by Meg Tilly
“Mick Talford. Lieutenant Kevin Hawkins here.” The man’s voice had an amiable, authoritative quality to it. “I’m a fan of your movies. Hey, look, we’ve got a situation here. I’m hoping you can help me out.”
Mick could feel tremors running through Sarah’s body. He ran his hand in slow circles on her back, letting her know she was not alone. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that the woman you hired under the name Rachel Jones is mentally unstable. She is a risk to herself and possibly to others. Not to worry. Now that we’ve located her, it will be a simple matter of removing the fugitive from your property. It would be best for everyone’s safety if you vacated the premises.”
“I’m not at the house now.”
“Wonderful. Perfect.” Mick could hear the satisfaction in the man’s voice. “Hold on a second.” There was the sound of Ellen murmuring something. Kevin answered. Mick couldn’t quite make out the words. He heard a “Great . . . Helpful . . . My thanks.” Then Mick and Sarah could hear Kevin’s voice again, strong and clear. “Ms. Davis has kindly given me your address. I’ll be able to remove the fugitive within the hour. Again, sorry for the inconvenience, and thank you for your cooperation. Please, for your safety, don’t mention anything to your employee, as she might get violent.” Mick glanced at Sarah’s face. Yes, it was drained of color, but she looked furious, too. Like she would kick serious butt if required.
“Lieutenant Hawkins.” Mick kept his voice bored, dry.
“Is there an alarm system I need to know about?”
“There is a state-of-the-art alarm system.”
“Can you disable it remotely?”
“No.” He could.
“Not an issue.” Hawkins rolled right over him. “You can give me the code and password. Do you have an emergency key stashed somewhere? It would be preferable not to have to break open the door—”
“Lieutenant Hawkins,” Mick cut in. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news. This all sounds quite fascinating, almost like the plot of a Hollywood movie. However. First. Rachel Jones no longer works for me. I specifically told the Windham Employment Agency I wanted a man. A man. What did they do? They sent me an incompetent female with a bad attitude and a fucking mouth on her to boot. She didn’t last out the day. I fired her sorry ass and switched to a different employment agency, one that actually listens to a client’s requests. Secondly. With all due respect, unless I am shown a search warrant, I will not be handing the key to my house or my password and code to anybody. If that is all, I’m quite busy right now. Sorry I couldn’t be of more service.” Mick disconnected the call, switched the phone off, then wrapped his other arm around Sarah’s trembling body and held her tight. “I think it’s time to go to New York and meet with your lawyer.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I need to sort this mess out, or I’ll never be free.” Sarah’s voice was subdued, her breath slightly shaky.
“You okay?”
“I’m scared.” She exhaled. “Scared, but I’m going to do it.”
“And that is the mark of true bravery.” He wrapped his arms even tighter around her, his head bowed over hers. “You humble me.” She felt his lips brush her forehead, and then he placed a finger under her chin and nudged it upward, his face visible now. His eyes were determined. “I’m coming with you, Sarah.” His voice was gentle but firm. “No way I’m letting you face this alone.”
37
Sarah handed her boarding pass and ID to the flight attendant at the gate. The attendant scanned her boarding pass, his eyes flicking to her ID and back to her face, and gave her a cursory smile. “Thank you, Ms. Jones,” he said as he handed her ID and boarding pass back. “Have a good flight.”
Sarah walked past slow and steady, busying herself with tucking her fake ID back into the zipper compartment of her purse. “Thank you, Mr. Talford,” she heard the attendant say to Mick. “Have a good flight.” A moment later she felt Mick’s solid, strong presence beside her, safe and comforting. This is how a relationship should be, she thought, and she flashed to her parents again. They were always there for each other, too, a united front. And for a moment the longing, the pain of their absence, rose to the forefront.
“What are you thinking about?” Mick’s voice murmured. “You look sad.”
Sarah turned and looked up at his face, a face that had somehow in the last two weeks become so familiar and dear to her. “I was thinking of my parents,” she said. “And how much they would have loved you.”
A puff of air escaped Mick’s lips as a shadow crossed his face. “I can say with certainty your parents wouldn’t have ‘loved’ me. If anything, they would have run screaming in justified terror and locked you in a gilded tower for a good forty-five years.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “My dad was an excellent judge of character. He. Would. Have. Loved. You.” Mick probably would have argued some more, but they had arrived at the door of the plane.
The stewardess glanced at their boarding passes. “2A and 2C. Welcome aboard.” She gestured with her hand. “Straight ahead and to the left.”
They settled into their seats. The steward double-checked their names, handed out menus, and offered a choice of champagne, orange juice and/or mineral water before takeoff.
“Orange juice for me, please,” Sarah said.
“Same. And would it be possible to get some of those warmed nuts?”
“We generally distribute those after takeoff. However, I’ll check and see if we can make an exception, Mr. Talford.”
“It would be greatly appreciated. We’re ravenous.”
The steward nodded regally. “Consider it done.” He placed two glasses of cold orange juice between them and disappeared into the galley with his silver tray. He was back a moment later with two generous servings of warmed mixed nuts and a saucer with two warmed chocolate chip cookies on it. “Enjoy,” he said before straightening and moving on to greet the other passengers in first class.
“Well played, Mr. Talford,” Sarah said as she dug hungrily into the salty warm nuts. She was happy to see that there were no peanuts, just plump cashews, perfectly roasted almonds, pecans, and only one oily Brazil nut, which she ate around.
Mick tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. “I aim to please, Ms. Rainsford,” he drawled. His gruff baritone caused a warmth to surge low in her abdomen and a plump wanting feeling in her breasts.
“Thanks for arranging a cat sitter for Charlie as well.”
He patted her hand. “Don’t worry.” The man had an uncanny ability to read her mind. “Harmony is always rescuing some stray or another. She’ll get the key to my place from Pete and will swing by after work to pick up your furry monster.”
* * *
* * *
Harmony was wending her ancient Toyota Corolla up Mulholland Drive. She squinted through her windshield, trying to read house numbers. The approaching headlights were making it difficult to see past the streaks on the glass. She had planned on purchasing some window-washing fluid that morning when she’d gassed up, but by the time she remembered, she’d already cashed out and was running late. “Eleven forty-eight . . . Eleven fifty . . .” Harmony’s cell phone service was spotty in the canyon, so she wasn’t able to rely on Google Maps for navigation. This was not how she’d planned to spend her evening. To say she was not pleased was an understatement. She’d had to cancel a Tinder date with a guy named Scott. Had seemed promising. Super cute. Nice body, good haircut. At least that’s how he looked in his photos. His Facebook page was full of photos of colleagues from the investment firm he worked at, and family and friends. But now that possibility was blown to hell. When she’d called to see if he would mind rescheduling for another night, he’d gotten pissed, accused her of blowing him off. Started to lecture her on “manners” and “etiquette.” She’d hung up. The guy was a pompous dickhead,
but still.
Harmony’s hands felt slick on the steering wheel. “Why does Mick have to live up this stupid canyon?” she muttered. There was the dark body of a car looming ahead. She tapped her brakes so the asshole tailgating her wouldn’t slam into her trunk as she slowed down and squeezed past the abandoned vehicle on the shoulder of the road. What kind of jerk leaves their vehicle with the body encroaching on the lane? And on the heels of that thought came another. Must have run out of gas. Didn’t have a choice. She suppressed a shiver and glanced down at her fuel gauge. She still had a third of a tank. Thank goodness. Harmony lived in horror of running out of gas. Had happened to her once driving home from a set in East LA. Scared the shit out of her. And ever since then she was diligent about not letting her tank get low.
She rounded the bend, and there were the granite pillars and wrought iron gates with the curlicue design Paul had described to her. Discreetly embedded in one of the pillars and lit with a lantern was the house number she’d been looking for. With a sigh of relief, she swung her car into Mick Talford’s driveway, the tailgating car roaring past, blasting its horn, as Harmony stopped before the elegant gates. Even with night having fallen, she could see that it was a beautiful property, tucked away and securely positioned behind a wall of hedges. She unrolled her window, punched the code into the keypad, then hit #, and the gates slowly swung open.
She drove past the gates and down the lushly landscaped driveway toward the sumptuous Spanish villa, which looked to have been built in the 1930s. She snorted. God forbid Mick settles for anything but the best. But as quickly as the thought arose, slightly acrid and bitter, she stuffed it down. “The man works like a dog,” she murmured. “Deserves a beautiful place.” And what about you? You work hard. She did. Damned hard. And what did she have to show for it? A furnished studio apartment with a Murphy bed and a kitchen the size of a small closet. Where’s your mansion?
She pulled up in front of Mick’s house and looked at her notes. The cat, Charlie, was in the apartment over the garage. Harmony exited her car and stretched the kinks out of her limbs. She hated driving in LA, dealing with the congestion, the crowded freeways, the smog. But driving the winding canyon roads was the worst, especially at night. The streets were badly lit, with hairpin turns that if you missed would send you over a ravine, plunging to your death. People drove way faster than was safe, arrogant assholes in their fancy cars, tailgating too close, revving their motors.
As Harmony crossed the circular drive, she noticed through the darkened living room window of Mick’s house, the lit pool, a shimmering blue that beckoned her like a monsoon rain after a drought. And why not? she thought, veering to the left, taking the flagstone path past the honeysuckle shrub whose delicate sweet fragrance had her plucking a tiny flower and tasting the droplet of nectar at the base. She rounded the side of the house, trailing her fingers along the glorious magenta bougainvillea that climbed the interior garden wall, feeling pleased with her decision but a little guilty, too. No one is here, so if I take a quick dip, who does it hurt? She stepped past the dark bark of a jacaranda tree, its branches bedecked with pale-purple blossoms, and out into the back garden. Fairy lights hung from the branches. There were garden lights discreetly placed among the flora and fauna, and beyond that was the pool, glimmering under the stars, steam rising in the cool night air. She twirled, arms outstretched, taking in the beauty and serenity of the garden. This was what she’d imagined when she’d packed up her car in Wisconsin and headed to LA to make her fortune, become rich and famous. Ha. And just like that the jubilation, the magical sheen of the adventure vanished. The sudden weight of reality had her arms dropping to her sides, and her eyes felt hot. Fuck it, she thought thrusting her chin out. I drove all the way up here, canceled my date. At the very least, I’m gonna swim in that goddamned pool.
* * *
* * *
Kevin watched, hidden deep in the shadows of Mick Talford’s living room, as the voluptuous strawberry blonde with the tight skirt and full lips stepped into the light, twirled once, twice, paused, seeming lost for a second, and then her shoulders squared and she marched across the back garden. An almost angry determination was present in every footstep. She shed her clothes piece by piece until finally, at the pool’s edge, she discarded her bra, her thong, and dove into the water.
When the headlights of her car had flashed across the window, briefly lighting the interior of the darkened living room, Kevin’s adrenaline had spiked into high alert. The “state-of-the-art” alarm system had been ridiculously simple to disarm, but perhaps he’d underestimated and there was a secondary silent one with a different panel. He’d flattened himself against the wall and watched through the glass as the flare of headlights swiveled, switched off, and the body of the vehicle was suddenly visible. Luckily, the car had been a civilian clunker, which had ruled out police, armed security guards, and the director. Kevin had surmised it was staff. He hadn’t split on the off chance it was Sarah, because when Talford said he’d fired her, something in his voice didn’t ring true. Niggled at him. So much so that Kevin had followed his hunch and had swung by Talford’s residence to take a look around.
Once the woman had exited the car, it was immediately clear she wasn’t Sarah. Hairstyle, clothes, those things could be changed, but the body type was wrong. Kevin had experienced a moment of doubt. Had his hunch been wrong? Was she the new assistant? The cook? A girlfriend? Kevin waited to see which door she would head toward so he could slip out the other, but she hadn’t approached either. She’d disappeared around the side of the house. A moment later she’d reappeared in the garden. And once again the chess pieces had shifted in his favor. Instead of exiting the house and furtively making his way back to the vehicle he’d left on the side of the road. Kevin had waited. He’d watched. He’d made plans.
Flashlight in hand, with the power switched off, Kevin slipped out the kitchen door and silently made his way to the pool, keeping his eyes fixed on the prize. And a tasty prize she was, too. As the woman swam, the defiant anger she had entered the water with seemed to dissipate, and a languorous enjoyment of the water and the luxurious surroundings appeared to take over. Perfect. That she was naked and would rocket from a totally relaxed state to one of high anxiety would make his entrance and his interrogation all the more pleasurable.
It was time to make his move and find out who she was, and more importantly, what could she tell him about Sarah? He stepped out from the shadows, flicked his flashlight on, the beam trained on the back of her head. “Security,” he yelled. “Get out of the pool.” She spun around, eyes wide, pupils dilating in fear, which gave him an instant boner. Her hands rose in an ineffectual attempt to cover her muff and her porn-star-sized jugs. Had to bite down hard on his back teeth to keep from laughing. Dumb bitch. He’d already looked at the goods and planned on having an even closer inspection before the night was done. “Move!” he bellowed, drawing his gun, making sure the light spilling from the lanterns glinted along the barrel. Visuals were always helpful in establishing control over a victim. “Hands in the air. Get out of the pool. Now.”
Her eyes got even wider. Her hands shot in the air so fast, it was almost comical. She scrambled out of the pool, small whimpering sounds escaping from her lips, which made him harder than hell. “State your name and your business,” he barked.
“My name’s . . . Harmony. Harmony Albright.” The words half-spoken, half-sobbed. “I work . . . for Paul Peterson.” Like that meant dickshit to him. “He’s Mick’s partner. Mick Talford. He asked me to pick up a cat.”
“His cat?”
“No. It belongs to his new assistant, but they needed to fly to New York.”
“New York?” His senses sharpened.
“Yes. An unexpected trip. Paul’s pissed off because there’s a lot to do. They’ve got a new movie coming out and I’m . . . I said I’d take care of the cat.”
“By swimming?” He leisurely
let the beam of his flashlight travel the length of her body. “Nude? You have an odd idea of cat-sitting.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Please don’t tell him. I can’t afford to get fired—”
He snapped the flashlight up. The bright beam was trained on her face, which was drained of color underneath her California tan. “And his assistant’s name? The one he’s flying to New York with?”
Tears streamed down her face as words stumbled past quivering lips. “I . . . I don’t remember . . .”
“That’s too bad.” He cocked the gun.
“Wait a minute . . . Wait a minute . . . It’s, uh . . . It’s right on the edge of my—Rachel! Her name is Rachel. They needed to talk to some lawyer out there. I don’t remember her last name.”
“Rachel.” Eureka. He smiled. Glanced down at his watch. So the two-faced bitch was going to see Clarke to try to cut me free. Kevin shook his head. Over my dead body. He made a few quick calculations. If he moved fast enough, he could catch a red-eye to JFK. “Thank you, Harmony. You’ve been most helpful.”