Barefoot in the Rain

by Roxanne St Claire

After he got situated in a rental car and figured out which freeway to take, he checked his phone, just in case. Jocelyn had called once, when he’d arrived at the airport, and, man, had she sounded miserable. A little terrified and a lot stressed out.

  She’d asked him three times if he was certain the reporter followed him and he’d confirmed he had. But there must be more of them for her to be that tense. The damn reporters were probably crawling all over that island now, which made his mission even more imperative. Maybe she wasn’t physically beaten this time, but she was being emotionally, professionally, and personally battered and he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit back—again—and watch that happen.

  Fueled by his focus, he navigated the mean, and sickeningly slow, streets of Los Angeles, threading his way through the Hollywood Hills and onto a canyon road off Sunset Boulevard. He found the address and drove up to an eight-foot-high gated entrance, then picked up his cell phone and called the number he’d taken from Jocelyn’s phone. He knew he had the right number because it had worked that morning when he’d first texted and put his plan in motion.

  “Bringing Jocelyn Bloom in,” he said when the phone was answered. Just please don’t ask to talk to her.

  She didn’t. In a moment, the gates slowly parted like opening arms, leading Will down a half mile of creamy white bricks to a sizable Tudor-styled house tucked into a wooded lot.

  The front door opened and a woman stood in the entry, so small he thought for a moment it might be a teenage girl, not the superstar actress who thought Jocelyn was coming to see her. When he climbed out of the car, he could see her face and made a mental note never to fall for on-screen beauty again.

  Coco Kirkman looked nothing like she did on TV.

  “Hello.” He nodded to her as he approached.

  An oversized sweatshirt hung halfway down her legs, the sleeves so long they hid her hands. As he got closer, she hugged herself as if she were cold, despite the hoodie and the black scarf knotted around her neck. A few honey-colored strands of hair slipped out of a sloppy ponytail, and she brushed them away to train famously sky-blue eyes on him.

  “Where’s Jocelyn?” she demanded, leaning over to peek into the car as if he’d hidden her in there.

  Time to come clean. “She’s not here.”

  “Excuse me?” Her eyes flashed in horror. “Her text said she and a bodyguard would be here to talk to me. You have my private number?”

  “She gave it to me.” More or less.

  She made no gesture to invite him in, but blocked the door as much as her waif-like body could block anything, so he stopped at the bottom stone step, making them essentially eye to eye.

  Behind her, a crystal chandelier lit an oversized entry and a sweeping marble staircase that he certainly wouldn’t build in a Tudor house, but probably cost more than he ever made in a year.

  “So…” She shifted from one bare foot to the other, shooting a quick glance behind her as if she expected someone to pop up any minute. “Why did she send you here?”

  “She didn’t,” he said. “I sent you the text that you thought was from Jocelyn.”

  “Oh, fuck.” She snorted the curse. “I can’t believe I fell for that. Of course, no one in the world has that phone number but Jocelyn, so it’s not like I’m a complete idiot. What do you want?”

  “What do you think I want? To ask you to please, please reconsider what you’re doing and tell the world it’s a lie.”

  She lifted on eyebrow. “You think it’s a lie?”

  “I know it is. Jocelyn wouldn’t break up a marriage any sooner than she’d jump off the Empire State Building. And she won’t say why she’s letting you do this, before you jump all over her for breaching life-coach ethics.”

  She smiled a little, a sad smile that barely reached her eyes. She leaned against the doorjamb, her arms still firmly wrapped around her middle. “You’re that guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “The baseball player.”

  He nodded, ignoring the little punch of happiness because Jocelyn had actually talked about him.

  “So everything she said about you was true.”

  “Guess that depends,” he said vaguely. “On what she told you.”

  “She told me you were… kind.”

  Was he? Or did she have that mixed up with passive? “I have my moments.”

  “And reliable.”

  “Enough.”

  “And…” She gave an approving nod. “Hot.”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about me.” He took one step closer, glancing into the house in a silent request for an invitation.

  She shook her head, her eyes widening just a little. “Look, the only reason I said yes to the text is because I thought Jocelyn wanted to see me. Does she? Or does she have a message for me?”

  “Yeah. Get your butt in front of a camera and tell the world you lied.”

  She bit her bottom lip so hard he thought she’d drawn blood. “She knows I can’t do that.” He barely heard the whisper.

  Okay. He hadn’t expected this to be easy. But he also hadn’t expected to stand on her front porch and make a plea. “Are you really that selfish that you don’t care about her reputation or her feelings?”

  “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

  “So that’s why you picked her as your fall guy?”

  She laughed softly. “That’s why she volunteered for the job.”

  “She what?”

  She wrapped herself up again, so small and vulnerable he wondered whatever made her decide to pursue a career that put her in the spotlight. “Guess she didn’t tell you everything.”

  “Guess not.” Jocelyn was in on this? “Why?”

  “To protect me, of course.”

  “At the expense of her career?”

  She shrugged. “It’ll blow over and she’ll…” She glanced to the side, into the house, then stepped a little farther out of the doorway. “She’ll weather this storm much better than I will. It was her idea.”

  It was? Would she go her whole life sacrificing her own happiness for other people?

  Yes, maybe she would. And wasn’t that one of the things he loved about her?

  He heard a noise from inside the house, and instantly she startled and flinched, throwing a wary look over her shoulder, but no one was there.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “My housekeeper,” she said quickly. “And I have security here.”

  “Then you should feel comfortable letting me in. I’m not armed and I won’t hurt you. I just want you to understand what Jocelyn is going through because of you.”

  “It’s not…” She closed her eyes and fought for something—the right word, composure, maybe. Inner strength. She looked like a person who had none, inside or out. There was something helpless about her that reminded him of someone. Not Jocelyn, that was certain. “It’s not because of me,” she added.

  “Miles?”

  Her eyes flashed in warning, like a secret message to him.

  “He threatened to… you know.”

  No, he didn’t know. But he was starting to suspect. “Your husband threatened to hurt you?”

  She nodded.

  “And Jocelyn suggested you say he was having an affair with her so you could… what?”

  She swallowed hard. “Try and leave him.”

  “Try?” he asked furiously.

  “Shhh.” Her eyes darted again, fear radiating off her.

  “Why? Is he here?”

  “No, just the housekeeper.”

  “Who’s your friend, Coco?” The male voice boomed from inside, making her jump as a man appeared behind her.

  How long had the son of a bitch been back there?

  Unlike Coco, Miles Thayer looked every bit the movie star. Not very tall or broad, but he had the golden good looks and a phony smile that the camera loved. He held out a hand to Will. “I’m Miles. Have we met?”

  Will ignored the hand. “I’m not here to
talk to you.”

  “Funny, this is my house. You’re on my property. You’re talking to my wife. Who the fuck are you?”

  “He’s a friend of Jocelyn’s.”

  Miles considered that, angling his head and scratching under long blond hair exactly the color of Coco’s. They were like a matched set, only Coco was so tiny and defenseless and her husband had nasty all over him.

  “And you’re just leaving, I take it,” Miles said.

  “I’m not leaving until one of you calls a press conference and tells everyone the truth.”

  “The truth’s out there, bud. I was boning the life coach.”

  Coco stared at the ground and Will’s fists tightened like a runner just shot off first to steal. Every cell in his body wanted to act. To throw a fist if not a ball. To shut this asshole up.

  “You got an issue with that?” Miles asked, using his shoulder to push Coco out of the way. “ ’Cause that’s our story. And we like it. Right, Co?”

  Instantly she looked up at Will, a plea in her blue eyes. “Don’t tell her he’s here, please. Just go.”

  “Good advice,” Miles said. “Get the hell out of here before I call the LAPD.”

  “Miles, plea—”

  “Get inside.” Miles grabbed her arm and practically dragged her into the house. “I’ll deal with our—”

  Will lunged, ripping the other man’s hand away. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

  They both froze and stared at him, Coco shaking her head a little but Miles breaking into a much more real grin. “Did you just touch me, dickhead?”

  Memories jolted through him with the same force he wanted to use on this bastard.

  You touching an officer of the law, young man?

  Will took a steadying breath, sizing up the competition.

  No gun this time and Will could take him. But to what end? Coco would run into the house and he’d lose any chance of getting her to help Jocelyn.

  “Just leave her alone,” Will said quietly. “I’d like to talk to her some more.”

  “Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  He looked at Coco, tiny, scared, and so powerless. And then he realized who she reminded him of: Mary Jo Bloom. The same expectant look of fear in the eyes of a victim. The same helpless hunch to her shoulders and downward tilt to her chin.

  Was that why Jocelyn had gone along with this idea, or even conceived it? Because she, too, wanted to make up for not helping someone in the past?

  Coco brushed back her hair, the move shifting her neckline enough for Will to see a deep purple bruise cutting across her flesh.

  His stomach lurched as the pictures of Jocelyn’s bruises fought for space in his brain, fury firing through his veins.

  “You son of a bitch,” he murmured to Miles.

  “Excuse me?” Miles stepped closer, giving his shoulders a shake. He wasn’t six feet tall and sure as hell hadn’t spent his life playing sports or swinging a dead-blow hammer. “What did you call me?”

  “Please,” Coco cried. “Please don’t fight. It’s my fault for taking him back. Will, just leave.”

  “Yeah, Will, just fucking leave or…” He lifted his hand but Will got the first swing in, a satisfying right hook that landed on the movie star’s jaw and knocked his head back.

  Coco screamed and lunged toward them just as Miles recovered from the blow. Miles spun around and shoved her into the house with so much force she fell backwards.

  Will shot forward in full attack mode, seizing the man by the shoulder, yanking him around and slamming another fist in his face.

  “You fucking—” Miles pushed back, barely getting decent force, but it was enough to knock Will off the step and make him stumble.

  Miles leaped out and jumped on Will, getting his own swing into Will’s face while the woman shrieked from the doorway. Using all his might, Will whipped Miles onto his back, thrust a knee into his chest, and pinned him down.

  With a yell, Miles fought back, but he had nothing on Will. Easily in control of the fight, Will raised his right fist, let the blood surge through his arm—and froze.

  Blood dribbled out of Miles’s nose, and his eyes squeezed shut as he braced for the impact. When Will didn’t swing, the other man whimpered like the coward he was.

  Will looked up at Coco, who rocked herself with two arms, also whimpering. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze as she, too, waited for his fist to make contact.

  But that wouldn’t make him any better than this asshole or Deputy Sheriff Guy Bloom or any other man who thought this was action.

  He narrowed his eyes at Coco. “You want to help him? You want to help yourself?”

  Biting her lip, she nodded. “Get in that car and let me get you out of here.”

  Under him, Miles squirmed. “Don’t even think about it, Coco!” Will nailed him with a knee into the chest and jerked his head toward the car.

  “Come on, Coco,” Will urged. “You can do this.”

  She took a breath, hanging on the edge, then shook her head. “I can’t,” she practically mouthed the words. “Jocelyn understands.”

  “Then do it for you, not her,” he insisted. “Get yourself out of jail. You don’t have to live like this.”

  “Fuck you!” Miles shouted, his movie-star looks contorted with anger. “You get in that fucking car and I’ll kill you, Coco. I am not kidding!”

  “Don’t give him the power,” Will said quietly. “You can stand up to him and you can make a difference to a whole lot of women.”

  She choked softly. “That’s exactly what Jocelyn said.”

  “Then why don’t you?”

  “I’m scared.” She shivered and backed away like a beaten dog.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Get what you need and get in the car. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “And then what?”

  Will just smiled at her. “Then you’ll be a real star.”

  “Move and you’re dead, Coco,” Miles growled.

  She stabbed her hair, dragging it back, revealing another bruise by her ear.

  “Stay and you’re dead, Coco,” Will said. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  He held Miles down long enough for her to make her decision.

  Chapter 29

  Jocelyn fingered the embroidery thread, resting the hoop on her lap, the buzz of activity in the house fading into the background as the weight of loss pressed on her chest.

  The whole situation reminded her of the night of her mother’s funeral. Except Guy wasn’t dead. She hoped.

  Please, God, don’t let him be dead. I have to tell him—

  Zoe came up behind her, putting her hands on Jocelyn’s shoulders with a soft squeeze. “Nice gladiolas.”

  Jocelyn almost smiled and twisted the needle. “I want to finish this for him but I haven’t a clue how to do this kind of thing.”

  “I do.” Zoe reached over and took the needle, twirling it like a mini-baton. “I know, who would think I had a crafty bone in my body? But you need to go in the kitchen now, sweetie.”

  “Why?”

  “Deputy Dawg wants to talk to you.”

  Jocelyn whipped around, the spool of embroidery thread tumbling to the floor. “Slade’s here? Did they…” Blood drained from her head instantly.

  “No news, I promise. He just wants to tell you what the plan is for the night.”

  The night. It had been dark for several hours now. After the initial scouring of town, then the streets that led out, the ragtag team of Lacey, Clay, Tessa, and Zoe, later joined by Lacey’s daughter, Ashley, had gathered at the house so the professionals could take over.

  But no one had seen him. A maid at the Fourway Motel thought she saw a man meeting his description wandering along the walkway behind the hotel, but a thorough search of the building turned up nothing. A tourist at the harbor was certain he saw an older man just like him fishing on the docks, but that lead took them nowhere as well.

  And, the worst of
all, the UPS guy said he thought he’d seen an old man crossing the causeway. What if he’d fallen off the bridge? What if he was…

  Please, God, no.

  The ache in her heart as heavy as a lead ball, Jocelyn handed the embroidery hoop to Zoe, refusing to give voice to her dark thoughts. “You can do needlepoint?” At Zoe’s nod, Jocelyn just smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”

  “Aren’t I, though?” She pointed the needle toward the kitchen. “Go talk to the hot cop.”

  She started to walk out, but Zoe stopped her. “Speaking of hot, have you reached Will?”

  She hadn’t tried after that one call to verify that he’d gotten the reporter out of town, since Jocelyn had wondered if someone from the media had actually kidnapped Guy to get to her. But she hadn’t told Will they’d lost him. “He’d just be on the next plane back and miss his interview tomorrow morning. There’s nothing he can do.”

  “He could comfort you,” she said.

  Not anymore. Jocelyn just shook her head and left Zoe, turning the corner to face a kitchen full of people.

  Tessa and Lacey had coffee going and food on the table. Ashley was cleaning up. Clay and some other men were talking to Slade Garrison.

  “Do you have any news?” she asked the deputy as he shifted his attention to her.

  “We haven’t turned up a single person who’s seen him, except those I told you about. And, Jocelyn, time is critical. He has to be found in the first twenty-four hours or…”

  She waved her hand. “I know the statistics.”

  He stepped closer, his expression softening. Lacey and Tessa also joined the conversation, flanking Jocelyn in support.

  “Look, I realize your situation is a bit different than usual,” Slade said. “And out of respect for your privacy and the fact that our island location makes it hard to get too far, I’ve held off on the next step. But I have to issue a Silver Alert, Jocelyn. I have to. I’m sorry.”

  “What exactly is that?” Tessa asked.

  “It’s like an Amber Alert for missing teens, but this is for elderly dementia patients.”

  “Why wouldn’t you do that?” Lacey asked.

  “Because,” Jocelyn answered, “it’ll have media crawling all over this place by morning.”