by L. T. Marie
She fought reaching for the pain medication again, even though she desperately wanted another pill. After the first few days she’d tried to wean herself off the drugs unless the pain reduced her to tears. The meds left her groggy and constipated, but the doctors told her not to be a hero and to take the prescription if needed.
Pushing slowly out of bed, she adjusted the crutches underneath her arms, the change in altitude sending a quick surge of blood down to her injured limb. Immediately she began to have second thoughts regarding the “tough it out” mentality, but instead of reaching for the pill bottle, she gingerly made her way to the bathroom until she was able to balance against the sink.
The cold water was a poor substitute for the cup of coffee that was her normal breakfast staple, but her long-time family physician had warned her away from caffeine, saying it could prolong the side effects of the medication. The tongue-lashing she gave him made him laugh but prompted him to give her one of his stern talks, with the promise that she’d be able to indulge in her obsession once the headaches and nausea subsided.
“Well, he didn’t say I couldn’t. He just emphasized I shouldn’t,” she mumbled right before another wave of nausea hit. White-knuckling the sink, she pitched forward as her stomach rebelled, producing another round of dry heaves. Maybe skipping dinner last night hadn’t been one of her better decisions, since taking pain medication on an empty stomach wasn’t advisable.
Tracing the fading bruise above her left eye and the multiple cuts surrounding her right one, she grunted in disgust. The discoloration and scarring would take weeks to heal and probably require plastic surgery. What made the injuries worse was Tory’s overreaction when Jo had woken up inside the hospital. At first, she couldn’t decide what had upset Tory more, the injuries to her face or the fact that she’d been injured in Tory’s place. Whatever her motivation, it was because of Tory’s career that she had become a victim of her sister’s life. Again.
Jo was tired. Tired of being Tory West’s sister, tired of living in Tory’s shadow, but most of all, tired of the things she couldn’t change. Being a twin had always made her feel special. There’d been a time when all she’d had to do was look at Tory and feel the connection that only two people with the same DNA could share. That connection had offered her comfort for most of her life, made her feel safe, loved. But over the last few years, she had experienced a strange detachment, an indifference that angered her and made it impossible to reason with her sister.
Tory’s career hadn’t started the rift in their relationship, but it certainly hadn’t helped repair the gap that had slowly developed from the time they were teenagers. After suffering the loss of both their parents, they’d managed to stick by each other while Tory struggled early on in her career. Jo had even accepted Tory’s offer to be her manager and publicity double when the group’s popularity skyrocketed, in hopes that the time together could help them work out some of their differences.
At first, Jo’s fresh ideas along with Total Femme’s unique chemistry proved to be an award-winning combination. She’d traveled everywhere with Tory—filled in for her when needed—put her life on hold, leaving little time to develop relationships outside of her sister’s career. This time, though, she vowed to put her own needs first. As she lay in bed with nothing to do but think, she wondered when she’d forgotten about her own life. When had her life become completely overshadowed by Tory’s?
Their last argument had been the night of the accident, and the disagreement was always the same. Tory took her superstar role for granted and believed she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. No matter how hard Jo tried to keep Tory on schedule, Tory was always late for guest appearances or would book something without telling her, which meant Jo would have to fill in for her elsewhere. When the last push-pull ended in a stalemate, she had screamed a few harsh words and told Tory she’d resign as her manager the next day.
Besides their tenuous working relationship, Tory also couldn’t seem to understand that Jo wanted her own life—she couldn’t get past her own money and fame to recognize Jo’s needs. But what made Jo the angriest she’d ever been was waking up in the hospital to discover Tory had already replaced her with popular celebrity manager Marilyn Stockard.
Yes, Jo wanted out. But it should have been her decision. Once again, Tory had made a choice for her without so much as a discussion. She’d told Jo that she appreciated everything she’d done for her career and knew that Jo’s knack for contract negotiations, dealing with publicists, and taking on the tour promoters had been a great asset to her at the beginning. She’d also said that she was tired of the fighting and thought this was for the best. Even through the medication and the pain, Jo was lucid enough to see past Tory’s bullshit excuse and comprehend that all she’d ever really been was a tool. That realization hurt in a way she hadn’t expected.
But blaming it all on Tory wouldn’t be fair. She’d agreed to help her sister further her career with the promise from Tory that their relationship would never suffer because of it. All she’d ever wanted was to be connected to her twin and go back to the way things were before their parents died, before Tory had become famous. But it was too late. Not only could they not go back, but the last thing to keep her connected to Tory—her looks—were shattered like the car windows that had exploded upon impact, scarring Jo’s face to the point that she and Tory were no longer identical, no matter how much makeup they used.
Tory had fussed over Jo’s care ever since, evidently trying to mend fences and making sure she received the royal treatment. But Jo didn’t want Tory’s guilt and pity. All she wanted was her sister’s love, but after everything that happened, they had nothing more between them except genetics.
The rapping of knuckles on wood startled her. She wasn’t in the mood for company and was about to tell whoever it was to go away when Tory pushed into the room.
“Jo, you know you’re not supposed to be out of bed,” Tory said. She guided Jo back to the bed, pulling back the covers for her, and sat next to Jo once she was settled. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than yesterday,” Jo said wearily.
“Are you sure? You know I can get Doctor Chase over here if you—”
“Cut the shit, Tory. What do you want?” Jo’s words were harsh, but she wasn’t in the mood for the pity party. Besides, Tory’s refusal to look her in the eye meant she wasn’t there just to check on her. She’d done something Jo wouldn’t like.
“How do you know I want something?” Tory said, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle on the blanket.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Jo laughed even though her ribs didn’t approve. “You’re my twin, for Christ’s sake! I can tell when you have to go to the bathroom before you do.”
“My, aren’t we feisty this morning.”
“Every morning.” If you ever paid attention to me maybe you’d notice. “By the way, you suck at changing the subject. Tell me why you’re here.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely, I’ve hired a new bodyguard for you. She arrives first thing tomorrow.”
“What!” Jo vaulted to a sitting position, the motion sending a shooting pain through her belly and leg. “Ow…damn. I told you, no fucking bodyguard.”
“Jesus, Jo,” Tory said, placing her arms on Jo’s shoulders. “Stop moving before you hurt yourself more.”
“Let me go!” Jo batted her hands away.
“You’re so stubborn! Why won’t you let me help you?”
“Don’t you think you’ve helped enough?” Jo said in a deadly tone. Venom would be dripping from her fangs if she’d had them. How dare Tory go against her wishes? “I don’t want a new bodyguard, and I definitely didn’t want that stick-in-the-mud you had following me around the house the other day. So whoever is coming over here tomorrow can go to hell, and you can join her!”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Tory said. “But what’s done is done. I only want you safe, even if you’re too stubborn to
realize it.”
“I told you—”
“Yes, I heard you the first time. But you didn’t say no to having a bodyguard. You just said it had to be a woman. A shadow, remember? Since the attack, the girls and I are expanding our protection as well. Come on, what’s the big deal? When you used to go out pretending to be me, you had three or four at a time. One won’t put a kink in your plans.”
“Plans…humph.” Like that’ll happen anytime soon. “I look like fucking Frankenstein. I want a woman to run to me, not away from me. And I sure as hell don’t have any plans. So a bodyguard isn’t necessary, since I can’t even leave the house.”
Tory laughed. “That’s the Jo I know.”
She wanted to tell Tory she didn’t know shit, but her headache was bordering on brain-tumor status and her eyes felt like they might explode from their sockets. “What time is she coming?”
“In the morning. Please, Jo,” Tory said, linking fingers with her. “You can’t blame me for wanting this. How can you possibly expect me to leave you unprotected after the accident, especially while you’re injured? What if this psycho who hit you broke in here and hurt you again? If something happened to you…”
The sound of anguish in Tory’s voice surprised Jo. Tory had never been an emotional person and most of the time was as coolly isolated as a chunk of iceberg floating in a remote sea. Usually this behavior pissed Jo off, but she could always deal with Tory’s selfishness because she’d been doing it all her life. However, this new caring and sensitive side left Jo at a loss for words. Instinctively, she squeezed Tory’s hand.
“Sis, I’m sorry for yelling at you but don’t you see? Even though this guy came after me, it was only a one-time thing. Those letters are about you, not me. All I am is a statement.”
“Don’t say that—”
“Stop! I don’t want to hear how we can’t prove it was him. I know in my heart it was this guy, and you know it too. The only people who don’t know it are the authorities and your fans, because you refuse to acknowledge you have a problem. I understand you don’t want your fans to find out it wasn’t you in the limo that night, and I agree that bringing the authorities in will disrupt our lives. Honestly, though, after reading the rags, I can’t believe they haven’t figured it out yet or started running conspiracy theories.”
“You’re not the only one,” Tory mumbled.
“So you see, I’m glad you’re being protected. I truly am. But why can’t you understand I don’t want this life anymore and that I never wanted to be under the constant scrutiny of you and these watchdogs? In a few months, when I’m healed, I’m gonna get out of here and do something with my life.”
“I do understand,” Tory said sadly. “But for those few months, can you at least accept the protection? Please. It would really make me feel better.”
Of course it would. But do you even care about what it’s likely going to do to me? Jo sighed and closed her eyes, exhausted. “Whatever. But if I don’t like her, I have the right to pick someone else. You’re done making decisions for me. Got it?”
“Understood.” Tory kissed Jo’s forehead. “Now try and get some rest.”
“Wait!” Jo grabbed Tory’s hand. “Who is she?”
“Someone who comes highly recommended. Sleep now. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Fine. But I want to see her resume before I meet her.”
“Resume?”
“Yes…resume.” Jo rolled her eyes in exasperation. Did Tory really think she’d allow her to hire someone she knew nothing about?
“I didn’t think to ask for one.”
There’s a big surprise. “It’s probably called a jacket, docket, portfolio, or whatever those military goons you use regularly call it, where I get to see details regarding this woman’s life and her qualifications.”
Tory raised an eyebrow. “How did you know she’s military?”
“Duh! Tell me Gary had nothing to do with this?”
“I wouldn’t even try.” Tory smiled. “Can I get you something while I’m out?”
Yeah, a one-way ticket out of here. “No…nothing. Thanks.”
“I’ll be home in a few hours. I love you.” Tory closed the door and the house was silent once again.
Shutting her eyes, Jo inhaled deeply in an attempt to regain her equilibrium. She had no idea who this new bodyguard was, but if she had anything to say about it, the woman wouldn’t last a week.
Chapter Three
“Surgical gloves? Why would you need those, you pathetic idiot?” the Angry Man asked with a sneer.
“I don’t know,” the man screamed. “I don’t remember.”
It had taken him hours to cut out letters from dozens of periodicals. He quickly assembled them until his message was clear. Fingerprints weren’t a worry. He laughed at his brilliance while his tormentor, whom he always only thought of as the Angry Man, berated him for his stupidity.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered as he dabbed the adhesive of the white standard-sized envelope with a sponge before carefully sealing his thoughts inside.
“You fool! These letters are a waste of time. She doesn’t love you. She doesn’t even know you.”
“Shut up! You’re the fool. Of course she knows who I am. I’ve written her dozens of letters. She knows all my thoughts.”
“Not all of them.”
He turned away, not willing to face his tormentor any longer. “You’re right. Not all of them.”
“So what are you going to do if this pathetic little plan of yours doesn’t work?”
“It will work.”
“That’s what you said every other time, and look where you are now.”
“Shut up!” This time he held a paperweight firmly in his hand.
“Go ahead. Throw it.”
He lowered the weight and winced at the look of sadistic triumph in his tormentor’s black eyes.
“Like I said before, pathetic.”
He ignored the Angry Man, returning to the task at hand. Tory would take him seriously. Otherwise she would pay for disregarding his love for her.
He stared at the picture he’d stolen years ago, remembering the first time he’d seen her, on the arm of another man who hadn’t been worthy. She was the love of his life. Now, every inch of space in his tiny room was covered with pictures of her. Everywhere he looked, he felt her staring into his soul.
His tormentor repeatedly yelled at him, but he ignored the taunts by humming one of his favorite tunes. He smiled as he affixed the stamp. This time she wouldn’t turn him down. This time she would obey his demands or she’d regret it.
Chapter Four
Lee stood on the front porch of the West home patiently waiting for someone to answer the door. She used the time to study the expansive grounds, soaking in every detail of the picturesque estate, from the professionally manicured front yard to the property above and beyond the large home. No surveillance equipment was visible. All the windows on the bottom level of the home were open, the curtains billowing in the morning breeze. The house was completely exposed, which meant that Jolene West was completely exposed. As soon as her meeting with Tory West ended, she would talk to Gary and explain how unhappy she was with whoever was in charge of the piss-poor security details.
The West Estate exemplified the definition of ostentatious. Nestled in the hills of Portola Valley, the twelve-bedroom colonial-style home with its giant stone pillars and large bay windows covered a generous section of the grounds and overlooked a large gorge. The only way onto the property was by entering a security code at the front gate, which Lee knew was useless and more for show than anything. Anyone with a substandard IQ could get through those gates, and since she’d explained up front that it was her way or the highway, by tomorrow she planned to have an armed guard at the gate twenty-four seven.
She had spent the previous evening looking at aerial photos of the grounds as well as blueprints of the West home. According to Gary’s paperwork, Tory had purchased the hou
se a year ago and moved in six months later, after some extensive remodeling. Jolene West’s bedroom was located in the northwest corner of the house on the second floor and, from where Lee was standing, was partially visible from the street. With a long-range lens or a good pair of binoculars someone could see practically anything, if they knew where to look. The incompetence angered her; these were the types of details that would no longer be overlooked.
The sound of a car slowing caught her attention. Focusing on the front gate, she observed someone wearing sunglasses and a hat straining to get a glimpse of the house from the driver’s seat. Suddenly it dawned on her, a guard wouldn’t be enough. The West sisters needed privacy. Fortunately for them, concealment was her specialty.
The car rolled away slowly as she raised her hand to knock again. Her knuckles barely made contact with the freshly painted wood before the door swung open and an athletic-looking brunette in high heels and a French braid admitted Lee with a sweep of her hand.
“You must be Lee. Nice to meet you. I’m Marilyn,” she said, extending her hand.
“Ma’am.”
Lee returned the firm handshake, glancing briefly at the beautiful woman who stood just a few inches shy of her own six feet. The three-inch heels accentuated the long muscular legs below the woman’s short maroon skirt, evidence of many hours of intense bike riding, which substantiated Gary’s profile that Marilyn Stockard had at one time been a semi-pro bike rider, until a devastating knee injury took her out of contention. Now she was Tory West’s manager, the person behind the scenes who made sure every aspect of Tory’s career fell into place.
Lee stepped into the foyer and studied the spacious living room to the left of the large entryway. Unfortunately, the inside of the home appeared to be as inviting as the outside. Jesus, this place is more open than a public park. Privacy shades need to be installed over the windows. That chair near the front window—gone.