unfortunately, he had to admit their perp was good—very good. He made some more notes for Locke to look into then stood up and went over to the couch on the opposite side of the cabin.

Stretching out, he got comfortable, closed his eyes and dozed off.

* * * *

Once he left the jet at Charles deGaulle, a car took him to the crime scene. From his background research, he knew Shiloh had been scheduled for a fashion show for Yves St. Laurent. One of the world’s larger and well-known houses, they held seasonal shows between the huge ones in spring and fall to debut their new lines.

He could tell they approached the crime scene due to the crowds gathered. If this one remotely resembled the other one in L.A., he understood why. How often did one see a high-profile fashion model murdered, gilded and put on public display?

On arrival, an officer opened the door for him to exit the car. He pulled his jacket hood up to protect his identity.

"Detective Dunbar, je suis Inspecteur Francoise Pradelli. Bonjour."

Pleasure, Max said, shaking the French official’s hand. Could we move the crowd back some more? I’d like some room to investigate the scene and our victim deserves some privacy.

"Bien sûr," Pradelli said, issuing orders to several patrolmen.

Max thanked him for his help then walked to where Shiloh’s body had been found. Pradelli joined him, filling him in on what had been learned while Max flew in from Washington. He heard the voice of a reporter behind him.

Move the press out of here. I need my anonymity in order to get our perpetrator.

"Oui, oui," Pradelli agreed. He personally escorted the television news crew from their position. Returning a few moments later, he apologized to Max.

We set up a public information area. This crew decided to freelance. We should not be bothered again.

Thank you. Once I leave here, I will be posing as a security specialist.

Undercover?

I think it’ll get me where my badge won’t.

You’re American, no one knows you here.

But if I wind up on television or in the paper next to you…

"I see. My apologies, once again, Inspecteur."

Max nodded. He could imagine this man’s displeasure at having a foreigner put in charge of the investigation. He’d feel the same way if someone took a high-profile case from him. Pradelli’s grace impressed him.

His cell phone rang and he excused himself.

Talk to me.

You must be on location.

You got it, where are you? I expected to see you here before me.

John called asking for Interpol’s help on the information request.

And?

There are several others going back to after 9-11. It seems there was an additional bank in Tower 1. When the officials got to the site to claim their vault, someone had beaten them to it.

Was there a murder in New York?

Yeah, they found the body at the base of the Statue of Liberty dressed and posed as Miss Liberty. She wasn’t found right away because Liberty Island was closed after the attacks.

What was her name?

Delana.

One name?

Yeah.

This guy’s been doing this since 2001?

That’s the way it looks. I’ve got several others. I’ll show you the files when I get there.

"Meet me at the Hilton."

Ooh, high class, I see.

I’m using the security specialist cover.

Got it. What room?

Seven-ten.

I’ll talk to you later, Max.

Max ended the call smiling. If anyone equaled him in almost every way, Kevin Locke did without question. They’d both been recruited out of the Wharton School where they studied economics and business and started their careers in the Treasury Department at the same time. While Dunbar excelled at investigation, security analysis and financial laws, Locke majored in numbers. He could analyze any set of figures while enjoying a cup of coffee and not break a sweat.

Both had photographic memories and when paired together, the White House knew they’d get the job done. Anyone looking at their bios at face value saw two highly gifted agents who handled special cases when in reality, they were the Chief Executive’s chosen ones. If the case screamed sensitivity and needed a certain unique touch, they got the assignment. Lately, they found they dealt more with international cases, especially with the advent of the Euro.

On a personal level, they had known each other since college where they met at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. Being accepted to the prestigious business school, they roomed together