The Final Act (#4 Bestselling Spotlight Series)

by JS Taylor

  He shakes his head. “Samantha had several protective brothers. I think one of them must have decided the first payment wasn’t enough.”

  “You think one of Samantha’s brothers went back to your father and demanded more money be paid,” I say, turning over the facts. “But how does that relate to the stalker?”

  Could one of the brothers actually be the stalker? Or an ex-boyfriend? The police did find evidence that the Lipstick Stalker had been profiling James.

  “I don’t know yet,” says James. “My team are finding that out. All I know…” he stops, his hand to his forehead. “My past is still… it’s still hurting people. What I did.”

  He stops talking and covers his eyes with his hand.

  I pull him into my arms and kiss his face.

  “Shhh,” I say. “Even if Samantha’s family are involved. Even if your father is being blackmailed. You’re a good man, James. And we’re going to fix this.”

  He breathes out, as though he’s calming himself. And a tiny weak smile plays on his face.

  “I love you,” he says simply.

  “I love you too.” I tighten my arms around him. “This means we’re free, James. You’ve almost solved the mystery. We’re safe from the stalker. And you and I can attend this premiere as a couple.”

  He manages a stronger smile at this.

  “I feel terrible,” he says, “for my father.”

  “Your father has some amends to make himself,” I say with certainty. “You’ll work it out between you.”

  He looks uncertain, and I force a smile on my face.

  “This is good news,” I decide. “Can we find out which prison guard is being bribed now?”

  “Yes,” says James. “We can match the payment dates, and it shouldn’t take us long. The important thing is that, in the meantime, no more payments can be made. The stalker is locked up, and he can’t bribe his way out.”

  “But someone might have already been paid off in advance,” I say uncertainly.

  James shakes his head. “Payments were made just before you received the text message and the letter. No money has been paid since.”

  “So the stalker is powerless now?” I ask, turning this unfamiliar concept in my head.

  James nods. “With no money coming in, the stalker is just another prison inmate.”

  I put my hand on his arm.

  “You need to talk to your father. At the very least to find out the link with Samantha. It will help the police to find out who the stalker really is.”

  James’s face slips into an anguished expression.

  “Issy. I can’t. Not right now.” He rubs his forehead. “I’ll speak to my father after the premiere. For the time being, we can cut off the source of the stalker’s funds. That’s enough.”

  “But it isn’t,” I insist. “You of all people should know that. You can’t bury this because you’re ashamed of speaking with your father.”

  “I’ve put him through so much,” says James, his expression dark. “I can’t… I can’t bear to face him with another repercussion of my old life.”

  “He’s put you through a lot too,” I insist. “And whatever the reason your father paid that money, he believed he was protecting you. Because he loves you.”

  James looks away. “I’ll think about it,” he says. I can tell instantly he doesn’t plan on talking to his father anytime soon.

  I sigh.

  Welcome to the Berkeley family. One messed up bunch.

  “In any case,” adds James, his eyes suddenly shining, “there are far more important things to worry about.”

  “Oh? Like what?”

  “Like…” James pulls me close. “A certain beautiful young actress can now attend her premiere, without her overprotective boyfriend having a coronary.”

  “Really?” I can’t keep the excitement from my voice.

  James nods. “Yep. Really.”

  I grin at him. “Thank you. You’re sure?”

  James nods. “I’ll still put a lot of extra security on the premiere, you understand. Otherwise I’ll only worry.”

  I beam at him, images of us holding hands on the red carpet flashing through my mind.

  “I can’t wait,” I say, “to see your face when everyone comes out from watching your movie. I am going to be the proudest girl on the planet.”

  James smiles back. “And I can’t wait,” he says, “to see you in the dress I’ve picked out and show the world you’re mine.”

  Chapter 33

  The buzz around Leicester Square is just incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. But then again, I’ve never been to a premiere before.

  For the time being, we’re all holed up across the street in a large hotel suite.

  Kristy and Scarlet are preparing Natalie and I for the red carpet. Camilla has gone out for coffees.

  The cars were overfull on the way here, and so I let Scarlet use my beloved Vespa to get herself to the premiere. And it looks like my generosity has paid off. Scarlet has lost some of her usual grumpiness and is tugging my hair around far less than usual.

  Hmmm. Perhaps I should let Scarlet ride my moped more often.

  “Trust me,” Kristy is saying as she fans make-up around my eyes. “You are going to look spectacular. Just wait until you see the dress James has chosen.”

  My eyebrows rise in surprise, and Kristy straightens my head firmly.

  “James showed you the dress?”

  “Of course,” she says. “I needed to match the make-up.”

  James thinks of everything.

  Kristy makes a final dusting of powder and declares me finished.

  “You next,” she gestures to Natalie.

  There’s a knock on the door, and we look at one another in confusion.

  We’re not expecting anyone.

  Natalie’s face breaks into a knowing grin. “I’ll bet that’s Mr Berkeley,” she grins. “Come to see his favourite actress.”

  But I shake my head. “He’s not seeing me until the premiere,” I say. “He’s chosen the dress, so I want to surprise him with how I look in it.”

  “Oooo,” says Natalie. “Like a bride on her wedding day!”

  They all exchange knowing looks, and I frown at them.

  “Nothing like that,” I reply, shaking my head. “You girls. Honestly.”

  But they have set my mind thinking.

  Marriage. To James. A girl can dream.

  Scarlett moves to open the door, and to my great surprise, Ben Gracey is standing on the other side.

  What’s he doing here?

  Ben looks utterly dejected, and his usual smart attire is dishevelled.

  He spots me and lurches towards me with a look of desperation.

  “Issy!”

  “Oh. Hi Ben,” I reply, making my mystification evident in my tone.

  “Hi,” he says. “Good to see you. Listen, Issy. Have you seen Lorna?”

  What does he want with Lorna?

  “I…” I open my mouth and shut it again. “She’s not here,” I admit. Lorna is due to come later, when the party starts. But she’s arriving with David the props handler. I know she wouldn’t thank me for revealing her whereabouts to Ben.

  Since the pregnancy scare, she hasn’t the slightest desire to see him, and it looks as though she’s developing feelings for David.

  Ben flops himself uninvited into a chair and buries his head in his hands.

  We all look at one another in amazement.

  “She won’t return my calls,” says Ben. His raises his eyes, and they’re red. His voice is on the urge of a sob. “She won’t… she won’t talk to me, Issy. Can you say something to her?”

  “I… I don’t think Lorna is interested in you anymore,” I say gently.

  No point in lying to him.

  Ben’s face twists in devastation. But he looks as though this was the answer he was expecting.

  “I don’t know what happened,” he says, more to himself than anyone. “She was jus
t like all the others at first… And then. There’s something about Lorna, you know? She has this fire. This spark.”

  The spark of not being interested in you, I think.

  “I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” says Ben. “It’s… It’s so awful, Issy. Not being able to have Lorna. I feel like my heart is being ripped out.”

  I regard him coldly. I have zero sympathy for Ben Gracey.

  “I guess that’s how a lot of people feel,” I say icily, “when they get messed around.”

  As if on cue, the door opens, and Camilla walks in. She’s dressed for the premiere, and in her professional make-up, looks stunning.

  Ben’s mouth drops open.

  “Camilla? Is that you?”

  Camilla stares at him. “Ben,” she says after a moment. “You look… awful.”

  Ben stands, straightening his clothes self-consciously. There’s an uncomfortable pause.

  “Are you coming to the premiere?” asks Camilla in the polite voice of someone trying to fill the silence.

  “Yeah, well,” Ben says. “I was kind of depending on a date for this evening.” He tries for a rakish smile. “Are you free?”

  Nothing could be a firmer refusal than the expression of sheer horror on Camilla’s face.

  Since Bradley has swept Camilla of her feet, Ben Gracey has ceased to exist for her. And I can tell from Ben’s expression that he sees it all too clearly. I hide a smile.

  Serves him right.

  “No,” blurts Camilla. “I mean. No. Thank you.” She adds, her good manners coming to the fore.

  Ben sags a little further.

  “Got a hot date lined up?” asks Ben in a nasty tone. He’s obviously expecting her to admit to attending alone.

  “Yes,” says Camilla. And now she can’t keep the huge grin from spreading all over her face. “Yes. Actually, I do.”

  She’s lit up with joy now. It’s beaming out of her. I can’t help smiling too. But her loved-up expression hits Ben like a slap in the face. He flinches, as though he’s been struck.

  Bye bye, Ben Gracey, I think. Your spell has finally been broken. Good riddance.

  Realising he’s overstayed his welcome, Ben makes for the door.

  “Well, if you change your mind, you’ve got my number,” he says to Camilla.

  She gives him a slightly baffled look. And though it’s not her intention, Camilla’s expression is more cutting than a thousand clever insults ever could be.

  Part of me, the old fiery Issy, wants to speak on Camilla’s behalf and tell Ben she’d rather die than date a scumbag like him. But really, there is no more revenge necessary than the broken look of confusion on Ben’s face.

  He walks out, and he doesn’t even have the fire left to slam the door behind him.

  “That was weird,” says Camilla, her eyes wide as the door closes. “Uggh.” She gives a little shudder. “The idea of going on a date with Ben.”

  “So, I guess Bradley is taking you?” I ask.

  Her grin flashes back, doubly wide. “Yeeeaaaah,” she breathes. “Pretty amazing, huh?”

  “Not amazing,” replies Natalie firmly. “Totally deserved. You two are made for each other.”

  “Hey Issy?” Scarlett is gesturing for my attention suddenly. She’s holding a mobile phone. “Bad news about your dress.”

  Oh no. Really?

  “The company sent it to the studios instead of the hotel,” she says.

  My face drops.

  “Is there anyone there who can bring it?” I ask hopefully. Scarlett shakes her head. “Everyone is here.”

  Kristy is by my side. “I’m sure we can get a company in London to send you a dress,” she soothes. “We’ve got four hours until the premiere starts. They’re used to more last minute requests than that.”

  But James chose my dress!

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I want to wear the one James picked out.”

  It’s so important to me to wear that dress. James would be disappointed not to see me in it.

  The answer comes to me suddenly.

  The Vespa!

  Scarlett would have parked it in the lot beneath the hotel. Berkeley studios are only half an hour from London by road. I can easily drive back and pick up the dress. The thought fills me with relief.

  “I’ll take the Vespa,” I say determinedly. “I’ll be back in under an hour if I’m lucky.”

  Scarlett nods at this, but Kristy looks uncertain.

  “Should I let James know?” she asks.

  I consider this, and shake my head. “He’ll only worry. I’ll be back in plenty of time. Where was the dress delivered?”

  “It would have been sent to the costume department,” says Scarlett. She turns to Kristy, obviously on my side. “She’s right Kristy,” says Scarlett. “Issy can make it there and back super-fast on that Vespa. She doesn’t even need to worry about traffic.”

  I smile at Scarlett gratefully.

  “Just don’t smudge your make-up,” says Kristy.

  I glide through the London traffic, feeling free as a bird on my moped. Within minutes, I’m on the English country roads leading to the studio, grinning as the green fields and trees whizz by.

  I love this!

  I make a mental note to drive my Vespa more often.

  All too soon, I’m pulling into the studios. There’s no one on the gate, since James has pulled every available staff for the premiere security. But my pass opens the gate automatically, and I motor up to the costume department.

  I drive right up close to save time, then cut the engine and rest the Vespa carefully against a wall.

  Hmmm. No one here. But I guess the dress will be with the other new arrivals.

  I quietly let myself in to the big maze-like warehouse and immediately see an exciting-looking dress bag bulging out on the new arrivals rack.

  That must be the dress!

  I stride up to it, holding my breath in delight. There’s a tag with my name on it and the words: “Isabella Green, Premiere.”

  This is it! The dress James chose.

  I check my watch. I made good time. I’ve got hours to make it back to London. Carefully, I draw down the zip and let my eyes roam the contents inside.

  Oh!

  The dress is blue silk and cut very low at the front and back. It’s long, to the ground, and looks incredibly elegant.

  It’s such a beautiful, perfect choice that I check my watch again.

  Have I got time to try it on? I decide I have.

  I scan around for a mirror. They are found fairly frequently in the huge costume hanger, and it doesn’t take me long to spot one.

  The costume department is eerily silent. And since I’m the only one here, the high corridors of outfits and props are deserted.

  Better take care not to venture too far in here, I warn myself. Knowing my luck, I could probably get lost.

  Carefully, I slip off my print dress and let the silk premiere dress drop over my shoulders.

  It feels so smooth against my skin. And the delicate straps drop onto my shoulders, revealing a neckline which plunges almost to the belly.

  Risqué, Mr Berkeley.

  I’ll definitely be needing some tape to make sure this dress doesn’t show anything it shouldn’t.

  The rest of the dress hangs in a graceful sheath, to the floor, enclosing my legs. It’s a contrast to the plunging top half, making the complete look both sexy and sophisticated.

  The face in the mirror grins back at me. Mr Berkeley. You’ve done it again.

  I’m at the front of the costume department with all the spooky horror outfits. And I roll my eyes to see my stunning dress showcased against a backdrop of masks and a Batman costume.

  Talk about out of context.

  I return my attention to the mirror. Probably time to go.

  Suddenly, I hear a hissing sound. Almost like a gasp of breath.

  I freeze in front of the mirror. My smiling face resetting instantly to fear.

&
nbsp; Did I just hear something?

  “Is anyone there?” I say, feeling a little foolish. “Hello?”

  There’s a pause, and silence. It’s a large department. Maybe there’s an echo, I tell myself. But now I feel uneasy. Time to head back to London.

  I hear something else. Like an object falling from a shelf.

  Then a figure steps out in front of me, blocking my escape from the aisle of costumes.

  Oh no. No. It can’t be!

  “Hello Isabella,” says a rasping voice which I recognise all too well.

  A surge of fear hits me like a juggernaut.

  Standing in front of me is the Lipstick Stalker.

  Chapter 34

  The stalker looks like he did in my dream. His brown hair free, rather than held beneath a wig. The twisted sneer of mania on his face. He’s dressed in a grey boiler suit and a tool-belt is around his waist. The stalker has come ready armed.

  Pure white terror knifes through me.

  “My little dancer,” hisses the Lipstick Stalker. “Good to see you again. And this time - you are all mine.”

  Hot fear tunnels into every part of me. And for a moment, I am completely paralysed. The stalker stands, taking me in. Then he inhales slowly, as if drinking my essence. It’s such a horribly animal gesture, that my body recoils.

  And suddenly I act on pure instinct.

  We’re at the front of the costume department, and close by me is the Batman outfit. Without pausing to think, I grab at the utility belt, yank out a fistful of smoke bomb props, and launch them towards the stalker.

  I just have time to see the stalker’s face flash surprise before the corn-starch bombs unleash their dusty contents. He chokes and splutter as the flurry of fake smoke invades his mouth and nose.

  Without waiting to see more, I turn and pelt in the opposite direction, heading deeper into the costume department. I know the smoke bombs have bought me a distraction at best. Likely, he’s right behind me.

  The history aisle rushes past me, flashing caveman outfits and medieval court costumes. My brain is awhirl with panic, and I can’t think past running as fast as I can.

  I’ve got to get away.