I give her a little nod, afraid if I speak much more, my voice will let on how much this hurts. I’m not ready for my reign as Mother Superior to be over, even for a few weeks.
“Is it worth it?” Amy asks.
“What?”
“In the past couple days, you’ve lost your privacy, your freedom, possibly the show. Is any man worth all that?”
My mind drifts to all those cassette tapes, all the years spent apart, and the answer is easy. “Yeah, Knox is.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Knox
Heath has been hard at work getting the pictures of Mae removed from the internet. And he’s been pretty successful at it, while working with the police and FBI. After sending cease and desist letters from fancy lawyers, and personal threats from certain investigators, he’s managed to get most of the pictures taken down.
Still, every few days a new, sketchy website pops up posting the photos, and we have to go through the process all over again. The cycle seems never ending. And I know none of this solves the problem of the thousands of people who took screenshots of the pictures.
Heath’s also set up a team to do image control for Mae, releasing stories about how successful she is, a self-made woman. It’s all great, but good news doesn’t ever get as much traction as bad. What people really want is to hear from me, from Mae.
Of course, early on, Heath issued a statement on my behalf, condemning the hack, asking for privacy—the standard bullshit. But it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. It’s been days, and all the news outlets are clamoring for an interview with me, with Mae. But she’s not anywhere near ready to do that. She hasn’t even left Gigi’s house yet.
I can’t even really consider the possibility of an interview with her right now. The last thing I want to do is drag her further into the spotlight, if that’s not what she wants.
On the rare occasions that I leave Gigi’s house to go into town, when one of those assholes sticks a camera in my face, it’s so hard not to say something. It’s all I can do not to completely lose my shit. The only thing stopping me is that I don’t want to do anything else that could hurt Mae in any way, and going on a rampage for the whole world to see is simply feeding the beast.
So Heath continues to work behind the scenes, slowly trying to turn the tide in our favor. I’m sure he’s hoping for some other scandal to break the news cycle, which seems to go on without end.
The world now knows that Mae is the host of The Breakup Bible. I thought that might help her. She has millions of loyal listeners, and millions more who don’t listen, but have still heard of the show. Her popularity rating is through the roof. People overwhelmingly love her show. Her fans almost broke the internet in support of her, threatening to blacklist tabloid sites that published and continue to capitalize on her photos.
There’s even an online thread devoted to advice for Mae. Things like hold your head up, and hold your breasts even higher. Others recount how their boyfriend showed their private photos around, how it crushed them, and how they got through it. Others suggesting that Mae, as Mother Superior, do penance in the form of three fuck you’s and two who gives a damn.
All good advice, but it didn’t make one bit of difference with her bosses. She can’t seem to catch a break, hit from every direction.
“The premiere is only a few days away,” I say. “I think we should go back to California. Even if you don’t want to attend with me, I still think it’s safer there.”
A knock on Gigi’s door interrupts what I’m sure was going to be a litany of reasons why she’d rather stay here, all of which I understand. Floyd opens the door, and Heath comes walking in. He’s even more anxious to get back to California than I am. There’s not a bone in his body that likes small town living. I think he’s allergic to fresh air and nice people.
It’s after eleven at night. This man earns his money, seemingly never off the clock. But showing up at this hour can’t mean good news.
“I know it’s late,” he says, coming in and sitting down. I’ve never seen him look like this. He’s always dressed in a suit or slacks, always polished, always together. Now he’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt, like he was ready for bed. “I need you to look at something for me.”
“You could’ve texted or . . .”
“Are these your shoes?” he asks, holding out his cell phone for me to look at a picture.
Mae is a few feet away, but I can feel her eyes on me. “Why?” I ask Heath.
“A package was delivered to my office today with these shoes,” he says, “mailed from the Denver post office. They came with a note that said, ‘Look how close I can get.’ Does that mean anything to either of you?”
Every muscle in my body tightens, my fists clench, my jaw clamps shut. I want to hit something—hard.
“Knox, what is it?” Mae asks.
“These are the shoes that disappeared off your porch.”
“Pile of shit shoes?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say.
Heath raises both eyebrows. “What?”
I quickly bring Heath up to speed, how we assumed it was an animal. “How long ago was this?” he asks.
My heart is pounding, my head hurts like a bitch. This has been going on much longer than we thought. “That motherfucker was on her porch, at her front door, while she was there alone and fucking scared!”
“And she’s fine,” Heath says, trying to be the voice of reason.
I look over at Mae, a concerned look understandably plastered on her face. How much more of this will she tolerate? I don’t want to put her through anything else, but I can’t let her go, either.
“Whoever this is, isn’t interested in Mae,” Heath says. “They’re trying to get to you.”
“And they’re using her to do it!” I bark.
I can’t begin to describe the all-consuming rage I’m living with, every damn day, that me being directly targeted has had such horrible repercussions for Mae. I have no idea why some people do what they do. Come after me, fine—I’ll deal with it. But there was simply no reason for my hacker, stalker, whoever the fuck he is, to release the photos, to bring Mae into this, to hurt her so publicly.
“She has security now,” Heath says. “No one will get within twenty feet of her.”
“I just don’t understand what they want,” Mae says.
“There’s no point in trying to understand what motivates a crazy person,” Heath says.
“Remove my security,” I say.
“Knox!” Mae cries out.
“No!” I say. “If they think they can get close to me, then they will leave you alone.”
“That’s crazy,” she says. “I’m not going to let you do that.”
“She’s right,” Heath says. “Mae, could you give me a minute with Knox?”
“Sure, I’ll go check on Gigi,” she says reluctantly, then adds before walking out, “Heath, don’t let him do anything stupid.”
As soon as Mae is out of earshot, Heath leans in close to me and asks, “Is she worth it?”
I bristle at the question and resist the urge to punch him in the face. “What?”
“I’m asking you to think about whether or not this woman is worth it.”
“What the hell kind of question is that?”
“A good one,” he says. “If this is just a fling, then maybe it’s time to end it. Why put her through this if it’s not going to last?”
“I love her,” I say firmly.
“Does she love you?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to put up with all this?” he asks then pats my shoulder before heading for the front door. Before putting his hand on the knob, he turns back and says, “And your security stays.”
The door shuts behind him, and I close my eyes tightly, fuming. I take a few breaths and open them to find Mae staring at me.
“He’s an asshole!” she says, having obviously heard everything Heath said.
“I remember you that night,” I say. “Tha
t night with the shoes. The kitchen knife next to your bed. You were so scared, you were shaking.”
“I’m still scared,” she says. “Of something happening to you. Of losing you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
“I’m not, either,” she says. “I promise.”
*
Mae’s strong. She’s been incredible through all this. But everyone has limits. The realization that I do, indeed, have a stalker seems to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, despite her previous reassurances to the contrary.
Mae’s been quiet, withdrawn, all day. It’s close to five in the afternoon, and she’s barely said a dozen words since breakfast. But there’s still so much we need to talk about.
The premiere is just a few days away, and I really should be back in L.A. already, doing promotions, press. But Mae is more important. Still, I’m contractually obligated to go back, and I can’t imagine leaving without her.
Mae’s been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for I don’t know how long, putting her hair up in a ponytail over and over again. She gets it up, considers it, then rips it down and tries again. I’m not sure what’s wrong with it each time, but she seems to be taking out all her emotions on her hair.
Walking over to Mae, I wrap my arms around her from behind, lightly kissing her hair. She glances at me over her shoulder, giving me a small smile, then starts in on her hair again. Gently, I take the brush from her, placing it on the bathroom vanity. Placing my hands on her waist, I lower my head to hers.
“California,” she whispers.
“It’s safer. All the letters have come from Colorado. The shoes were mailed from a Denver post office. They were on your porch. Whoever is out to get me, probably lives in Colorado. It makes sense to go back to California.”
“I know,” she says. “I just don’t know anyone there except you, and . . .”
“Ask Gigi to come with us,” I say. “It could be like a little vacation, just for a few days. Hell, she can walk the red carpet with you at the premiere if you decide to go.”
That makes her laugh. I haven’t heard that in days. It feels good to hear her laugh again, if only for a moment.
“Dear God, could you imagine Gigi on a red carpet?” she wonders.
“I think it’s her natural habitat,” I say. “She’d steal the spotlight from us.”
Her fingers run through my hair, her lips softly landing on mine. We haven’t had sex since those pictures leaked. I miss her, but I doubt she’s going to want a mid-afternoon romp with her grandmother just downstairs. Another reason to go back to California.
My phone rings in my pocket, and she lets out a long exhale. Planting a quick kiss on her lips, I pull out my phone.
“It’s Timothy,” I tell her and answer the call, placing him on speaker, since he’s probably calling to talk to Mae.
Before I get a chance to say anything, I hear frantic wailing from a woman, like her heart is being ripped out of her chest.
“Everly!” Mae screams, recognizing the cries from her friend.
“I need Mae,” Timothy chokes out, sobbing.
My eyes lock on Mae. What could possibly be happening now?
“Timothy, Mae is here with me. What’s going on?”
“Gracie,” he cries. “Gracie is missing.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Knox
I’ve done plenty of action flicks, stuff with police and FBI, but nothing prepares you to actually see police tape covering the entrance of The Tune Up, the police lifting fingerprints off tables and chairs, doors and windows, detectives questioning your friends, emergency personnel on standby.
Mae and I stand quietly in the coffee shop, silently supporting Everly and Timothy, both of whom are beside themselves.
Mae and I managed to get out of Gigi’s house without being followed. It took some maneuvering, but we did it. We had the security guys pull their SUV as close as they could to Gigi’s side door. Then they held up sheets, blocking the paparazzi from seeing us climb in. Only it wasn’t Mae and I that got inside, it was Gigi and Thomas. The windows in the security firm’s SUV are way darker than what’s probably legal, but provided the cover they needed to pull off the switch. I breathed a sigh of relief when the paparazzi dutifully followed them wherever they were going. When the coast was clear, Mae and I made a break for it and raced over here.
Timothy is kneeling by Everly, who is sitting in a chair answering questions from the detective. She’s still crying softly, but not screaming anymore. I think they probably gave her something to calm her down, so she’d be able to give them information. The first few hours are crucial. Apparently, the longer the child is missing, the less chance they have of being found alive.
Everly looks up at the clock. I know she’s keeping track in her head. I overhear that it was around four thirty, when they closed the coffee shop for a few minutes to make the transfer to bar, that Gracie went missing. She was coloring at her usual table, Timothy was due at the shop any minute, and Everly went to use the bathroom. When she came out, Gracie was gone. Just like that. It happened so fast.
“It was only two minutes, and I had the damn bathroom door open,” Everly sobs, looking at her husband for forgiveness, and he gently pats her hand.
They’ve already given a description of Gracie’s clothing, been questioned about possible places where she might go. At this point, no one knows whether she wandered out of the shop or if, God forbid, she was taken.
“She knows not to go off alone,” Timothy says, certainty in his voice. “She knows our phone number and address. We know that having Down’s makes her a little more vulnerable, so we’ve been extra cautious with her. She wouldn’t wander off.”
“Why would anyone do this?” Everly cries out.
“They will find her,” Mae says.
“She loves everyone,” Everly says. “She trusts so easily. I should’ve . . .”
“Everly,” Mae says, leaving my side and going to her friend. “You’re the best mom.”
“I just had to pee,” Everly says, breaking down once more.
“What if she’s hurt? What if someone has her?” Everly looks up at the clock. “It’s been sixty-one minutes!” she cries out then hunches over and vomits on the floor.
Mae holds her tightly as Everly dry heaves over and over again. Timothy takes hold of Everly’s hair, but that’s all he can manage, rightly consumed with his own grief. Some emergency personnel come over to assist Everly and clean up the mess.
God, this is awful. And outside of offering up our security team to help in the search, which I’ve already done, there’s nothing I can do to help. I hate feeling useless. Then something occurs to me. “What if I go on television and offer a reward,” I say, looking at one of the hard-nosed detectives for approval.
Everyone in the room just stares at me. I’m not sure if they are stunned, think I’m crazy, or just don’t like the idea. And I don’t care if they say a million, five, ten, or twenty. Gracie is priceless. I’d give every last cent I have for her safe return.
“Just tell me the amount,” I say then catch Mae’s glance, her eyes filled with gratitude.
Steadying herself a bit, Everly wipes her face and says, “That could work. Yes, if someone has her, they might let her go for money. They’d have to. And we don’t even need to wait for the local news. The paparazzi are always following you. You could just go tell them. It would spread like wildfire.”
“It could also lead to a lot of false leads and chaos this early on,” the detective says.
“She’s my baby!” Everly screams at him.
The detective kneels in front of her. “I assure you, we are doing everything we can to find her, and a reward might work, but it’s my job to weigh the pros and cons.”
Tears stream down Everly’s face as she grabs his forearms. “Please find her. Please, please, bring her home to me.”
The more she begs, the more tears come—from her, from Timothy, from M
ae. I’m trying to hold it together for them, but this is a nightmare. It’s worse, actually. There’s no waking up from this. There’s no going back. Even once Gracie is home—yes, I have to believe that, the alternative is not a consideration—none of us will ever forget these moments, these heartbreaks, the fear.
Fear lives forever. I can remember the fear I felt when my mother died like it was yesterday. It hasn’t dulled over time. And neither will this.
Suddenly, the detective reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The room goes silent as we all collectively hold our breath. For some reason, the detective’s eyes land on me. Mae, Everly, and Timothy all see it. Why is he looking at me? Does this involve me, too?
The detective doesn’t give anything away. He’s not asking questions. He’s simply listening. Whoever is on the other end is doing all the talking, has all the information. Each second is like a year. I wonder if he’s stalling, trying to figure out how to give us bad news.
He lowers his phone, and the detective’s eyes land on me once again. It’s eerie the way he is looking at me. My heart starts to beat against my chest like a battering ram.
“They found Gracie.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Mae
“Gracie is alive, unharmed. Our officers found her not far from here,” the detective says.
“Where?” Timothy and Everly both say, jumping to their feet.
The detective glances at Knox again. I really wish he’d stop doing that. Knox had nothing to do with this. “She was found at the cemetery. By the graves of Mr. Merrick’s parents. Someone had taken her there, and left her.”
Knox moved, clearly anticipating her next move, but not quickly enough to avoid Everly’s punch landing squarely on his jaw. “You fucking bastard!” she screams as Timothy steps in to hold Everly back from landing another blow, now thrashing around in her husband’s arms.
Knox holds up his hands, then massages his jaw a little. “Everly, you know Knox didn’t do this,” I say. “He would never.”
Knox (A Merrick Brothers Novel) Page 24