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Wolf Shield Investigations: Boxset

Page 39

by Dee Bridgnorth


  “That’s right.” One glance at Braxton told her he heard everything going on on the other end of the call. His jaw tightened. His nostrils flared like they did when he was good and angry.

  “We also understand there was an altercation between a friend of yours and Mr. Bergman. Is there any way we can get in touch with this friend who accompanied you to the meeting?”

  Her eyes met his. He nodded. “He’s here with me now actually. We’ve been watching the news together. He’s been with me—”

  “Why don’t you wait until I arrive at your home? If that’s where you are at the moment.”

  “Yes, I’m at home.” She gave the detective her address. “We’ll be here.”

  “Well, there’s that.” Braxton stood up when she dropped the phone to the couch, stretching a little. He was surprisingly relaxed for someone who was about to be questioned in a murder investigation.

  “You’re on camera outside, right?” she asked.

  “Sure, I walked the perimeter right after we got back.” Yes, and he had been furious. She’d been glad when he stepped outside, glad he could walk it off a little bit. His energy the entire way back to the house had been stormy, enraged, so thick it practically choked her even as she found herself leaning on him the whole way.

  Relief washed over her. She could breathe now. “There you go. They can’t possibly charge you with anything.”

  “I don’t think they will. Don’t worry about it. I’m not worried about myself.”

  She shrank back a little. “You’re worried about me?”

  He shot her a funny look, like he was surprised. “I’m worried about what this might mean for you, yeah. Shouldn’t I be?”

  “No. I don’t want you to worry. You have enough to worry about with me. Don’t let this get in the way.”

  “Could you stop being so self-sacrificing for just a minute and listen to reason?” Melody implored. “You too,” she added, pointing to the entire team.

  “What are you pointing at us for?” Sledge asked in a tone that suggested he not be messed with if Melody knew what was good for her.

  She felt it too, and when she spoke again, there wasn’t nearly as much confidence in her voice. “When the cops ask what you’re doing here, you can’t tell them the real reason why.”

  “Why not?” Serenity asked while the guys muttered among themselves.

  “Because the studio didn’t want anybody to know, remember? They didn’t want this in the press, which was why they went with a private firm and kept it on the downlow.”

  “Wow.” Braxton threw his hands into the air, laughing—it sounded more like a bark to Serenity, actually. “I can’t believe this. Even now, after your client was attacked by this dickhead—oh, don’t look shocked,” he sneered when Melody just about clutched a set of invisible pearls.

  “He’s dead,” she whispered, eyes wide.

  “Yeah, and good riddance,” he replied. “One less dickhead in the world isn’t a tragedy as far as I’m concerned. As I was saying, even after she was pawed and groped and even after the man in question was shot in the head, you want her to lie for the studio’s sake? You think that’s what’s important right now?”

  “I’m in the business of protecting her career and her reputation.”

  “I’m in the business of protecting her life, which means a hell of a lot more than either of the other things you just mentioned. I’d rather see her alive and on the right side of the law. Newsflash: cops don’t like it when you lie to them. If they decide she was somehow holding up the investigation all because she couldn’t talk about the stalker, she’ll be the one they turn to with further questions. It’s called interfering with an investigation.”

  Serenity tuned this out.

  The stalker. Her heart sank.

  Braxton waved at her, trying to get her attention. “Hello? Did you hear my question?” At least he didn’t snap his fingers in front of her the way Melody did. She hated that.

  “Hmm? No, sorry. What did you say?”

  He frowned but didn’t press the issue. “I said, what do you want us to do? What should we do?”

  “Why is this up to me?” she asked, looking around. “Why’s the decision mine to make?”

  “Because it has to be. Melody is concerned about your career. I’m concerned about your life.”

  “Hey. I’m concerned about that, too,” Melody informed him, icy. “Don’t make me out to be some awful leech or whatever. I’m concerned about her too.”

  His eyeroll spoke volumes. There was no need to ask what he thought about that, whether he believed her or not. “Anyway. It’s up to you. You have to decide this for yourself. We’ll follow your lead. Whatever you think is best.”

  Whatever she thought was best. It was so strange hearing that. When was the last time anybody told her to do what she thought was best for her? When was the last time somebody didn’t tell her where to go, when to do, what to do when she got there? Especially since she’d signed onto the movie.

  It made her uncomfortable, witnessing her discomfort at that very moment. She was uncomfortable with the idea of deciding for herself. She’d gotten used to having everything decided for her—and while she hated it, while she complained to anybody who’d listen about how she resented being spoken for, being told what to do—she’d also gotten used to it.

  Maybe Luke was right when he talked about her being in a cage. Zoo animals and pets were kept in cages, and their choices were all taken away. They were safe, but they had no say in their lives.

  There was a heavy responsibility wrapped up in what she decided too, which hardly made things easier. Responsibility to herself, to the team, even to Melody since their careers were so tightly intertwined.

  “Okay. Tell them who you actually are, why you’re here.” She looked to Melody. “I’m tired of lying. The cops might be able to help. It can’t hurt anyway.”

  “And what happens when the studio heads find out you brought the police into this?”

  “I’ll tell them it’s none of their damn business because they’re not the ones receiving freaking death threats!” She jumped off the couch, ready to fight. “This is my life! I don’t owe them anything. And let’s be honest with ourselves. We can’t assume the movie is still happening now that Paul’s dead. So I think we can assume it doesn’t matter either way.”

  Melody rubbed her temples. “I feel a migraine coming on.”

  “Take some aspirin.” It might’ve been a harsh response, but she didn’t care very much. Braxton was right. She owed it to herself to make sure the police didn’t end up arresting her for withholding information.

  Especially now that she had the feeling this had more to do with her than anyone had considered up to this point. Did Braxton suspect anything? How could he not? She’d already gotten the feeling that he was so smart, that he understood things nobody else did, that there were things she didn’t even have to say out loud for him to know them.

  But this? This he didn’t seem to have the first clue about. Probably because he was still too busy being angry with Paul over what he did. He couldn’t see the big picture, too focused on the small things.

  He’d see soon enough.

  The police arrived not five minutes later and practically swarmed the house. “Terrific,” Melody groaned when their cars clogged the driveway. “I hope there aren’t any paps around. They’ll treat this like hunting season.”

  And anyone was supposed to believe she cared more about Serenity than she did about her career?

  “Can I get anybody something to drink?” she asked as detectives and officers entered the house. “Maybe something to eat?” It was ridiculous, but she had to do something to feel normal. When she had guests, she offered them something. That was just the way it was done.

  Detective Santiago, a middle-aged man who looked like he’d already had the longest day in history, shook his head. “I’d rather get some answers from you, if you don’t mind. Who are all these men in your hous
e? And which of them is the one who attacked Paul Bergman earlier this afternoon?”

  This was it. No turning back now.

  She took a deep breath and prayed this was the right move. “These men are private security. They’re here to protect me from a stalker who’s been sending threatening messages. I think the stalker might be the person who murdered Paul Bergman today.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Okay. Lemme get this straight.” The detective had long since loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. “You heard a scuffle in Bergman’s office. You broke the door down because…”

  “Because I heard the scuffle.” It took just about all of his self-control not to snap at the overworked man. “I heard her telling him no, and I heard her slap him. That was all I needed to hear. The door was locked, which I think we can both agree is a little sketchy—why lock a door during a meeting like that? So I kicked it in. I found him standing over her with her dress hiked up. She was on the verge of tears, and he looked like he was ready to hit her. Or worse.”

  “What could be worse?”

  He lowered his brow, fixing the detective with a cold glare. “What do you think? He wasn’t trying to get her to play cards with him in that locked office. You’ve gotta know things like this happen all the time.”

  “Yeah. It’s the oldest story in the book.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck, sighing. “And then what happened?”

  Braxton swallowed back his frustration, and the impulse to tell the man to go to hell. “I threw him into his chair and told him I’d cut his hands off at the wrist if he ever tried anything like that again.”

  Santiago couldn’t help cracking a smile. “Well done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you didn’t do anything more than that? No smacking him around? No banging him against a wall or against his desk? Not anything?”

  “No. Nothing more. I’m—or, I was—a lot bigger than him. I was furious, but I would’ve hurt him a lot worse than he could ever have physically hurt me. Besides, she was watching.”

  “She?”

  “Serenity. She was already upset enough after what happened. I didn’t wanna add to that. It wasn’t easy. I’m not pretending it was easy. I wanted to make him pay for making her feel that way, but I’m not an idiot, either.”

  “And you’re sure you didn’t decide to go back?”

  “I know your guys have already checked the footage from around the property. We both know I never left the grounds once we got back from the meeting.”

  Santiago nodded. “Yeah. We know you were here. You understand I’ve gotta do my job.”

  “I get it.” He sat back in his chair by the pool, which was the only place on the property where they could have anything close to a private conversation. “I guess a guy like that is bound to make some enemies.”

  “That’s not the way the media’s playing it,” the detective snickered. “He was God’s gift. You wouldn’t imagine the pressure we’re under already, and the body’s barely cold yet.”

  “I can’t imagine, I’m sure.”

  Santiago eyed him up and down. “Tell me. What do you think about the stalker theory?”

  What did he think? He thought Serenity was a hell of a lot smarter than he was to come up with it before he had. Even so… “I think that means our stalker was following her today, and maybe they figured out what went on in that office.”

  “How is that possible? Did you take out an ad in the paper?”

  “No, but she was upset. Very shaken up. I was supporting her the entire way out of the building and had to help her into the car. She was in tears. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out something bad went down up there.”

  “I don’t get it though. If this stalker wants her dead or even just wants to terrorize her little bit, to get inside her head—you know, some professional relationship gone wrong, let’s say—why would they attack the man who attacked her? If anything, the guy did them a favor by shaking her up, making her upset.”

  He had a point, but it was sort of a rookie observation, the sort of thing a person would assume if they hadn’t spent time learning how to profile suspects. And this guy was supposed to be a detective? “Sure, you’re right. But in cases like this, especially when chances are there was a personal relationship at some point between the stalker and their target, they feel like they own that target. Whoever is doing this to Serenity feels like they own her or at least like they have a deep connection with her. They would take it personally knowing somebody hurt her.”

  Santiago nodded. “Only they’re allowed to make her feel that way.”

  “Exactly. Paul Bergman hadn’t earned the right to touch her, to upset her that way. Whoever did this probably stormed into that office like an avenging angel.”

  A knowing smirk. “You mean the way you did.”

  “Not the same thing,” Braxton reminded him in a tight voice. It was easy to underestimate the man—but that would be a mistake. He had a sharp intellect. A detective needed one, he guessed. “I went in there to help her, to get her out of a shady situation. Not the same thing as going in later on for revenge.”

  “You’re right. I was just trying to make a point.”

  “Do you have any idea of a timeline? How this might have gone down? The assistant was there when we were—was she still there during the shooting?”

  It was obvious Santiago didn’t want to discuss the details of the case with a stranger, judging by the way he frowned, the way he hesitated before speaking. He had another thing coming if he thought he could get away with sidestepping a direct question. This wasn’t Braxton’s first rodeo, not by a longshot.

  Finally, with a sigh, the detective shook his head. “No, she was gone for the day. Whoever it was must’ve waited until he thought Bergman would be alone. How he knew which girl was Bergman’s assistant is a mystery to me. Maybe he didn’t know for sure. Maybe he just went up there on a hunch.”

  “It could have just as easily been somebody else the guy screwed over, right? Believe me, I’m not trying to convince myself that this has nothing to do with Serenity,” he assured the man. “But we can’t assume either. I do think she’s thinking along the right lines, but we can’t get comfortable so quickly.”

  “Thanks for reminding me how to do my job.” Well, if there was a line, Braxton had just stepped over it.

  “I wasn’t trying to. Sorry. I’ve spent the last few days trying to track down a single stalker in the middle of hundreds of potential leads. If I said that out loud to you, it’s only because I’ve had to remind myself countless times not to get comfortable with anyone single suspect.”

  This seemed to ease the tension, if only a little. “Yeah, it could’ve been an angry actress, somebody he used and screwed over. It could’ve been somebody’s agent, somebody’s publicist, somebody’s husband or boyfriend. It could even have been Bergman’s wife or a girlfriend. The man had an extensive network of friends, associates, enemies.”

  Yes, Braxton would’ve bet on that. “But it does seem to be a pretty strange coincidence, doesn’t it? No more than an hour or two after he tried to attack her, he ended up dead.”

  “Yes. That’s a big coincidence.” The detective stood, groaning as he did like his body was just as tired as his mind. “It could be that he finally got burned after playing with fire one too many times. That’s just how it goes sometimes. I’ve seen a lot of that sort of thing here. People playing fast and loose, taking too many chances. Then there’s the people who like to take advantage of them for their own purposes. It isn’t every day that you see somebody finally pay for what they did.”

  Braxton looked him up and down. “It sounds like you’re not completely sympathetic to Mr. Bergman.”

  “Maybe because I’m not,” Santiago snickered. “Doesn’t mean he deserved to die, but I don’t have sympathy for a creep like that. You have no idea how many young girls come out here, get used up by men like him, and wind up doing terrible things to t
hemselves because of it. Yeah, every once in a while, karma straightens things out.”

  One of the officers stuck their head out from inside the house. “We’re just wrapping up here.”

  Santiago nodded. “Same here.” He turned to Braxton, handing him a business card. “Don’t hesitate to give me a call. Any developments, anything at all. I honestly don’t understand why the police weren’t called right away, as soon as she got the first message you talked about.”

  “The way her manager makes it sound, the studio wanted it kept quiet. I don’t know why. To be honest with you, I don’t even know why they were made aware of it.”

  Yes, why were they aware of it? Why had Melody gone to the studio before she came to anybody else for help? He decided he wanted to ask her as soon as he had a minute alone with her.

  The cops filed out, and the relief on Serenity’s face was obvious. “I’m so glad that’s over,” she whispered once the last of them had left, sinking to the couch with a sigh.

  “They were kind to you, weren’t they?” he asked, ready to make a phone call if they weren’t.

  “Oh, sure. They were fine.” She ran a hand through her hair, looking and sounding distracted, rattled. “They know we didn’t have anything to do with it—outside of leading somebody to the office, that is.”

  Melody was already on the phone with somebody else. He was starting to wonder if she didn’t have an addiction to that damn thing. At least it gave them a modicum of privacy while his team split up to check the perimeter of the property. She couldn’t be listening in on them when she was in the middle of a tense conversation, her back turned.

  “Look at me.” He knelt in front of Serenity, making a point of staring deliberately up at her. She was so small, fragile. In the course of three days, she’d gone from somebody who exuded confidence and self-assuredness to somebody who might jump at the sight of her own shadow.

  He was careful when he took her hands in his—she’d just been through a physical attack that day. It was a relief when she didn’t pull away or flinch or act like there was anything wrong with his touch.

 

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