AS I WAS tucking the Bellagio chip deep into my jeans’ pocket, my cell rang. For some reason it made me jump out of my skin. I was tired, jittery, and starving hungry. It was Pearl Chevalier. I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Pearl, thanks so much for calling back.”
“It’s not Pearl,” the stranger’s voice said. She had a French accent.
“Oh, hi,” I replied. “Pearl’s not there?”
“I’m her niece, Elodie. Alexandre’s niece.”
“Hi Elodie, yeah, Pearl once mentioned you to me.”
“Pearl’s on vacation with my uncle. She left her phone behind.”
I was amazed that a woman in Pearl’s position would forget her cell, but then I remembered the “no contact” policy.
“I know you, Janie,” Elodie said.
I had no recollection of meeting Elodie, but I didn’t want to be rude. “You do?”
“I saw you in Where The Wind Blows. Crazy, but I feel like I know you personally.”
That happened to me a lot. Being an actor means you are familiar to complete strangers. It isn’t uncommon for people you’ve never met before to be telling you their darkest secrets. You are their friend, their confidante. In this instance, though, being Elodie’s friend wasn’t a bad thing at all—I figured it would help me get in touch with Pearl.
“I read your text,” Elodie continued. “That’s why I’m calling you back because it looked important. I’m going to find out more, but I think my mother has mentioned this woman Kristin Jürgen to me. And not in a good way. Her name sounds really familiar.”
I told Elodie the whole story, trying to keep my voice down so Ethan wouldn’t hear. It unnerved me to be revealing all this to a total stranger, yet at the same time, just sharing all my troubles gave me a sense of liberation. I understood as I spoke, though, she must think it was all really far-fetched. There was silence on the other end of the line. I wanted to scream with frustration. Nobody believed me.
“I can help you,” Elodie said, finally. “You have no idea the kind of shit I’ve had to deal with in the past.” Deal wiz in zee past, her accent said. Cute. Just knowing that someone, anyone, was offering to help me, lifted my spirits. Although I’d been hoping to reach out to one of the Chevalier’s hotshot attorneys, not Alexandre’s niece.
“Have you been to the cops?” she asked.
I rewound the Kristin saga in my head. This super-successful neurologist who had received awards for being such a fabulous doctor, and me, the love-struck actress accusing this respected neurologist of trying to murder the man I was in love with. I knew any normal policeman would think I was crazy. “Not yet. My story sounds so nuts, I’m not sure if they’d believe me.” I glanced over at Ethan, who was stealthily eyeing me up and down. Damn, I wonder if he’s heard.
“Good. Don’t call the cops for now—I’m sure we can sort this out,” Elodie advised.
“Hang on, don’t go anywhere, hold the line.” I zipped up my case and made for the door, wheeling my suitcase behind me.
“Wait up! Miss Cole, let me call you a cab,” Ethan shouted after me.
“I’m fine, thanks, I’ll get one on the street. Elodie, are you still there?” I struggled through the swing door.
“Where are you right now?” she asked.
“Outside Daniel’s hotel, which I’ve been asked to leave. Look, I need a lawyer.”
“Sounds to me like you need a bodyguard, first and foremost.”
I smiled. Her accent was adorable: ‘first and foremost.’ She had a point about my needing a bodyguard, considering the fiasco in the hospital with Kristin.
“No, seriously. I’m going to make a call,” she said.
“Is there any way you can contact your uncle? Or Pearl?”
“Believe me, every contact my uncle has, I know about. He and I are very close. You want help? Look no further, I’m your girl.”
La Femme Nikita? I admired Elodie’s bravado, but wondered how much of it was B-S. But I was hardly in any position to turn down help. Why hadn’t Star called me back?
“I’m going to hang up and make some calls,” Elodie said. “Meanwhile, I’ll send a text message, which you need to respond to. This way, I’ll know where you are, so don’t, for fuck’s sake, lose your phone.”
I frowned. “What are you saying, you’ll know where I am? You mean if I call you?”
“Your cell will be like a GPS the second you return my text. I can keep you traced. Keep your phone with you at all times. Never leave it lying around. Got that? I’ll call you back.” She was gone. A few seconds later a text came through that said, It’s me. I replied, Thank you, and felt relieved to know that Elodie had my back. She was quite the sleuth, and I wondered how the hell she knew all this undercover stuff. I seemed to remember Pearl telling me she was in her early twenties, around the same age as me, but I couldn’t recall what she told me Elodie did for a living. Although with an uncle as wealthy as Alexandre Chevalier, I guessed she never needed to work a day in her life if she didn’t want to.
I hailed a cab and went to the Bellagio. I cashed in my chip. I had never in my life carried that kind of hard cash in my purse, and it terrified me. I wanted to deposit it in the bank but didn’t have time for all that now. Every second was ticking, and I needed to find Daniel. I assumed Kristin had moved him to a different wing of the hospital.
I checked into a room, right there at the Bellagio—after all, I could afford it now. I grabbed some snacks from the mini bar and took a lightening-fast shower. I shoved the cash and my valuables in the room safe, then left.
I punched in Elodie’s number. She was fast to pick up.
“I was just about to call,” she said. “Sorry it took so long. You okay?”
“Worried sick about Daniel.”
“Paul is on his way.”
“Paul?”
“The bodyguard I’m sending. Ex cop. He knows the law. He has contacts with the Vegas police and NYPD. He’s your man. He can go with you to the hospital and you’ll be safe. Wait for him outside the main entrance to the Bellagio. Meanwhile, I have a private detective on the case. She’s finding out stuff about Kristin Jürgen, looking into the marriage with Daniel and checking out her past. Well, to be honest, my girl’s not an official private detective, as such. Better than that. A Hacker. A good one, too. And a very fast worker. She can find any shit out in the blink of an eye. I’ll keep you posted. Remember, keep your phone close to you at all times.”
“How will I know what Paul looks like?”
But Elodie had hung up. I called her back but it went to voicemail. I assumed she was on the line with the hacker.
“Miss Cole? Janie Cole?”
I turned around and to my relief a man was standing before me. Fast work! He had a friendly, open face but looked tough enough to protect me, although slimmer than I had imagined a bodyguard would be. I saw my reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. I looked harrowed, my face gaunt. I still hadn’t had time for a proper meal, not even a sandwich.
“Paul? You’re Elodie’s . . . um . . . friend? You’re here to protect me?”
“That’s right,” he answered with a smile. “I’ve been sent to protect you.”
“Thank God you’re here. We need to get to the hospital.”
“Yes, we do,” he answered smoothly. “Come with me.”
I followed him to his car that was parked in the valet section, although he hadn’t given anyone his keys. His walk was a swagger, his big black boots and buzz-cut a testament to his tough demeanor. He looked as if he’d walked off the set of a TV cop show. A movie star type of ex-cop, not an ex-cop you’d expect in real life. He opened the back door for me, and I slid in. He was taciturn but polite. I guessed bodyguards were trained to be that way. The strong silent type.
“So how do you know Elodie?” I asked, settling into my seat.
“Through work.” He started the engine and drove out of the hotel parking lot.
“You work for her uncle too?”
“I freelance. Got a lot of clients but don’t tend to discuss them, if that’s alright with you.”
“Sure,” I said, a little unnerved. “You know where we’re going?”
“Absolutely.”
There was something in the way he said, “absolutely” that should have given me the first clue. I looked out of the window at the Strip passing by us. Nervously, I fumbled in my purse for my phone. I wanted to call Elodie, check this guy was who he said he was. Actually, he hadn’t even introduced himself at all! I’d simply assumed things.
But when I pulled out my phone, my heart tumbled to my stomach and rocketed to the floor. It was out of goddamn battery! Had I brought the charger? Of course I fucking hadn’t! Maybe Elodie had called. My stomach churned.
“Paul, do you use an iPhone, by any chance?”
“No, a BlackBerry.”
“You don’t have one of those generic phone chargers, do you?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.”
“Damn. Can we quickly stop at the Apple Store, please? Or somewhere I can buy a phone charger for my iPhone?”
The locks on the door clunked shut. All of them. Simultaneously. I knew I was in serious danger. Oh, fuck! Adrenalin spiked through my veins like heated gasoline about to burst into flames. “Paul” did not answer. He just looked in his rearview mirror, his head slightly cocked, his reflective shades giving nothing away of the probable menace in his eyes.
“Excuse me, did you hear what I said? I’d like to stop and buy a phone charger, please.”
“I heard you,” he replied ominously. He kept on driving, a faint smirk edging his sculpted lips. All I could think of was what an idiot I’d been. A fucking moron to get into a stranger’s car! Had my mother not warned me about that ever since I was two years old? I hadn’t checked the man’s credentials. I had assumed. Never fucking assume, Janie, I berated myself. You idiot! Ethan had obviously got wind of things. Maybe he’d even had me followed to the Bellagio. After all, duh, I’d hailed the cab right outside Daniel’s hotel door! I hadn’t even been followed probably, but the cab driver himself may have been summoned by Ethan/Kristin in the first place. I’d just walked right into their trap! Assuming this man was Paul. Then my mind double-tracked back and forth. What if Pearl Chevalier had left her phone at the hospital when she came to visit Daniel, along with her pearl necklace? What if “Elodie” was not Elodie at all, but Kristin, putting on a fake French accent? I felt dizzy. Intrigue and paranoia engulfing me, smothering me like a heavy wet blanket. Then I realized I was being ridiculous; if Pearl had left her phone at the hospital, I would have found it. Of course it was Elodie I’d been speaking to . . . but still. Whatever the scenario, I was up shit’s creek.
“Where are we going?” I demanded, rattling the door handles that were holding me prisoner. I tried to buzz down the windows, but of course they were blocked too. “Stop this car! Right now! I want to get out!”
But he just ignored me and carried on driving.
And the dead battery on my phone wasn’t going to help me. There was no way Elodie could track me now, because my cell wouldn’t be sending a signal anywhere. I let out a furious gasp. I’d been a fool and all I could do now was try not to panic and keep my wits about me.
5
Daniel.
I AM STRUGGLING to keep my mind active, even though my body is shut down. I think of the only thing that keeps me going: Janie. The second that girl came into my life I knew she was special. A wisp of a thing, with big brown eyes, a fiery disposition, and an intractable will. She wanted to please me. I tried to go easy on her, attempted to treat her like the rest of the cast, but she got under my skin. I knew right away that she was falling in love with me. I was getting married to Natasha—blinded by her glamour, her stardom, the promises she made me of a blissful future together, yet this little actress was determined to knock down my barriers, unravel the truth. So many questions about her role in Where The Wind Blows. She challenged me, made me think.
“Who am I?” she’d say. “What’s my motivation?”
“That’s for you to find out, Janie. “That’s what rehearsals are for.”
“I know who my character is and where she’s coming from, but you, as a director, don’t seem to be supporting that. I see her as—”
My mind is struggling with this memory that now won’t play out. Did she say these things to me? Or is it my imagination? Another recollection slips in where the other fades . . . The first time I realized I wanted to fuck her. Yet I was married. Having racing thoughts about my cock in her mouth when I had a wife to go home to. An unfaithful, cheating wife, who didn’t give a damn about me.
Scott, the actor playing Janie’s lover in the play, was leaning over her, whispering in her ear. I had told him to play it that way, yet a twinge of jealousy gripped my heart. In a physical way. Like an actual stab. I could feel a vein throbbing in my temple. A vein I had never known lived there. For the first time ever in my career I compromised my vision. “It doesn’t work after all, Scott. Lose the tender words. At this point in the story . . . well, trust me, it isn’t working. See me after rehearsal, Janie, I want to have a word.” My cock ached for this willowy girl. I wanted to take her, fuck her up against the wall backstage, splay her little pussy open with the one part of me I couldn’t control. I imagined how tight she’d be, how ravenous for me. I felt so turned on I knew I had to have her. That it was a matter of time. It was obvious how much I needed her. I already knew how much I liked her as a person, respected her as an actress, but it was then I knew how much I desired her. Wanted to make her mine.
I picture her now, in my arms . . . no, beneath me. I have my mouth on her lips and I’m telling her that I am irrevocably in love with her. “You are my world,” I tell her. She has her legs wide apart, and she’s moaning, the tip of my cock poised at her sweet, taut opening. She’s squirming beneath me, whimpering, “Please Daniel, I need you, I need you inside me.” I tell her that I know she needs me, and that’s why I’ll never leave her, and I push myself in, into her soaking, welcoming little pussy—tight and hot—just a little, just enough to feel the crown of my cock expand and pulse, and for her to urgently buck her hips at me. I make tiny little movements, telling her I’m crazy about her, how I love being so close, how fucking her is my greatest pleasure in the world because we are one: one whole, one heart. My words are her aphrodisiac. The more sweet talk I make, the wetter and wilder she gets. I pull out and start prodding and massaging her clit with my erection. I’m kissing her mouth, her eyes, her neck. I’m rolling one of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, tugging gently. She’s practically crying, her arms squeezed around my back, as they move down . . . frantically, lustfully to my ass. It’s adorable how she thinks she has the strength to force my buttocks down, closer to her groin. She’s pummeling me, pinching her little fingers into my taut flesh. It’s my cruel torture . . . to make her so wet, so desperate to be fucked . . . but to make her wait. I like to control her pace, because that way, when she climaxes, thunder rolls inside her body and breaks her into a million imploding stars.
“I’m going to come,” she groans, “I’m going to come if you keep teasing me like this.” I tell her that we’ll come together, and I drive myself further inside her, rocking my hips just the way she likes it, so my pelvic bone hits her clit on every thrust and my cock massages the base of her opening. The rhythm is now like a metronome, and I know at what point she’ll come. Her lids are fluttering in a stupefied daze . . . her eyes are rolling back. I’m in really deep now . . . in every respect. I want to be with this girl forever. I’m in deep and there’s no return.
It’s when I cup my hands under her buttocks, hold my hips still for a second and then push to the back of her womb that she starts screaming my name. Her legs go stiff, sweat beads trickle down the small of her back. I bring her even closer to me . . . closer and never close enough. My lips are on her ear. “I love you, Janie, I love you so much.” She’s coming h
ard, her pussy clenching my cock like a limpet on a rock, as if her life depended on never letting me go, and my orgasm powers through my erection in a wild, desirous rush.
We are in this together. Until death do us part. That’s right . . . I forgot . . . Death . . . that’s the word du jour, the word on everyone’s lips. They are talking about me . . .
I’m being shaken out of my beautiful home movie by doctors discussing their trade. Unpleasant images and words sift in and out of my consciousness, ruining my dream:
“Nonhuman primates are used as experimental models to study a wide range of human neurodegenerative diseases.”
I hear Kristin’s voice chiming in. “We used human microarrays to profile genes from brains of human, macaque, and marmosets, and combined this with available data from chimpanzees and orangutans to create a data set that provide salient similarities and differences in expression of genes underlying Alzheimer’s, Huntington’s, and Parkinson’s diseases.”
My mind is fading fast. I hear more rumbling voices all around me. More doctors discussing my fragile state. But I can’t decipher their words . . . their mumbling recedes to a gentle hum. My brain is blanking to a pale white . . . a light is shining in the confused orb of my brain. Yet I feel strangely at peace.
It won’t be long now.
6
Janie.
I HEARD MUTED screams and cries. Not human. Relentless. Piercing. Begging cries. But coming from another place, somewhere distant. I couldn’t work out where I was. I remembered being at the Bellagio. I could hear my stomach rumble. My head was light. Dizzy. All I could think of was food and how hungry I was. I pictured a French baguette with Brie and lettuce, mayo, and tomatoes washed down with a soda. I licked my dry lips. I was thirsty too. I peeled my eyes open but could barely see. It was dark. I was lying on a sofa, fully clothed. Where was I?
Then I remembered. The car. The man whom I thought was the bodyguard, sent by Elodie. Kristin. Daniel in his medically induced coma. My cell phone out of juice. I could hear my own muffled sobs. Sobs of defeat. I was too exhausted to even stir. I mentally scribbled a note, a proverbial message in a bottle:
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