“Uh.” Apollo groaned. “It’s about…uh…”
“Did she contact you about the pictures of me cheating?”
“Yeah.” Apollo exhaled so loudly Adam could hear it over the miles between them. “I don’t know what to make of this.”
“It’s made up. I never cheated on her.” The anger of explaining himself was absent, replaced by a dull ache and a determination to find the source of the lie; an explanation of how the scam had worked. “Lester faked the photos somehow.”
“Okay.” Silence for a moment, then, “I dated Lester’s secretary, Anna, for a while, so Stacy asked me to question her. Stacy said Lester kept the photos in his safe, and Anna said no-one knows the combination but him, so she can’t get in there to check.”
Damn.
“But she checked through her diary, and a couple of weeks before Stacy filed for divorce Lester asked Anna to arrange a private meeting with a photographer in New York, a guy called Adrien Phillips in Body Shots Studios.”
Adam scribbled down the details, and when Apollo recited the telephone number and the website address, scrawled those too.
“What’s the mood there? What are people saying?”
“Rumors are flying around like poison tipped arrows. A few contractors have come out and said Lester stiffed them, and some asshole has sold a story of Lester losing a whole heap of money at the tables in Vegas. There’s another story going around that Stacy fired him because he was sick and couldn’t do his job, and that the shock of that led to him running to Bali.” He snorted. “Them trying to paint Stacy as responsible for this shit drives me insane. I’ve been doorstepped by reporters, but haven’t made any comment. I didn’t want to until I’d spoken to her.”
“Avoid them,” Adam said. “I’ll talk to her and get her to call you back.”
The red light across the hall flicked off. It was time to bring the drama home.
*****
When Stacy and Christine pushed open the door to the studio, Adam was there waiting.
Christine took one look of his resolute face. “I’ll see you later.”
“Great.” Stacy watched her tutor walk away, nerves jumping in her gut. For hours, she’d managed to deflect thoughts of what was happening outside the studio, and immerse herself in the work, but that wasn’t an option any more.
She glanced over at Adam. Nope. He definitely wanted to talk.
“You look like you have bad news.”
He didn’t deny it, just took her elbow and walked her into the small kitchen. “I asked someone to get us some sandwiches and stuff.” He took a brown paper bag and a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. “Let’s eat in my office. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
This was bad. The way he avoided her eyes hinted this would be a difficult conversation. Not for the first time, she wished she could just run out of the front door, jump into a car and drive away.
Instead, she followed where he led, and settled at the work table next to his desk. She selected a tuna sandwich from the bag. Her favorite. He always knew just what she wanted.
“Apollo was calling you.”
She searched in her pocket for her cell and turned it on. Seven messages pinged into her inbox.
“He’s called three times, and left messages. Agent Black has called too. I better listen to the messages.”
Adam shook his head. “I spoke to Apollo. He told me you wanted him to try to find the photographs in the safe.”
It was ridiculous to feel as though she should apologize. As if she didn’t believe what he’d said. Surely he understood that they needed to get those pictures—they needed, or at least she needed to know how or if they’d been faked.
“Lester’s secretary doesn’t know the combination.”
Hope that had been pushing out of blackness like a seedling seeking the sunlight, curled up, in danger of dying.
“But she did find the address of a photographer in New York that Lester met with a few times. Maybe he’s the guy who took the pictures.” He shoved the pad of paper across the desk to her. “There’s more.” Adam frowned and crossed his arms. “Plaxtair wants you to make a statement saying you have nothing to do with Lester. They say it’s the only way to separate you from his dirty dealings.”
“And Clint wants me to make up with him, and bury everything, which is the complete opposite of what Plaxtair wants.”
Adam just stared at her.
“I need to listen to Agent Black’s messages. He’s left two.”
Black’s first message poured bleach on the seedling, killing it stone dead. “I got your email, Miss Gold. Unfortunately, we can’t access his safe at the moment. I’ve been in touch with the hospital in Bali and Mr Jones is in critical condition, it doesn’t look as though he’s going to make it. I’ll keep you posted.”
She switched to the next voicemail.
“Call me back, Miss Gold. We have a news blackout in place, but I don’t know how long it will hold. Lester Jones died an hour ago.”
Chapter Thirteen
“What is it?”
All the color had drained from Stacy’s face and she swayed as the hand holding the phone dropped to her side. Adam grabbed the nearest chair and guided her onto it. Agent Black’s message had shaken her, she was swallowing rapidly, her eyes scanning from side to side in a panicked response.
“Lester’s dead.” She gripped her hands together. “He’s dead.” She blinked away tears. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think.”
Adam placed a chair opposite hers and sat, his knees bracketing hers. “Look at me.”
He touched her chin, forcing her wide-eyed gaze to collide with his.
“I should hate him. I can’t hate him.” Her eyes screwed shut. “He was the closest thing to a father I ever had.” She made a noise closer to a wail than a groan. “Jesus.”
Adam pulled her from the chair onto his lap. Wrapped his arms around her, and let her sob into his shoulder.
She cried as though her heart was broken. As though there was a storm raging within. She’d been buffeted with a whole host of emotions since Lester’s desertion: anger, shock, upset. But his death released the most powerful emotion of them all. Grief. Despite everything, there’d been love between them once, and she needed to get it out.
He smoothed a hand over her shuddering back and just held her until the storm quieted, until she eased away a fraction and stared at him with tear-ravaged eyes.
“I better return Agent Black’s call.”
“I’ll tell Sean.” Adam speared his hands through her hair, bringing her face close and kissed her gently. “We need to talk to Barney Meisner at Plaxtair too. I’ll be back soon.”
He went in search of Sean.
“This changes everything,” Sean agreed, once he’d been brought up to date. “Plaxtair can’t stick to that ridiculous deadline under these circumstances. Let’s call him.”
He placed the call, and before long they were staring at Barry’s face on the screen again.
“Lester Jones is dead.” There was no point in sugar coating it. “Stacy’s devastated and in no condition to make a statement.”
Meisner grimaced. “If she speaks now, she’ll be trash talking a dead man, that won’t work. Okay, new plan. He’ll get quietly buried in Bali, and she can decline all interviews. The story should blow over in a couple of days.”
“We need to keep Stacy on board. The work she’s already done is great, she’s really brought the character to life,” Sean said.
Meisner shuffled papers. “I’ll pass along the news of Lester’s death. I’ll do what I can. We don’t want to have to recast, a setback at this stage could cause the production to go overdue and over budget, and my butt will be on the line if that happens.” He forced a tight smile. “Talk to you soon.”
When Adam returned to his office, Stacy had her laptop open.
“I have to go back for the funeral. There will have to be a funeral.”
“Th
ey could bury him in Bali.”
She shook her head. “There’s a plot in Nashville with his name on it. When his wife died, he told me he wanted to be buried next to her. I promised I’d see to it.”
There was a fervent gleam in her eyes, as though she’d made her decision and wouldn’t be turned from it under any circumstances. But he still tried.
“Any promises you once made are irrelevant now. It’s not your problem. That woman he ran away with, your accountant, can do it.”
Stacy crossed her legs and angled her knees away. The fingers of one hand curled into a fist. “I need to organize his funeral. I promised I would. He screwed up the end of his life, but that doesn’t negate all the good he did. He launched many people’s careers. He was a force in the business—he doesn’t deserve to have his legacy being someone who stole and ran away.”
“But he did.”
Her body stiffened. She breathed in deep. “Yes, he did. But maybe he had his reasons. Maybe he didn’t have any other options open to him.” She wiped her eyes with her fingertips. “During this whole thing, I’ve only focused on me. I didn’t know he was sick, didn’t know about his addiction. If I had been a better friend to him maybe we could have worked something out together, maybe I could have gotten him some help.”
It killed him to see her feeling responsible for Lester’s condition. “You’re not to blame.”
She stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I was a child in his eyes, and I never did anything to make him think I was capable of looking after myself—of looking after him. I let him down.” She turned to her laptop. “I need to book a flight.”
“Plaxtair want it handled quietly. They want him buried in Bali.”
She stared at him, her mouth agape. “I can’t do that. He needs a proper funeral, to be buried next to his wife.”
“I don’t understand why you care. He sold your home. Stole everything.” Even in death the specter of Lester Jones was driving them apart. Frustration that she was letting him control her, choosing Lester over him made Adam’s tone harsh. “You don’t need to be involved in this.”
“I do. I have to.” Her eyes flashed. “I’m going, Adam, and you can’t stop me.”
His breathing was harsh as he stared her down. Her spine was ramrod straight, and her jaw set. If he couldn’t force her to stay put, he’d have to go with her to keep her safe, and for damage control.
“If you insist on doing this, I’m coming with you. You need someone.” She’d deemed it necessary to travel with Apollo to keep the press at bay, and that was before the press were even aware she was travelling. Now, the interest in her was at its peak, and once the news of Lester’s death hit the tabloids, they’d be relentless in chasing the story.
She shook her head. “No. Lester treated me like a child, and now you’re doing it too. I won’t have it. I’ve spent too much time letting other people do things for me. Look out for me. I can do this alone.” She cast him a glance. “If I can get on a flight today, I’m going.”
Adam left the room without a word. She was so goddamn stubborn, so unable to take help when it was offered that once again she was retreating into her own world and blocking him out.
He made a phone call to Apollo, briefly detailing the new developments.
“Stacy’s flying back to Nashville,” he said. “We don’t have a flight number yet, but I need you at the airport.” He hated how she’d insisted he didn’t need to make the trip. She was stubborn, but he was too. If she insisted she was travelling alone, he would ensure everything was safe and secure when she arrived.
“No problem.”
“I’ll see her onto the plane. You need to handle the situation when it lands.”
“Okay.”
He terminated the call and returned to Stacy.
She stood. “I’ve managed to book a ticket for tonight.”
“Give me the details.”
He texted a message, then pressed send. “Apollo will meet you.”
“I haven’t spoken—”
“Yeah, well, I have. If you won’t let me go with you, you’ll damn well consent to having him meet you at the other end.”
“Fine.” Her mouth thinned into a narrow line. “Christine said I could record stuff in the American studio if there’s a problem with me getting back here.” She twisted her fingers together. “Right now I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know anything. Don’t call me, I’ll call you when everything is clearer. I need some time.”
*****
She splashed out money she probably didn’t have on a first class seat, and didn’t regret one single cent. The hostess kept her well fuelled with champagne, the food was delicious, and she was left in peace. She didn’t want to think about the man and the whole world she’d left behind, couldn’t think of that. So instead, she focused on making notes and endless lists of the things she needed to do when she landed.
She’d spoken again to Black at the FBI. He revealed that Mrs Kensington had disappeared, avoiding the threat of prosecution which would surely occur should she accompany Lester’s body back to the States.
So he’d be travelling home alone.
The next call had been to the American consulate to arrange for his body’s repatriation.
She even managed to catch a couple of hours sleep.
When the plane landed, she was rushed through security and taken through a side door where Apollo waited.
He took her bags. “Cole Tempest called this morning, he wanted to know what he could do to help.” Apollo had been friends with everyone in her band.
“Is he on tour?”
Apollo shook his head. “No, he’s away on holiday, but he’ll be back in time for the funeral. Cole saw on the internet that Lester sold your house, and he didn’t want you staying at a hotel. He’s offered his place as a base while you’re sorting everything out.”
The generosity of Cole’s offer made her feel a little weepy. “That’s so good of him.”
Apollo grinned. “You’ve been there, right?”
“Yes.” She’d been to a couple of parties over the years at the house Cole had bought once his career took off. It was the perfect place to hide and regroup. Sheltered outside town, built with the needs of a media-shy celebrity in mind, with comprehensive security.
“We’ll go straight there.” He pushed open a fire door which led to a deserted lot at the back of the airport where his car waited.
It had been raining. As the car cut through the wet streets, Stacy allowed herself to relax for the first time in hours. The worry of being sandbagged at the airport leached out of her, and she leaned back against the warm leather headrest and breathed deep.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
She glanced across at Apollo. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel tight.
“Some scumball tracked down your family. Your mother was on the news.”
Panic fluttered in Stacy’s throat. “My mother?”
“The press are making a big thing of the fact that you said they were dead. They’ve found footage of you saying it, and are running it next to a segment of your mother saying Lester took you away and you were so ashamed of your origins you denied that they even existed.”
A memory of her mother not even recognizing her at the last time she’d visited wouldn’t shift, playing on endless loop in her mind. “Did she mention the payoff she received every year?” Her voice sounded harsh, but she didn’t care. “And what of my father? What did he have to say?”
“He’s doing life in prison, so they couldn’t—”
She gasped.
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head.
“He shot a guy dead in a drug deal gone bad five years ago. Are you okay? Do you want me to pull over?”
“No. No. Keep driving.” It was all too much to take in. “Lester did a deal with my parents when I was fourteen. He took over responsibility for me and they let him in exchange for a payout ever
y year. I guess they reckoned they wouldn’t be getting any more.” She couldn’t help herself from asking: “How did she look? Was she sober?”
“She looked as though they’d filled her full of coffee and set a makeup artist on her. Which is to say, not bad. Bad teeth, but not slurring her words.”
How could this story look anything but bad for her? She’d lied for years about her origins. Had been packaged as sweet little Stacy Gold, the girl who magically found her happy ever after. The hope of redemption looked slim.
“Take a left turn ahead, we need to call in to Star Records.”
Apollo’s head snapped her direction.
“Here, Apollo. Turn left.”
He flicked the indicator, and turned off the highway. “Are you sure? Is Clint Bailey even there?”
“He’s always there.” She reached over the seat to grab the tote containing her laptop and the memory stick of songs she’d prepared the previous night. “And he’ll see me. If nothing else, curiosity will make him see me.”
They pulled up outside Star Records twenty minutes later.
“Stay here, I won’t be long.” She forced a smile. “Maybe you could give Cole a call and let him know we had to make a detour.”
“Yeah.” Apollo already had his phone out.
She straightened her backbone, strode into the lobby like she owned it. Gum nearly fell out of the receptionist’s mouth as she saw Stacy coming.
“I need to see Clint. Is he in his office?” She didn’t slow, just kept walking.
“He’s…” The receptionist jumped up. “I should check to see if he’s busy.”
“You do that.”
Her heels clicked on the polished wood floor. She could hear the receptionist mumbling in the background, but didn’t hesitate when she reached Clint’s shiny mahogany door. She gave it a quick rap with her knuckles, and without waiting for the okay to enter, pushed the door open.
Clint sat behind his five-acre desk. “Stacy.” He stood and walked across the room to her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“I’m sorry, I had no time to call. I’ve come straight from the airport.”
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