Obsession

by Jackie Collins

“I’m sorry,” Natalie said quietly. “I know you liked her.”

  “I did,” Madison said in a low voice. “How exactly did it happen?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “All we know is she was stabbed to death in her house.”

  “Is it on the news?”

  “It will be by the time we get there.”

  “How did your people find out?”

  “Our news director has someone in the police department. We hear everything early.” He turned to Natalie. “C’mon, kiddo, we’d better get going.”

  Reluctantly Natalie picked up her purse, and they all trooped into the front hall.

  Bunny emerged from the bedroom and stood with her arms crossed, glaring in sulky silence as everyone prepared to leave.

  “You’d better take my car,” Natalie said to Madison. “That’s if you’re okay to drive. I’ll go with Jimmy and catch you at home later.”

  “No,” Madison answered quickly. “I should go with you. I’m probably one of the last people to see Salli alive. The detectives will want to talk to me.”

  “She’s right,” Jimmy agreed, ignoring his wife’s baleful glares.

  “Hey—” Luther joined in. “What can I do?”

  “You can call me later,” Natalie said ruefully. “I’ll need some kind words. Right now I’m totally freaked.”

  “Me, too!” Bunny burst out, lower lip quivering. “This stupid murder has completely spoiled our dinner party.”

  Madison exchanged glances with Natalie. Jake shook his head. Jimmy threw his wife a furious look, grabbed her arm, and marched her back into the bedroom. Everyone could hear his angry growl— “Do you always have to sound like the village idiot? Why can’t you keep your mouth shut for once?”

  The uncomfortable silence in the hall was broken by the sound of the doorbell.

  “I’ll get it,” Jake said, throwing open the front door. And there stood Kristin Carr, a tentative, slightly nervous smile on her glowing girl-next-door face.

  “Uh . . . hi,” Jake said, genuinely pleased to see the woman he’d only had one date with, but with whom he was definitely enamored. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

  Kristin glanced past him, taking in the group of people in the hall, immediately noticing two women—a very attractive, dark-haired one, and a pretty black woman who looked familiar. Oh, God, she thought, swallowing hard, I hope they’re not women I’ve partied with. I’ll die if they are. She couldn’t stand Jake’s surprise and eventual disappointment, for he had no idea she was an extremely successful and much-in-demand call girl. “I guess I’m late,” she said, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

  “Not at all,” Jake replied, blocking her way into the house, thinking that he wanted to get her out of there so he could have her all to himself. “In fact, you’re right on time for me to take you for a drink.”

  “But I thought—” she began, wondering why he didn’t invite her in.

  “Everything changed,” he interrupted, speaking fast. “I’ll explain later.”

  “Fine,” she said, feeling as if she’d walked into an uncomfortable situation—exactly what she didn’t need after her grueling session with Mister X, a particularly demanding client who was into mind trips. She sighed, trying to erase from her memory the experience of stripping naked in the back of his limo and pretending to pleasure herself as per the chauffeur’s instructions. Of course, the chauffeur was Mister X, no doubt about that. He paid exorbitant money, and she had her sister to look after. How else could she manage to pay the enormous hospital bills?

  “C’mon, let’s go,” Jake said.

  “Wait up, bro,” Luther interrupted, elbowing his way past Jake. “Don’t we get to meet this fine lady?”

  “Sure you do,” Jake said easily, knowing that a fast exit would have been too simple.

  Jimmy emerged from the bedroom. “We’re outta here,” he said brusquely. Then he too noticed Kristin, and stopped short. “He . . . Ho, “he said, turning on the well-known Sica charm.

  Jake moved between them, aware of what a lecherous bastard Jimmy was. “My brother,” he said. “Jimmy, say hi to Kristin.”

  Kristin took a step backward; civilians made her edgy—especially this group.

  Jimmy was busy flashing his perfect anchorman smile. “And where has my brother been hiding you?”

  Kristin recognized the type. She also recognized this man from the TV news, and that made her even more nervous. “Uh . . . away from you I guess,” she mumbled, grabbing on to Jake’s arm, wishing she were someplace else.

  Madison observed the scene. It didn’t take a genius to realize Jake was off the market. He definitely only had eyes for this fresh-faced blonde dressed all in white. “Are we leaving or not?” she asked Jimmy impatiently. The journalist in her had kicked in, and she was not interested in anything except finding out what had happened to Salli. She was certainly not interested in Jake Sica.

  Jimmy took his eyes off Kristin and jumped to attention. “You got it, Madison,” he said. “We’re on our way.”

  “Good,” she said. And along with Natalie, they left the house.

  chapter 5

  THIS WAS NOT AT ALL how Max had planned it. He should have known his karma was bad when Inga failed to show. Now he had Ariel on his case with her big phony smile and faintly Southern accent. Another bitch. Truth was they were all bitches—the only honest woman he’d ever encountered was his once-a-month hooker, Kristin. At least he knew exactly where he stood with her. Money on the table up front and unbelievable sex.

  He decided to play it dumb. Stonewall both Freddie and Ariel. Screw it, he didn’t have to answer to anyone.

  “What?” he said, quite rudely, so they’d both get the message they were pissing him off.

  “I said,” repeated Ariel, refusing to back down, “there’s a rumor going around that you’re campaigning for my job.”

  Shit! Someone had loose lips. Billy Cornelius had promised him total secrecy until they were ready to make their announcement. Bluff it out, he decided, that was the only way to deal with it.

  “I’m flattered that you think I could handle your job,” he said calmly. “Truth is—I can barely handle my own.” Self-deprecating laugh. Quick glance at Freddie. The ball was now on their side of the court.

  Diana, who was totally ignorant of what was happening, did not like the way the conversation was going. She sensed trouble and was not about to let it disrupt her dinner party. “What are you all talking about?” she asked impatiently.

  Freddie threw her a look. She caught his displeasure and decided to shut up. Freddie was not pleasant when he was angry; he had a violent, out-of-control temper.

  “Beats me,” Max said with a casual shrug.

  “You know, Max,” Ariel said icily, “I always knew Freddie was the heart of I.A.A. You were merely the gofer with whom people dealt when they couldn’t reach him.” A meaningful pause. “How sad to always come second.”

  The guests at the dinner table fell silent. Even Lucinda was quiet, preferring to listen to the drama taking place rather than continue charming everyone with her fascinating stories of Hollywood past.

  “Fuck you, Ariel,” Max spat out, regretting the words the moment they left his mouth. Cool was everything, and he’d just blown it.

  “That’s enough,” Freddie interjected angrily. “This is neither the time nor the place to get into this kind of a discussion.”

  “What discussion?” Max blustered, red in the face. “I’m supposed to sit here while Ariel accuses me of all kinds of shit, and then insults me? Oh no, Freddie, it ain’t gonna happen.”

  Freddie rose from the table. It was time to put Max firmly in his place. “Come in the library, Max,” he said, his face impassive. “We’ll talk in private.”

  “Got nothing to talk about,” Max replied, hating the whiny tone he heard in his own voice.

  Diana stood also. Damn Freddie, she thought. He’d planned the whole thing. He’d wanted to humiliate Max in front of everyone so
that the Hollywood rumor mill would gossip about what an asshole Max Steele was, and how Freddie Leon had caught him with his pants down.

  Well, she was not going to stand for it. Max deserved better. He’d always been a good friend to her, and in spite of his appalling taste in the women he dated, she genuinely liked him, and suspected he liked her back. In fact, if she weren’t married it was quite possible that she and Max might have gotten together.

  The very thought brought a blush to her cheeks. Abruptly she left the dining room and marched into the kitchen, where the help and the caterers were all gathered around the small portable TV.

  “What is going on?” she demanded, not at all pleased they were slacking off when they should be hard at work.

  Ronnie, her regular barman, black and capable— a middle-aged veteran of the more upscale Hollywood parties—stood to attention. “Breaking news, Mrs. L,” he said excitedly. “Big murder in the Palisades.”

  Diana frowned. “I couldn’t care less who’s been murdered,” she said tartly. “We have a dinner party in progress. Kindly get back to work immediately. And that’s an order.”

  chapter 6

  DETECTIVE TUCCI WAS still contemplating the body of the murdered actress when Officer Andy Flanagann sidled up alongside him. Officer Flanagann had been the first person on the scene—summoned by a neighbor complaining about barking dogs and loud music. By the time Tucci had arrived there, the dogs were locked in the kitchen and the music turned off. Nothing else had been touched.

  Tucci thought Andy Flanagann was young for the job—still, he had a fresh-faced enthusiasm, and at least he seemed competent.

  “You’d better come with me, Detective,” Officer Flanagann muttered, avoiding looking at Salli T. Turner’s mutilated body.

  “What’s up now?” Tucci asked, his stomach rumbling.

  “Another victim,” Officer Flanagann said flatly. “Male. Shot in the face. Discovered the body outside the guest house.”

  “Jeez!” Tucci exploded, thinking, There goes dinner. A double homicide was always twice the work and twice the aggravation—especially when both murders were committed by different means. A stabbing and a shooting. Perfect.

  “Sorry,” Officer Flanagann mumbled, like it was his fault.

  Tucci hitched his pants up again, and armed with a heavy-duty flashlight he followed the young officer across the floodlit lush green lawn surrounding an azure blue swimming pool. Salli T. Turner must have worked hard to afford such a palatial spread, he thought. Their path was dotted with giant palm trees, potted bougainvillea and fragrant peach and lemon trees. Some people really knew how to live. Pity they had to die before their time. Especially like this.

  Tonight Faye was making turkey meat loaf with her secret salsa sauce—a special treat. Tucci forgot about his diet for a moment and imagined her taking the pan out of the oven and leaving it to cool while she called him into the kitchen to eat. Ah yes, he’d leave his precious Lakers, and race to her side. Faye was a good cook and at forty-two still a most attractive woman. Fiery too. But then, she was half Hispanic, with jet black hair and a pocket Venus body. They’d been married five years; his first wife had died of cancer. He loved Faye very much.

  “It looks like one bullet,” Officer Flanagann offered. “Seems like the victim might have been on his way to the main house to investigate the noise.”

  Tucci nodded. Amateur detectives irritated him. It was his case, he’d solve it, he didn’t need any help.

  The male victim was sprawled on his side, half on the walkway and half on the grass leading from the guest house. He had no face—just an angry mudpatch of blood and bones.

  It was not the first time Tucci had seen someone who’d been shot in the face. It was never a pretty sight. His stomach churned—this time not from hunger—and he wished he were at home.

  Carefully aiming his flashlight, he studied the body. Male. Slight and skinny. Clad in psychedelic shorts and a midriff-baring white tank. Pierced navel. Glossy black, shoulder-length hair. Oriental hair.

  Tucci leaned closer, his flashlight skimming up and down the lifeless body.

  “No weapon,” Officer Flanagann said helpfully. “I checked all around.”

  “Did you go in the guest house?”

  “The door was open. I inspected the premises. It does not appear to be a home invasion.”

  Tucci stared at the body. “Houseman,” he said, thinking aloud. “Get the photographer down here. And make sure nothing’s touched. Got it?”

  “Yes, Detective,” Officer Flanagann said, jumping to attention. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  chapter 7

  KRISTIN SAT NEXT TO JAKE in a booth at the bar in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. He’d ordered a beer, and she was sipping Evian. Both of them were treading carefully.

  “I’m really glad you came by,” Jake said, trying hard not to stare, for she was truly gorgeous in a refreshingly wholesome way. “I was beginning to kind of wonder if you’d show.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t?” she asked, feeling for once like a real girl on a real date and liking the feeling.

  He shrugged. “Wasn’t sure,” he answered honestly.

  She smoothed down the skirt of her white dress with the palms of her hands. “Can I ask you something?” she ventured, studying the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  “You can ask me anything you like.”

  She hesitated a moment. “Uh,” she began, not even embarrassed because she was determined to know. “I noticed two attractive women in the hall. Was one of them with you?” Why am I asking him this? she thought. I hardly know him. And yet . . .

  “Oh sure,” he said, laughing. “Like I’d invite you over to join me and my family, and there I’d be with a date.” His brown eyes were full of amusement. “C’mon, Kristin, what kind of a guy d’you think I am?”

  “A nice guy,” she answered softly.

  He took a swig of beer. “Now you’re making me sound boring.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  They grinned at each other. He was delighted she’d wanted to know whether he was with Natalie or Madison. It showed that maybe she cared.

  “Your brother’s on television, isn’t he?” Kristin asked, carefully picking a slice of lime out of her drink.

  “Jimmy’s a news anchor.”

  “I recognized him.”

  “He’d like that. His ego’s bigger than his brain.”

  “Do you two hate each other?” she asked curiously.

  “Naw. He can be a real jerk, but he’s still my brother.”

  “And so the two of you are going to your father’s wedding?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. My dad’s the character of all time.” A beat, then, “Hey—why don’t you come?”

  She shook her head, natural blond hair swirling around her pretty face. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” he asked, hoping he might persuade her to say yes. “We could have fun.”

  “I’m not used to having fun,” she said quietly.

  He looked at her quizzically. “What does that mean?”

  “I work all the time,” she said, tapping her clear polished nails on the table. “My sister was in a bad car accident, and . . . I look after her—pay the bills. She’s been in a coma for two years.”

  Impulsively he took her hand. “You poor kid.”

  “No,” Kristin said fiercely. “She’s the poor kid. I’m the one who’s still able to walk around.”

  “Does that mean you have to support her?”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” she said, her voice tightening as she withdrew her hand from his.

  “What about your husband? Doesn’t he help out?”

  A moment of silence. “I . . . uh . . . wasn’t quite truthful with you, Jake,” she lied, remembering the fictitious rich husband she’d made up to protect herself. “I left my husband six months ago. He doesn’t pay me a dime.”
/>   “Then you’re single?”

  “Separated.”

  He fixed her with a long penetrating gaze. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Why?”

  “Now, isn’t that a silly question?” he said teasingly.

  She lowered her eyes. His gaze was too intense for comfort.

  “So . . . tell me, Kristin,” he continued. “Are you currently involved with anyone?”

  She was silent again. Was sleeping with a variety of men rich enough to pay for her exclusive services the same as being “involved”?

  No. That was business.

  And business and pleasure do not mix.

  A harsh reminder that she shouldn’t be sitting here with a man she found undeniably attractive.

  “Hey,” Jake said, pushing gently. “Do I get an answer?”

  “I . . . I don’t have time to be involved,” she said. “Have to keep working to pay the bills.”

  “That’s not a healthy attitude.”

  She shrugged, studying his lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss them. “I know,” she said. “But what can I do?”

  “Spend more time with me for a start,” he said playfully. “I’m new in town. I need a tour guide, someone to show me what not to do.”

  “I am spending time with you.”

  He took her hand again and she experienced long-lost shivers of desire. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Kristin,” he said, his brown eyes sincere and probing. “Are you feeling the same way I am?”

  She nodded, unable to stop herself, even though she knew she was venturing into dangerous territory.

  “Then why don’t we do something about it?” he suggested.

  “Like what?” she murmured, knowing full well what he meant.

  “My hotel or your place?” he said, deciding to go for it.

  Her place was her sanctuary; she never took clients there.

  Only Jake wasn’t a client. He was a man she desperately wanted, and maybe if she slept with him she would get over her overwhelming desire for him, and then normal life could resume.

  “My place,” she whispered, still flushed with excitement.