Page 40 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)
Mrs. Guerro
Teri
I could hear them whispering: Who is she? Did you know he was married? I thought the bride’s mother was dead…
Each one pointed to my inadequacy as a parent. More unwarranted were the ones that suggested I was a bad wife.
“Well, if you aren’t the woman of the hour.” A sophisticated woman with pixie-short black hair folded into the pew beside me.
She was in a black pantsuit, and high heels with red soles. Louboutins. Very nice.
Her pants belled out at the bottom, almost grazing the ground as they draped over her feet, giving her the appearance of having longer legs than she already did. She steepled her fingers as she rudely stared at me, her red lips in a lush pout that tilted to one side.
“The bride is the woman of the hour,” I said defensively.
“Trinity?” The woman laughed. “Oh, yes. The one who stole the heart of America’s son.”
“Excuse me?” I adjusted myself, just a little, scooting down the pew to get some distance from her.
“Didn’t you know? The Griffiths are American royalty. Kamilla, of course, comes from California wealth, Hollywood and ranches. And, well, Roland is of the North Virginia Griffiths. They’re the old Washington elites.”
She put her elbow on the back of the pew, her fingers intertwined as she turned to me.
She had one of those faces that looked intense.
Cunning, piercing, and full of secrets. She had half-moon eyes, smooth cheeks, and a sand-colored tan that looked gold under the gentle lights of the venue.
Her lips were painted a red to match the bottom of her shoes—a deep ruby color, accented by the ruby necklace around her throat.
“If you ask me, Trinity’s marrying down, though.” She yawned, as if bored by her surroundings. “I mean, these nepo babies, am I right? Though, I guess like mother like daughter, right? Guerro himself benefits from nepotism.”
I bristled.
If she meant Joaquin Guerro came from wealth, she was mistaken. He might be rich now, but he hadn’t been when we met. I wanted this woman far, far away from me.
“I believe this row is reserved for family,” I said through gritted teeth. “If you came to see Cobra, then you’ve missed him. He’s with the bride.”
“Yes, yes. Adorable story, that. He’s undercover, and his daughter just happens to need his help, and he comes to the rescue.” She sighed in mocking wistfulness. “Liam Neeson, eat your heart out.”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Is there something you want?” I went the direct route.
“Yes,” she said, her expression reptilian and cold. Her canine teeth were a little crooked, giving the impression that she had fangs. “I need a word with Mr. Cobra Guerro. Let him know I’m here to give him what he wants.”
She looked down at her nails. Each one was painted the color of blood.
“In fact, I have everything that he wants, right now, in my back pocket.” The way she said it was so seductive that it dripped with innuendo. “I’m offering the usual trade.”
I narrowed my eyes.
I despised her voice. I despised how husky it was. Too smooth, too contrived. Too sensual.
“Don’t worry, it won’t cost him one of his precious coins.” She raised a single shoulder as she went from staring at her nails with her hand flat, to curling it, flipping her hand, palm up, to continue examining the sanguine hues. “I’m looking for a position much… closer.”
Then she smiled from one side of her mouth, her teeth flashing a wolfish grin.
“I’m overqualified, highly competent, and an asset to any place I work. He’d be making out like a bandit.” She bit her lower lip in a gesture so seductive that I wanted to tear her hair out like a jealous teenager.
Did she have to purr with every single word?
“Oh, I’m Sonia, by the way.” She dusted off her black pants that hugged her backside like it was painted on. “Let him know I can’t wait to know him more… intimately.”