Paradise By The Rifle Sights (Greatest Hits romantic mysteries book #5) (Greatest Hits Mysteries)

by Langtry, Leslie

  "What a night you've had!" Roberto said as he entered my room. "I wish I'd been here." He gave me a little weak grin.

  "I wish you had too, with a .45," I said without looking at him. "How's Teri?"

  Roberto sat in a chair opposite the bed. "She's fine. Thank God for Cindee. I really like that girl."

  I ran my hands through my hair. "Yeah. Me too."

  Roberto looked me up and down, trying to size me up. I was exhausted and sure he could see it.

  "Paris, let me cancel the yoga and mud bath this morning," he pleaded. "You look like you've taken on a Colombian Cartel armed only with a thesaurus."

  Interestingly enough, I have done that. And I was far better armed than I was last night. The key to taking down any cartel is to make sure their sangria is drugged a couple of hours beforehand. Oh, and ammo. Always have enough ammo, because they will.

  "I don't know," I started. My adrenaline was still flowing. "I'd like to talk to Teri first, if that's okay."

  "Mel gave her the day off." Roberto tossed me the keys to his car. "Why don't you take her home? I can handle things here." With a wink, he was off.

  Teri agreed to the lift. She was dazed. That asshole had done a number on her.

  She had a tiny bungalow in Hollywood. I followed her into the house to make sure she was okay.

  "Can I make you some coffee?" I asked her as she sat on the sofa. The place was clean and homey. Worn, comfortable furniture in light, airy rooms gave the impression of a safe haven.

  "Tea," she said. "Tea would be great."

  I found her kettle on the stove and filled it, turning the burner on. In a few minutes I handed her a cup of steaming herbal tea.

  "Thanks," she said. "I guess I could've made it myself."

  "Teri, I am so sorry…" The words hung uselessly in the air around us.

  She shook her head. "Why are you sorry? You saved me. If you hadn't shown up when you did…"

  I deflected. "I'm also sorry for behaving like a jackass. That day at the studio, I should've come back out to the car."

  Teri cocked her head to the side and studied me. "Okay. You're forgiven. But it's not all your fault. I misjudged you."

  She did? Oh yeah. The Fabio comment. "I'm sure I deserved it."

  "No." She shook her head. "No, you didn't. It's my problem. When you've been a driver for shows like this for a number of seasons, you tend to assume all these idiots are alike."

  "Maybe we are." I'd done the same thing. Only I didn't have the excuse of working around these people as long as she had.

  "Can I ask you something?" Teri looked right at me.

  "Anything," I answered.

  "How can you be around those women?" she asked unapologetically. "I mean, Cindee's great. She doesn't seem to be like the others at all. But the rest…"

  I rubbed my face with my hands. "You know, I insisted Mel call them women, not girls. And I do think there might be real people there, underneath, but they won't even let me scratch the surface. They're too ambitious. They want to succeed at acting the part."

  "You give them more credit than I do. You know, the first season, the women were nice…normal…well except for the fact they thought they could meet their soul mate on a stupid show. But after that, every batch of contestants had an angle—something they thought worked to keep them in the spotlight. We never had a normal woman after that."

  "I'd still like to think they aren't like that. I'd like to meet them after they get rejected."

  Teri cocked her head to the side. "What is wrong with you?"

  That caught me off guard. "Wrong with me?"

  "Tell me you're not like this in real life!"

  "Maybe you're right." I didn't really think she was—but she had gotten hurt on my time. "Look, I've got to get back. Are you sure you're going to be okay on your own?"

  For a moment I thought she was going to ask me to stay. Or maybe she was going to say something else. I'll never know, because she nodded, and I left.

  The drive back gave me too much time to think. My head buzzed with too many questions. What happened to Chuck Plimpton? Why was I under siege? How did my attackers know I was even on the show, let alone, where I was half the time? Why did I have to like both Cindee and Teri?

  This was a disaster of epic proportions. I pulled into the garage and stormed into the house.

  "No more screwing around!" I told a startled Roberto and Mel. "I want to meet with Plimpton. NOW!" I crossed my arms over my chest to show I was serious. My sister always said when I did that, it made me look dangerous. I hoped it was working.

  "Paris…" Roberto protested.

  "We can't!" Mel said. "He's in Barbados!"

  "Then call him back," I snarled. "I'll be in my room." Without looking at either one of them, I stormed off.

  Over the next hour, Roberto and Mel alternately tried to plead with me to give up on my demand. I refused. They tried explaining that we didn't have much time left and this was eating into that time. I wouldn't budge.

  Then they threatened. Roberto said he'd take all my clothes away, and I'd have to do the last episode in the nude. Mel said I was ruining his career and the careers of the women involved. I made myself clear—produce Plimpton or forget about it.

  Eventually, they went away. How they were going to set me up for an appointment with a dead man was beyond me but not really my problem. They were angry, but so was I. Teri had been hurt.

  I thought about that. It was becoming clear that someone on the show was giving these bastards information about me. But why? It didn't make sense.

  My head was throbbing, and I needed something to eat. No point in hiding here all day. They knew what I wanted. And if they weren't going to bring food to me, I was going to go and take it.

  I moved through the house, unassaulted. There was an atmosphere of death, the death of a reality show. It kind of smelled like gun oil and plastic to me. No one looked at me—or maybe they weren't making eye contact. I didn't really give a damn.

  The kitchen was empty, save for some tulips and a slab of grey meat on the counter. I scooped it all up and dumped it into the garbage. That felt good. Really good. I almost couldn't wait to tell Dushyant he couldn't tie me in knots anymore.

  The fridge had food. Real food. I felt a surge of adrenaline as I made a huge, club sandwich and poured a glass of milk. I carried it all onto the patio and sat down to eat.

  "Can I join you?" Cindee asked. I nodded, mainly because my mouth was full of food. Sweet, sweet, real food.

  "I guess you heard…" she said as she stared off toward the pool. "Some asshole is single-handedly canceling the show."

  "You heard right," was all I said. I was that asshole.

  Cindee suppressed a grin. "How's Teri?"

  I told her about taking Teri home. I left out the part about being attracted to her.

  "Thanks for looking after her," I said.

  "Do you feel responsible for what happened?"

  "No," I lied.

  "Yes you do. You think you should've gotten there earlier. You're a man. Men always feel guilty about stuff like this."

  I sighed, relieved by her explanation. I really did feel guilty. I felt guilty for being a jerk to Cindee on the plane. I felt guilty for treating Teri badly. I felt guilty for looking down on these women. I felt guilty for letting Roberto, Mel, and the crew down by refusing to do the show. And worst of all, I felt guilty for not dragging Chuck Plimpton's carcass into the light of day so Kevin and the others there would know he was really and truly dead.

  Cindee laid her hand on my arm, and my heart beat a little faster. "Well you shouldn't feel guilty about being too late. You didn't know something was going on. And you got there just before that thug did something worse to Teri."

  I shook my head. "It isn't just that. I've been a jackass."

  Cindee laughed. "Yes, you have. But you could fix that."

  I looked at her. Really looked at her. The breeze stirred her silky, black strands, and I could
smell her perfume. Was I really going to let her slip through my fingers?

  "A moment?" Roberto materialized next to me. Cindee squeezed my arm and left us.

  I motioned for him to sit, but he shook his head.

  "Are you really going through with this?" His voice was like silken steel. He was really upset. I couldn't blame him. This was his job.

  "Yes I am," I answered.

  Roberto sighed and closed his eyes. "Fine. Come with me then."

  "Where are we going?" I asked as I got to my feet.

  "You are going to help me fire the staff." And with that, he spun on his heel and walked away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food."

  ~Raymond Chandler

  I followed Roberto down the hall to the yoga room. I knew what he was doing. He wanted me to back down once I saw how my actions affected the others. I toyed with paying everyone out of my own pocket. Bombays are born with trust funds. The reasoning was simple; if you didn't need the money—you didn't turn on the family. Well, that and the fact that killing people for money had proven lucrative.

  Dushyant was meditating in the corner. And truth be told, if we were going to start with anyone, I didn't mind firing him. And the cook. Maybe he'd be next. I felt a bite of guilt inside. These people made my life miserable, but I'd asked for it, didn't I? Well, my guess was Dushyant wouldn't have any trouble finding work. He probably had other clients anyway.

  Roberto leaned back against the wall, sullenly crossing his arms over his chest. He looked from me to Dushyant. No time like the present.

  "Dushyant," I started as I walked toward him like a supplicant, my hands out in front of me. "I'm sorry, but…"

  My yoga instructor was on his feet immediately and plowed into me headfirst. Before I knew it, I was on the floor in an impossible and painful pose as he pulled arms and legs in directions arms and legs aren't supposed to go.

  "Hey!" I panted. It was hard to breathe. "No session now!" I looked to Roberto, who said nothing.

  Dushyant shifted his body weight on me, rolling me facedown onto the floor. He pulled my right leg and left arm back until they met. I resisted. Well, I tried to resist. The pain was blinding. I tried to complain, but all I said was, "mmmrrgh…" This yoga session was a bit too violent. Something was wrong.

  Roberto's shoes appeared in front of me. He crouched down so I could see his face.

  "Can you please call him off?" I said between gasps of pain.

  Roberto smiled. And that's when I realized what was really happening.

  "Oh, come on Paris. You wanted to meet with me. Let's talk." His voice changed. It was no longer the effete, elegant style I was used to. This voice had an edge I didn't like. What was he talking about? I hadn't asked to meet Roberto. The only one I'd asked to meet was…oh, no.

  "You're Chuck Plimpton!" I answered. Why didn't I see this before? Oh yeah, because I thought I'd KILLED HIM!

  Roberto laughed. "Charles Robert Plimpton, at your service." He gave some sort of signal, and Dushyant lifted me from the floor. I was now standing and facing Charles Robert, but my arms were still held in the vice grip that was Dushyant.

  "What am I going to do about you, Paris Bombay?" He tapped me on the chest. "You are costing me a lot of money," he tsked.

  "So, who was that in the control booth during my interview?" I felt sick. Did I kill someone innocent? I'd never made a mistake like this before.

  "Oh, just my associates," Charles waved his hand carelessly. "No one too important. But I will have to find another smuggler for my side business now because of you."

  I looked around the room, assessing my options. There were a lot of weapons available, as long as Dushyant the vice grip loosened up. My anguish had been replaced with a cold wash of anger.

  "And the attack in the hotel room before I auditioned?" I had to keep him talking. And I kind of wanted to know.

  "There have been fifteen assassination attempts on me in the last two years. It was only a matter of time before they sent a Bombay."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I snarled. Chuck waved me off. Clearly he wasn't going to tell me how he knew about the hit.

  How did he know about the Bombays? That wasn't good. The Bombays were supposed to be off the radar. But I couldn't deal with that now. I had to break free and finish the assignment…again.

  "No doubt, you want to complete your assignment," he said as if reading my mind. "But first, you have to finish this contract."

  "I have no intention of finishing this sleazy show for you," I snarled.

  Charles' eyebrows went up. "You will. You see, I'm going to hold you to it."

  "I don't give a damn about any contract I signed," I growled. "I won't make one more penny for you."

  "This isn't about money or contracts, Paris." He flicked a speck off his suit. "I get so bored these days. You've finally made life very interesting. This is going to be fun!"

  "I'm not here for your entertainment, and I won't do it." There was nothing he could do to make me. He'd just have to try to kill me first.

  "Oh, but you will!" he said a little too happily. "Because if you don't, I'll add Cindee to my collection of playthings."

  I lurched forward, causing Dushyant to lose his grip. Then I smashed the back of my skull into his forehead. He crumpled to the floor, and I lunged for Charles.

  He just happened to be faster. The barrel of a Colt .45 Gold Cup was aimed between my eyebrows. But it was his words that stopped me.

  "If you force me to kill you, Paris, I will walk across the house and shoot Cindee next. And then I'll drive across town and finish off Teri."

  That stopped me. I'd been shot before and always survived. But there was no way I was endangering Cindee or Teri.

  "Good boy," Charles said, but he kept the gun leveled at my face. "And all you have to do is finish the show. Then I can disappear, and you can go back to whatever."

  "You'll let the women go, now." It was an empty demand since he held a gun to my head, but worth a try.

  "Not until you make your choice and propose to one of them."

  "One of them?" I asked.

  Charles smirked. "Yes, I think you should choose between Cindee and Teri. In fact, I've just decided to add Teri to the show as a contestant."

  "Leave her out of this." I didn't think anything could make me angrier, but that did. "Leave them both out of this." My words meant nothing. There was no way Plimpton would take demands from me. And I didn't trust him. He wouldn't follow through and let them go.

  "No. I think not. You'll choose between Cindee and Teri." A giddy look came over his face. "Oh, and I just had the most marvelous idea!" Charles gave me an oily grin. "The woman you don't choose will belong to me."

  "No!" I lunged at him again, but this time, Dushyant had come to and pulled me away. I should've snapped his neck.

  "Oh, yes," Charles laughed, "that is exactly what will happen."

  "Just kill me and be done with it. That's what you wanted. You made repeated attempts."

  He looked into my eyes, and I was horrified to be met with the stare of a psychopath. "I did want to kill you, Paris. I tried over and over. But you didn't make it very easy for me. Now I think I have something better here. I get to humiliate you on TV and make you my own little puppet in my own puppet show."

  Chuck nodded at his own words. "Yes, that will be fun!"

  I struggled to break free as Dushyant put pressure on my windpipe and my whole world went black.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "It's like a bird. If he knew what he was doing, he would fall."

  ~Carl Reiner

  I came to in my room, with Dushyant sitting on the bed next to me. He was staring. It was unnerving. He pointed to a tuxedo hanging on the closet door. I could try to talk him out of it, if I could speak Hindi.

  The big Indian cracked his knuckles menacingly—something I didn't know you could do. As I dressed, I tried
to come up with an idea to get Teri and Cindee out of this mess. I didn't really care about myself. In fact, dying would only help my chances with these women.

  Dushyant didn't give me any opportunities. The minute I was ready to go, he shoved me roughly through the door, pushing me toward the den where I'd said goodbye to the other women. Chuck and Mel were arguing, breaking off when they saw me. Dushyant closed the door behind me and stood against it, his arms folded across his chest.

  Chuck waved Mel off, and Dushyant moved a microscopic distance to let the director out. Then Plimpton turned to me with a chilling grin.

  "Here's how this will go down," Chuck began, jumping right into the plan. Basically, he was bringing in an announcer named Perry, who'd once upon a time been a host on some obscure game show that lasted two episodes.

  Perry would dictate the event so that I wouldn't try something stupid—Chuck's exact words. I would only have to announce my intentions, and the woman I proposed to would step forward, while the loser would be taken off set by Dushyant to become Chuck's victim.

  "Here's the ring." He popped open a bright blue box from Tiffany's. He seemed disappointed that I didn't look at it. "It's two carats." He snapped it shut. "You will then propose to your lady friend." Chuck smiled and held up his hands. "After that, you and whoever are free to go."

  "And if I refuse to make a decision?" I growled.

  Chuck tsked. "I'll take both of them." He pointed at a man in the corner. I hadn't noticed him before. He was about as nondescript as he could be. A mercenary. I hated those thugs.

  "My friend there, will shoot both girls if you do anything." Chuck closed the gap between us. "And I mean, anything."

  He straightened my bow tie and brushed off my shoulders. "Come on now, Paris. You're almost done. You should be happy that I'm letting you and the future Mrs. Paris go."

  "At the expense of the other woman," I hissed. "Why don't you just take me and be done with it? They didn't do anything to you."

  "No, that won't give me the footage I need to finish the show." Chuck walked a few steps away. "This is my last hurrah in television, I think."