by Tripp Ellis
“What was that about?" I asked.
"Ugh. Vincent Villeneuve. Don't get me started."
"You haven't finished giving me the tour of your boat,” I said.
“We keep getting interrupted. I’m sorry.“
She grabbed my hand with a flirty smile and pulled me to the lower deck. She showed me the master suite. It was impressive. A queen-size berth on a riser with a storage compartment underneath. End tables on either side with fixed lamps. Glossy wood-paneled walls, recessed lighting, surround-sound stereo system, flat-screen display, a minibar, and plush carpeting.
It looked more like a luxury hotel room than a master suite on a boat. My jaw dropped, and my eyes widened as I took in a panoramic view of the suite. "This is… nice."
My eyes caught sight of a Cubist piece of art on the bulkhead. "Is that a…?”
“Picasso?” She nodded and pulled me close. "I didn't bring you down here to talk."
Our lips were inches apart. My heart skipped a few beats as she drew near. Her piercing blue eyes stared into me, and I felt like I was back in high school again and this was my first kiss—even though we’d just made out on the couch.
She planted her full lips on mine, and I put my hand on the small of her back and pulled her close.
The whole thing was surreal.
Her warm body pressed against mine, and my blood rushed south. I devoured her pillowy soft lips. My hands traced the supple curves of her body as we embraced.
I forgot all about the hijacking, my lack of sleep, the Picasso on the wall, the crazy drama on the boat, and lost myself in the moment.
It was like a dream.
She slipped out of her sundress, and the fabric slid down her body and pooled around her ankles. I caught a glimpse of something nobody saw on the silver screen.
My eyes drank in her magnificent form. My God, she was perfect. Her perky breasts, her toned abs, her elegant thighs. She knew what she'd been gifted with, and her eyes sparkled as she watched me soak up the moment.
But I wanted to do more than just look.
We fell onto the bed and tumbled around in the sheets. Our bodies collided with passion. When it was all said and done with, we both had big smiles on our faces.
I collapsed beside her, drenched in sweat, exhausted. I lay there in a blissful state, holding a beautiful movie star in my arms.
It was unreal, and I fully expected to wake up in the morning to discover it was all a fantasy.
I didn't know where this was going, and at that point it didn't really matter. This could have been a one-night thing? Maybe it was a week-long tryst? Maybe it was the start of something more?
I couldn't really imagine that a movie star like her would be interested in someone like me for the long-term, but I was all about exploring the opportunities that life presented.
And this was a hell of an opportunity.
I lay there so relaxed, I could barely keep my eyes open, and promptly crashed out. I slept like a rock, despite the muffled sounds of the party that filtered into the suite.
When I woke up in the morning, I didn't know where the hell I was. I peeled my eyes open and glanced around the master stateroom, and the dream-like memories of last night came flooding back.
My hand felt the sheets beside me—they were cold and empty.
Bree was gone.
8
I strolled up to the main deck, looking for Bree. In the main dining area, a breakfast spread had been elegantly presented—juice, donuts, croissants, silver hot trays with eggs, bacon, and hash browns.
I grabbed a cup of coffee, dished up a plate, and took a seat.
A few moments later, the chef emerged from the galley. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, thank you. This is great. Do you know where Bree is?"
The chef shrugged. "I haven’t seen her yet this morning. I can check with the other staff. But there are only a few of us right now."
The cook disappeared below deck and returned a few moments later to tell me that no one had seen her this morning.
I finished breakfast, then strolled around the ship, taking in the magnificent vessel. I could certainly get used to a life like this, but I couldn't imagine how much cash it would take to sustain it?
There were dozens of mega-yachts in the marina. This wasn't the biggest. What the hell did these people do for a living?
It was a beautiful day. There was a cool breeze off the water, and gulls squawked in the air. The gentle waves lapped against the hull. It was 64°, and not a cloud in the sky.
I didn't have Bree’s phone number, but I figured one of the staff members might. I found the cook, and he gave me the number, but she didn't answer.
I thought Bree might have left early for a meeting with her agent, or had some errands to run? The daily life of a celebrity was not something I was familiar with. What did they do when they weren’t making movies?
I left a note in the master suite with my phone number in case Bree returned while I was out. I decided to stroll around Monaco and take in the sights.
There were high-end shopping boutiques and supercars on every corner. I saw the casino and knew I was going to hit the tables before the end of my trip. The city was nothing short of opulent, and the Belle Époque architecture was amazing, juxtaposed against sleek, modernist structures.
I strolled down to the man-made beach with imported sand and people-watched. String bikinis struggled to contain toned bodies. Taut fabric pressed against firm assets. It was a visual feast.
After soaking in the sights, I walked to a coffee shop and got a cup of java. I took a seat at a table on the sidewalk and enjoyed the pleasant morning breeze. The warm amber sun cast long shadows, slipping through alleyways, peering over rooftops. It was quiet, and the city was just beginning to stir.
I called JD, not very mindful of the time difference between Monaco and Coconut Key.
“Do you know what time it is?” JD grumbled.
“Were you asleep?”
“No.”
“Then no harm, no foul.”
I told him about my adventure on the plane, and my encounter with Bree Taylor.
"You're pulling my leg,” JD said.
"Nope. Hand to God, I’m telling you the truth."
"Lucky bastard.”
"What can I say? The travel gods smiled upon me."
"What happened to Aria?"
I sighed. "She went back to New York. She was gone before I got here."
"Well, sounds like everything worked out, anyway."
"How’s Scarlett?"
"I've got her on the straight and narrow, I think. She's got another court date next month. With any luck we can get this thing dismissed,” JD said. "But I'm not letting her out of my sight."
“Alright, just checking in. I'll catch up with you later."
“Pics or it didn't happen,” JD added.
I chuckled and realized I didn't have any photos of myself with Bree. No one would believe the story. I'm sure JD regarded it with a healthy dose of skepticism.
“By the way, I’m going to look at a few new boats tomorrow.”
“Man, you’d love this place. You would not believe some of the yachts in the harbor. Unreal. You’d die if you saw Bree’s boat.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Jack grumbled. Then he tried to sound pathetic, “I see how it is. Leave your best friend behind while you go gallivanting around with movie stars and the mega-rich.”
“I’m having a miserable time,” I lied. “Does that make you feel better?”
JD scoffed. “Yeah, right. Don’t have too much fun, you little bastard.”
I laughed again and told JD I’d talk to him later. He made me promise to give him detailed situation reports.
I’d been gone several hours, and I hadn't heard anything from the movie star. I was beginning to worry I had gotten ditched. Again. First, my on-again, off-again model girlfriend runs out on me, now the movie star…?
I guess there are worse th
ings in life.
Maybe Bree was trying to get rid of me?
I walked back to the harbor and found my way to the Silver Screams. There were several uniformed police officers waiting for me.
They wore white shirts and royal blue pants with a red stripe down the side. Their duty hats were royal blue with a matching red band. A plainclothes detective stood among them.
By the look on their faces, they weren’t here for a party.
“I am Inspector Jean-Pierre Géroux,” he said in English with a thick French accent. “Monsieur Wild, I presume?”
9
The inspector was holding the note I had left for Bree. I assumed that’s how he knew my name.
He had dark hair, a narrow face, and a large nose that overhung a thick mustache. His suit looked like it had seen plenty of days on the job.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
"We'd like to ask you a few questions," the inspector said.
“Has something happened?"
There was a long pause.
"Where were you last night?"
I didn't like the direction this was going. "I was here. I woke up this morning, had breakfast, then walked to town. You mind telling me what's going on?"
"Were you with Miss Taylor last night?”
"Yes."
"When was the last time you saw her?"
“Has something happened to her?" My throat tightened.
Géroux hesitated for a moment. "Miss Taylor is deceased."
His words felt like a punch to the gut. The news left me breathless. My throat grew dry and tight, and I barely choked out, "How?"
"When was the last time you saw her?"
"Last night, around midnight, I guess."
"Where?"
"In the master stateroom."
"Were you to… involved?"
I stammered, “You could say so."
"Perhaps we should finish this conversation down at the station?”
My eyes narrowed at him. "Are you arresting me?”
"I'm merely trying to ascertain what happened."
"You don't seriously consider me a suspect, do you?"
“I never said this was a homicide.”
“You wouldn’t be taking me to the station otherwise.”
Géroux paused. ”I must consider all options. As I said, I believe this conversation would be more comfortable at the station."
"Do I have a choice?"
He shook his head.
I knew better than to talk to cops, but I wasn't familiar with Monegasque law, which was essentially derived from the French Code.
I spent several hours in a tiny interrogation room at the station, going over the same questions with Inspector Géroux. I was finally able to ascertain that Bree’s body had been found floating in the ocean. She had bruises on her body and lacerations about her head. It was thought she'd been struck and pushed overboard.
The high profile nature of the case ramped up the desire for a speedy resolution. I just hoped that I wasn’t going to be the fall guy.
“Isn’t there any surveillance footage from the harbor?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, no. Several cameras have been damaged, and the system is awaiting repair.”
“Have you interviewed potential witnesses? The neighboring boats? Surely somebody saw something?”
“I know how to do my job, Mr. Wild,” Géroux said, sharply.
"I want a lawyer. And don't I get a phone call?" I asked.
Inspector Géroux nodded to one of the uniformed officers. He escorted me out of the interrogation room and down the hall to a phone. I made a collect international call to JD’s landline and prayed that he would answer.
When the operator asked if he would accept the charges, JD knew this wasn’t going to be a social call. “What kind of trouble are you in?" "It's not good. I need you to call the Embassy and find me a lawyer."
"Who did you kill?" JD asked in jest.
"Not funny."
“Oh, shit,” JD muttered, knowingly. “Really?”
I filled him in on the situation.
"Okay. I'm on it,” JD said. “I’ll make some calls, then I guess I'll hop on a plane."
“No. You need to stay there and look after Scarlett.”
"I'll get Madison to look after her. She could use a little time with a positive female role model.”
“I appreciate you, brother,” I said.
I hung up the phone and was escorted to a holding cell. I hadn’t been officially charged with anything yet, and I think they were just keeping me around until they had a better idea of what happened.
I was certainly a flight risk.
Everything about the city was luxurious, and the jail was no exception. It was immaculate. I had never seen a cleaner facility. It was nicer than some hotels I had stayed in. The paint was fresh, the bunk mattress was comfortable, and the place didn’t smell like a sewer pit.
Monaco is one of the safest places on earth. There are over 500 police officers, and with a total population of less than 40,000, the principality has the highest per capita law enforcement of any place on the planet. There are security cameras everywhere, and though there is still crime, it's not like the jail is overflowing with criminals.
I had the cell all to myself, and despite the minimalist nature of my accommodations, I had a decent night’s sleep.
To my surprise, the next morning I was released.
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," Inspector Géroux said as he opened my cell.
I flashed him a curious look.
A man in a suit standing next to him shook my hand and introduced himself as Francois Lévêque, my advocate.
His Alesini Couture double-breasted suit was dark gray with pinstripes and peak lapels. A lavender shirt and dark tie coordinated with a patterned pocket square. A Brunetti watch adorned his wrist, and a Capello leather attaché hung from his fingers. The outfit, including the A. Donati leather cap-toed shoes, probably cost $10,000. My guess was that the hip, thirty-something lawyer didn’t come cheap.
He took my arm and pulled me down the corridor, trying to get me out of the jail as quickly as possible.
I was a little befuddled. Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to be out of that cell, but I didn’t like being left in the dark. "Have they got another suspect in custody?"
"The coroner has determined the death to be of an accidental nature,” Francois said. “Drowning. Miss Taylor had a considerable amount of alcohol in her system, mixed with a narcotic.”
“A narcotic?” I hadn’t seen her take any pills, but I wasn’t with her every second of the evening either.
“It is believed that she fell overboard, sustained injuries about the head during the fall, rendering her unconscious. Then she drowned."
It would take a while for me to process the information. I was still having a hard time believing Bree was dead.
My attorney escorted me through the facility, and my belongings were returned at the exit-processing station. There were dozens of texts and missed calls on my phone. I’d get to them later.
I was buzzed through a secure door and stepped into the waiting area where I saw JD. He’d taken the evening flight and just gotten into Monaco half an hour ago.
He greeted me with a big smile. "I let you out of my sight for two days, and this is what happens?”
He gave me a big hug.
"I owe you one," I said.
"Mr. Donovan has taken care of my fee,” François said. “I will handle all questions when we step outside. Do not say a word.” His stern eyes blazed into me.
François motioned toward the door, and we exited.
A horde of reporters swarmed the jail. The brilliant flashes from hundreds of cameras spotted my eyes as we stepped outside. Questions were hurled at me like fastballs, some in English, some in French.
“Did you kill her?”
“Were you lovers?”
“Are you still a person of interest?”
I did
my best to shelter my face as François led us through the horde of vultures.
“Miss Taylor’s death has been ruled accidental,” François said. “My client is innocent of any and all wrongdoing.”
At the curb, we stepped into a limo that was waiting for us. We left the screeching reporters behind as we zipped through the city.
I knew my picture was going to be on the cover of every paper across the globe. I wasn't thrilled about the exposure. There were people out there that wanted me dead, and now they knew exactly where I was.
"Can you get a copy of the official autopsy report?" I asked.
"Yes, it is a matter of public record,” François said.
"I'd like to see it."
“If I were you, I would go home. Try to go about your life as best you can. There are no travel restrictions on your visa. It would be best to leave before someone has a change of heart."
It wasn't bad advice, but I knew I wasn't going to take it. Something didn't sit right with me about the incident, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.
10
Aria had sent several text messages. She wanted to know if I was okay, and what happened? I’d call her later. I was still a little miffed that she had ditched me.
There were several messages from Isabella, and she was not pleased. Hers was a phone call I needed to return. She wasn't any less angry when I got her on the phone.
"Way to keep a low profile,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm.
"Circumstances beyond my control."
"I sent you to do a job, and we may not get another opportunity,” Isabella chided. "You're slipping, Tyson. What were you thinking, getting involved with a celebrity?"
"It sounded appealing at the time."
She wasn’t amused.
"I need you to do me a favor,” I said.
"Your ability to call in favors is a little weak right now."
"I'll make it up to you."
Isabella scoffed. “I’ve heard that one before. Let me give you a piece of advice. Stop digging—the hole you’re in is deep enough.”
I ignored her. "Can you get all the text messages that were sent to and from Bree Taylor’s phone?”