Genuine Lies

burly Joseph moving closer. Paul sent one long, challenging glance toward Delrickio’s muscle, then trained his eyes on the don. With only the barest flicker of his eye, Delrickio had Joseph standing aside.
    “Well, Paul. It’s been a long time.”
    “Time’s relative. How did you slither through the gate, Delrickio?”
    Delrickio sighed and chose one of the delicate lobster puffs from his plate. “You still have trouble with respect. Eve should have let me discipline you all those years ago.”
    “Fifteen years ago I was a boy, and you were a slimy smear on the boot heel of humanity. The difference now is I’m no longer a boy.”
    Rage was something Delrickio had long since learned to control. It snapped at him now, dug in its teeth, and was whipped back in a matter of seconds. “Your manners dishonor the woman who opened her house to us tonight.” With care and deliberation, he chose another hors d’oeuvre. “Even enemies must respect neutral territory.”
    “This has never been neutral territory. If Eve invited you here, she made an error in judgment. The fact that you’re here tells me you have no conception of the word
honor.”
    The raw anger flared again. “I’m here to enjoy the hospitality of a beautiful woman.” He smiled, but his eyes burned. “As I have done often in the past.”
    Paul made a quick move forward. Joseph moved simultaneously. By slipping his hand inside his jacket, he turned the barrel of the .32 automatic he carried into the flesh beneath Paul’s armpit.
    “Oh!” Julia stumbled and spilled a full glass of champagne over Joseph’s shiny Gucci loafers. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How awful. Really, I don’t know how I could be so clumsy.” Fluttering and smiling, she whipped Joseph’s handkerchief from his pocket, then squatted at his feet. “I’ll dry them off for you before it spots.”
    The commotion she was causing had a ripple of laughter moving through the nearby huddle of people. Smiling artlessly at Joseph, she lifted her hand, giving him little choice but to help her to her feet—and position her between himself and Paul.
    “I seemed to have soaked your handkerchief.”
    He muttered something and stuffed it into his pocket.
    “Haven’t we met before?” she asked him.
    “A tired line, Julia.” Eve glided up beside her. “It almost ruins the effect of you kneeling at the man’s feet. Hello, Michael.”
    “Eve.” He took her hand, lifting it slowly to his lips. The old need churned in him, darkened his eyes. If Paul hadn’t told Julia they had been lovers, she would have known it then, by the snapping in the air. “More beautiful than ever.”
    “You’re looking … prosperous. I see you’re making old acquaintances—and new. You remember Paul, of course. And this is my charming, if clumsy, biographer, Julia Summers.”
    “Miss Summers.” He brushed his lips and mustache over her knuckles. “I’m delighted to meet you, at last.”
    Before she could reply, Paul had an arm around her waist and was pulling her to his side. “Why the hell is he here, Eve?”
    “Now, Paul, don’t be rude. Mr. Delrickio’s a guest. I wondered, Michael, have you had a chance to speak with Damien yet? I’m sure the two of you have a lot of old times to talk over.”
    “No.”
    Eve’s eyes glittered, as cold as the stars at her throat. She laughed. “You might be interested, Julia, that I met my fourth husband through Michael. Damien and Michael were—would you say you were business associates, darling?”
    There was no one who had touched his life who could bait him as successfully as Eve Benedict. “We had—common interests.”
    “What a clever way of putting it. Well, Damien retired a champion, and all got what they wanted. Oh, except for Hank Freemont. Such a tragedy. Do you follow tennis, Julia?”
    There was something here, something old and unpleasant beneath the scent of flowers and perfume. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
    “Well, this was about fifteen years ago. How time flies.” She took a delicate sip of champagne. “Freemont was Damien’s chief competitor—even his nemesis. They went into the U.S. Open as first and second seeds. The betting was high as to who would come out on top. But to make it short, Freemont overdosed. A cocaine and heroine injection—a speedball, I believe they call it. It was tragic. But then Michael romped his way to the championship. Those with money on him did very nicely.” Slowly, carmine-tipped nails