by A. V. Geiger
Contraceptive implant ranked at the top, followed closely by vasectomy.
Eric drummed his fingers against the mattress. “Thanks, Wikipedia. Way to set the mood.”
Tessa ignored him, scrolling down.
IUD…
Cervical cap with spermicide…
Oral contraceptive pill…
Finally, she reached the row she was seeking: male latex condom.
“See?” Tessa said, looking up from the screen.
“What? It says ninety-eight percent effective.”
“Ninety-eight percent with perfect use,” she corrected. “Eighty-two percent with typical use.”
Eric let out a tiny sigh. “What exactly is typical use?”
Tessa flicked the phone back off and glanced again at the condom packet in his hand. “You know how to use it, right?”
“I took sex ed, Tessa.”
“Just try not to be typical, OK?”
He grinned in response, and another pulse of heat flashed through her. Tessa looked down, suddenly breathless, as she pressed a hand beneath her rib cage. “Tessa, look at me,” he said. He tipped her chin up, and his eyes drilled into hers. “I’m Eric Thorn,” he whispered. “There’s nothing typical about me.”
In another mood, she might have laughed. But not tonight. Not with the way he looked at her—like he might devour her whole. All the air went out of the room. Tessa twined her fingers through his hair and pulled his lips down to her again.
At last her senses focused, like a radio dial tuning in to the right station. She shut out all the noise and listened only to the music. The constant chorus of anxious thoughts faded from her mind. She no longer heard the faint shouts of the people partying in the lobby, or the whir of the elevator as it rose and fell. She lost herself to everything but the feel of Eric’s kisses…the elegant movements of his body…the scorching fire in his eyes.
And so she didn’t hear it—the faint sounds that her ears would have registered on any other day:
Low voices in the corridor.
The scrape of a turning doorknob.
The swish of creeping footfalls across the hotel carpeting.
The barely audible click, click, click of a camera shutter outside the bedroom door.
THE INTERROGATION
(FRAGMENT 5)
May 1, 2017, 1:39 p.m.
Case #75932.394.1
OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW
—START PAGE 3—
INVESTIGATOR: Mr. Gilroy, going back to these photographs you took in Mexico—
GILROY: Are we almost done? I don’t mean to cut you off, but my phone’s been vibrating for half an hour straight.
INVESTIGATOR: I’ll try to keep it brief. As I mentioned, these pictures were turned over to us in the course of our investigation by a freelance photographer. The same individual recently sold a different photo to the Daily Mail, depicting Eric Thorn and an unidentified woman engaged in an intimate act. Are you familiar with this image?
GILROY: Pretty sure the whole world is familiar with that image.
INVESTIGATOR: For the record, can you confirm that the man in this picture is Eric Thorn?
GILROY: Yes. Confirmed. That’s my client’s naked left butt cheek that trended number one on Twitter last week.
INVESTIGATOR: The girl has her face turned away from the camera. Can you identify her?
GILROY: Let’s not beat around the bush, Detective. You and I both know that’s Tessa Hart.
INVESTIGATOR: But this wasn’t one of the photos you took in Mexico. Is that correct?
GILROY: Of course not. I’m not some kind of perv.
INVESTIGATOR: Any idea who took it, or how the Daily Mail gained access?
GILROY: Yes and no. I did some digging. Eric had a fit when he saw it. He asked me to get to the bottom of it.
INVESTIGATOR: And what did you discover?
GILROY: Best I could tell, the photos leaked from a fan-run Twitter account. One of the oldest and biggest. Goes by the name of MET.
INVESTIGATOR: This one here?
GILROY: You already know about it? Nice work, Detective. Color me impressed.
INVESTIGATOR: Let the record show that we’re looking at a Twitter account with username @MrsEricThorn, or MET for short.
GILROY: You ever consider moonlighting in private security? Because I could use a sharp guy like you.
INVESTIGATOR: Mr. Gilroy, please—
GILROY: I’d make it worth your while, if you catch my meaning. And you can call me Maury, by the way.
INVESTIGATOR: Mr. Gilroy, if I may continue?
GILROY: Please.
INVESTIGATOR: When exactly did you inform Eric Thorn that the MET Twitter account was the source of the photo?
GILROY: A couple days after the story popped up in the Mail.
INVESTIGATOR: Would you say that conversation took place before or after the evening of April 26?
GILROY: Four days ago? Why? What happened on April 26?
INVESTIGATOR: Please answer to the best of your recollection, Mr. Gilroy.
GILROY: Let me check my calendar… [pause] Probably told him on the 26th. Sometime that day.
INVESTIGATOR: And who else knew that this Twitter account was involved?
GILROY: As far as I know, just Eric and me. And maybe whoever bought the photos at the Mail.
INVESTIGATOR: What about Tessa Hart. Was she aware?
GILROY: I didn’t discuss it with her.
INVESTIGATOR: Could Eric have told her?
GILROY: I wouldn’t know.
INVESTIGATOR: But Tessa Hart does have access to the Twitter account with username @EricThorn. Correct?
GILROY: Eric’s official account? Sure. She helps run it. We’ve been over this.
INVESTIGATOR: Who else had access to that account, other than Mr. Thorn and Ms. Hart?
GILROY: Just the two of them.
INVESTIGATOR: You didn’t have access yourself?
GILROY: Nah, Eric doesn’t trust anyone with that. He was always paranoid about people tweeting for him, putting words in his mouth. I try to respect his boundaries.
INVESTIGATOR: He didn’t trust you with his Twitter account, but he trusted Tessa Hart?
GILROY: Yeah, well, what can I say? True love.
INVESTIGATOR: Mr. Gilroy, is it true that Eric Thorn came to Los Angeles this past week to shoot a music video?
GILROY: Yes, that’s true.
INVESTIGATOR: And were you aware of Mr. Thorn or anyone on his team recruiting fans to serve as extras in the video?
GILROY: Fans? No, we use a casting agency for extras. Never fans. That’s a security nightmare waiting to happen.
INVESTIGATOR: So you had no knowledge of the direct messages that passed on April 26 between Eric Thorn’s Twitter account and the account with username @MrsEricThorn?
GILROY: Oh no. Don’t tell me. What did Tessa do now?
INVESTIGATOR: Why don’t I show you the thread? Let the record show that Mr. Gilroy is looking at a transcript of a DM conversation time stamped April 26, 2017, at 11:16 p.m. I’m going to read the first message into the record. The message states, and I quote: “Hi, my name is Tessa Hart. I’m a publicist on Eric’s team. Eric will be shooting a music video on May 2, and we need some lucky fans to act as extras in the video. Congratulations on being selected!”
GILROY: Goddammit.
INVESTIGATOR: Mr. Gilroy?
GILROY: I swear, it’s like babysitting a bunch of toddlers sometimes. I should quit the music business and open up a day care center.
INVESTIGATOR: I take it you were not aware of this message thread until now?
GILROY: No, I don’t know what to tell you. This is the first I’m seeing it.
INVESTIGATOR: It’s your opinion that the messages were sent by Tessa Hart?
GILROY: That’s what it says, isn’t it?
INVESTIGATOR: And the only other person who might have had access to send it was Eric Thorn himself. Is that correct?
GILROY: I don’t want you talking to Eric without a lawyer present. Is that understood? I’m not joking around now. I don’t know what kind of mess Tessa just stepped in, but—
INVESTIGATOR: Sir, no one’s under arrest. Our investigation is still in preliminary stages.
GILROY: Where is Eric, anyway? Is he here?
INVESTIGATOR: Mr. Gilroy, please take your seat.
GILROY: Shit. Shit. Double shit.
INVESTIGATOR: Mr. Gilroy—
GILROY: Am I free to go?
INVESTIGATOR: Of course. But we may need to ask you more questions at a later date.
GILROY: If you want to ask me more questions, Detective, then you’re gonna have to answer a few of mine.
INVESTIGATOR: Such as?
GILROY: Let’s start at the beginning. Why don’t you tell me who’s dead?
14
PISTOLS AT DAWN
April 30, 2017
Blair swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. The sweat kept running into his eyes, distracting his attention from his task. That was one thing he missed about the coffee shop back home in New Orleans. Air-conditioning. How was he supposed to concentrate in this heat?
He turned toward the narrow casement window and contemplated raising the sash. A little cross breeze would surely help cool down the stifling atmosphere. But Blair didn’t move to open it. He had the blinds shut tight, and he didn’t dare adjust them. That was the whole reason he’d left his coffee-shop days behind.
Privacy.
He couldn’t afford any prying eyes. All he needed was for some passerby to catch a glimpse through the window at one of the images on his laptop screen…
He couldn’t risk it. Not now, with the object so close at hand.
Another rivulet ran down his temple. Blair lifted the hem of his dank T-shirt and used it to mop his brow.
Soon, he thought. Eric Thorn had finally returned to LA to shoot some new music video. Hooray for Hollywood. Blair let out a coarse laugh. Not that he’d ever been a huge fan of moving pictures, but he did have his own personal video project in the works.
All his patience and dedication would pay off. Where Eric went, Tessa followed. He knew that she was close. He could sense it. He could taste it, like the tang of his own sweat… And she had basically invited him to join her. That was the best part.
Not that he was surprised. He knew how girls like Tessa operated. Always playing games. Playing hard to get. Going ghost and popping up again when you least expected. But it only meant they wanted to be chased.
And Blair? He’d always enjoyed a friendly game of hide-and-seek. He was more than happy to oblige.
• • •
“Cut! Wardrobe, can somebody deal with Eric’s cravat situation, please?”
Eric glanced across the studio backlot at the video director. Cravat? What the hell was a cravat? His head wardrobe assistant popped up beside him and reached for the silk neck scarf tied in a knot at his throat. Eric lifted his head to give her better access, squinting against the glare of the hazy LA sunshine.
It was a new experience for him, shooting a music video fully dressed. He normally spent his entire time on set shirtless. Pant-less half the time as well. Eric chafed under the stiff layers of silk brocade that encased his shoulders and strained against his thighs. He’d never shot a period piece before. He’d thought Katrina was pranking him this morning when he saw his costume laid out: top coat, waistcoat, and knee breeches, all in matching pale-blue silk. And tights? Did they really expect him to wear tights?
“Trust me,” Katrina had reassured him. “Your calves are gonna look amazing in those things. Haven’t you seen Hamilton?”
Eric wasn’t so sure. Would the fangirls really go for this look? He wondered what Tessa would say when she saw him all decked out. She should have been here by now. He’d left her hiding out in his private trailer, but she’d promised him that she would come and watch the shoot this afternoon. Where was she?
“C’mon, people. We’re losing daylight. Let’s move!”
Katrina tightened the tie at his throat with a jerk, and Eric let out a choked noise. He lifted a hand to loosen the knot, but she swatted it away. “It needs to be tight,” she told him, as she carefully arranged the frills of white fabric on his chest.
“I can’t breathe,” Eric muttered hoarsely.
“You’ll get used to it. Hold out your arms.”
Eric forced himself to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Why did he have this unshakable sense that Katrina might accidentally strangle him with his own necktie? It was probably the lip piercing, he thought. It gave off a hard edge—and a subtle hint of sadism.
At least she wasn’t waving scissors around his junk this time.
Eric extended his arms, and she took a step back to admire her handiwork. Another girl went over his thighs with a lint roller. A third one showed up and placed an object in his outstretched hand. Eric’s fingers closed over the cold, hard metal body of a gun.
They were shooting the climactic action sequence today. “Pistols at Dawn” was the title of the song. He’d scribbled out the lyrics on the plane ride home from Las Vegas last month. Everyone loved it…except Tessa. She was the only person alive that understood who those lyrics were about, and he could tell she wasn’t a fan.
You’re going down.
Let’s get it on.
I’ll lay you out.
Pistols at dawnnnnnnnnnnnnn.
Bang! Bang! You’re gone!
Oh well. They couldn’t all be love songs. The label wanted a harder sound, and the music video was a no-brainer: a duel to the death to preserve a fair maiden’s honor. He’d besmirch her honor tomorrow when they shot the love scene. After all, he couldn’t spend the entire video fully dressed…
A heavy palm clapped him on the rear end, and Eric spun around. Katrina stood behind him holding out her hand. “Cell phone,” she said.
“Seriously?”
She gestured toward the back pocket of his breeches. “You can see the outline,” she explained. “It’s throwing off the silhouette.” She wiggled her fingers impatiently. “Give it here. I’ll leave it on your makeup chair.”
Eric fished the phone out of his pocket. He would have protested, but the director was already breathing down his neck…and frankly, Katrina made his balls shrivel with the way she looked at him sometimes. He handed his cell phone over, glancing at the lock screen one last time.
4:15 p.m.
No new notifications.
Would Tessa come? She’d been awfully quiet when she read over the video treatment. But then again, Tessa had been awfully quiet in general lately. Alternately antsy and withdrawn. She was like a little turtle, the way she hid herself away inside that hard, external shell. He couldn’t seem to draw her out, no matter how he tried. She’d been that way for a week now. Ever since the story ran in the Daily Mail.
Eric’s grip tightened around the handle of the pistol. Just a prop, of course. This gun only shot blanks, and it was a lucky thing for the person responsible for those pictures. The real duel to the death would come later, and Eric wouldn’t hesitate to use his own bare hands.
It had to be Blair. He and Tessa both knew it the moment they saw the photos, even though neither one of them had breathed her stalker’s name aloud. They both recognized the scene: a suite at the MGM Grand. Normally, all the hotel rooms ran together in his head, but that particular night in that particular room…that one he would always remember.
That should have been a perfect memory. A private memory. Not splashed across the tabloids for all his fans to see.
Enough was enough. Eric knew what he needed to do. It was easy, with Maury’s media connections, to identify the source of the photos. Eric had been thrown for a moment when his manager showed him the account.
MET @MrsEricThorn
FOLLOWING FOLLOWERS
78 1.1M
Eric still didn’t know what to make of it. Was it possible that B
lair had been behind the MET account all along? Seemed hard to believe. Whoever ran that account had been fangirling over him for years. She might be stalkerish as hell, but she was an Eric Thorn stalker, not a Tessa Hart stalker. No, Blair was either working with MET, or he’d somehow hacked the account. That was the only explanation that made sense.
It didn’t matter. He didn’t particularly care who MET was, as long as she could lead him to Blair.
Tessa had been sleeping over the other night when Eric hatched his plan. That was one good thing about the Daily Mail story, he supposed. No need for the two of them to skulk around anymore. The secret was out. Tessa’s face was obscured in the photo, but everyone on his crew could clearly recognize her. The two of them could spend every night together now, and no one would blink an eye.
Not that he and Tessa were having much fun lately. She was a ball of nerves, and Eric didn’t blame her. He’d worried after the photo leaked that she would go into hiding, run back home to her mother’s house in Texas.
The thought of losing her made Eric’s throat constrict. He needed to act. As long as Blair Duncan existed, it was only a matter of time before Tessa ran away. If not to her mother, then she’d find somewhere else to hide. Somewhere Blair couldn’t find her, and Eric might not be able to find her either. He couldn’t imagine the loneliness of this hollow pop-star existence without Tessa in his life.
The same worries had been turning over and over inside his head the other night, with Tessa snoring softly at his side. She’d finally fallen asleep after a week of relentless insomnia—and an inexplicable refusal to take her anxiety medication for relief. She had her phone beside her on the pillow, flashing with incoming notifications, and Eric had pocketed it so it wouldn’t wake her.
“Places, everyone! Let’s move!”
Eric trotted across the asphalt to his mark. He waited for his cue, with his pistol lowered at his side. His forearm quivered inside its silken sleeve as he gripped the gun. Soon, it would be time for action.
But the sun shifted behind a cloud. The video director issued a muffled curse at the change in light. Eric’s arm relaxed as his shadow on the pavement disappeared.