by Shayla Black
“Prison?” Shealyn blinked at the woman in confusion. Cutter hadn’t done anything illegal. “Why?”
“Don’t play dumb.” Jessica suddenly whipped a gun from her designer purse, then pointed it directly at Shealyn’s chest. “Look on the bright side, in two minutes your broken heart will be irrelevant because you’ll be dead. And you’ll have the last laugh when Cutter is convicted of your murder.”
Every muscle in Shealyn’s body froze. Her blood ran cold. “W-what are you doing? Put that down.”
“Shut up,” Jessica sneered. “I don’t buy that wide-eyed-bumpkin-from-the-country act for one minute. You knew exactly what you were doing to me when you cut my throat during the show’s first season. Tower said it was his idea but—”
“I swear . . .” She held up her hands. “I never asked anyone to force you off the show.”
“Oh, but you did. Every time you flipped that cloud of blond hair. Every time you wore something almost too indecent for television and flashed your cleavage at Tower. And all that kissing up to him, dating him in public . . . and whatever you really did in private. Of course he chose to keep you over me. I tried to stroke his ego—and his cock—which did me no good. You must have spent all your free time with him on your knees or bent over the sofa in his trailer.”
Shealyn wasn’t sure if responding with the truth or a lie—or anything at all—would placate Jessica. “What do you want? To get your career back on track?”
She scoffed. “No, bitch. I just want you to die! That part I thought I was the frontrunner to get? The producers called me over the weekend to say they’d be interested in hiring me, but only if I could convince you to do some cameos. You know, since we’re friends and everyone just loves Shealyn West. You have been the bane of my existence for over a year. I might finally get ahead if you’re not constantly overshadowing me.”
Shealyn didn’t even know how to respond. “There are plenty of roles out there. You’re young and pretty and—”
“Apparently not as good as you. Believe me, I tried to find consolation where I could. I fucked your last bodyguard first, but the new one was focused solely on you.” Her loud sigh was a complaint all its own. “A shame because he was really hot. It sucks that he has to go to prison for your murder, but at least he’ll be popular there.”
At her snicker, Shealyn felt her jaw drop. “You and Foster?”
“You hadn’t figured that out yet? God, either you’re really stupid or you are just a country bumpkin. Didn’t you ever notice the picture?” Keeping the gun trained on her, Jessica stomped over to the table behind the sofa and lifted Shealyn’s photo of Hot Southern Nights’ first cast, then shoved it in her face. “Who is that standing next to me? And if you peer into the shadows, what is he doing?”
When Jessica tossed the picture her way, Shealyn caught it with trembling fingers and studied it, her head reeling, her brain racing. She’d seen this image a hundred times, but she had never truly dissected it.
Gary was the focal point of the photo. He looked smug. Behind him and on the left, she and Tower appeared ready to jump one another’s bones. Jessica stood to the right, holding his hand with a sly grin. But she’d cut her gaze toward the shadows. Lurking deep there, Shealyn saw a man’s profile. Until now, she’d barely noticed him. She’d certainly never looked twice at him. She especially hadn’t noticed that his face was familiar or seen the shadowy hand that seemed to emerge from the dark edges as he reached for Jessica’s ass.
How had she missed that? Because it hadn’t been obvious and she hadn’t been looking for it. She’d never suspected that her supposed friend and her former bodyguard had been lovers, much less that they were working together to bring her down.
“Oh, my goodness . . .” Her voice trembled. “Foster helped you because you two were a . . . thing?”
“That’s how I convinced him. But he ultimately did it for the money. For him, a fatter bank account was enough. But simply having you shell out some liquid cash didn’t solve my problems. When push came to shove, he had no problem blackmailing you, but he drew the line at snuffing you out. Coward.”
The dots of Jessica’s sinister plot began to connect in Shealyn’s head. “So you took the video of Foster and I in the dressing room? And you were at the baseball diamond that night?”
“Of course.”
“You took the video of Cutter and I kissing?”
“Foster did. He thought it might make more good blackmail fodder. I merely released it to the public, hoping that would be enough to crush your career. Of course, people only talked about you more.” Jessica tsked and shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “Somehow, proving to everyone that you’re a cheating whore made you more interesting and bankable.”
More pieces of the puzzle slid into place. “You were the one who nearly ran us over in the car.”
“Who else? Foster didn’t have the will or the stomach. He was furious after the incident and threatened to come clean about the whole thing. That’s why he had to die.”
A chill rolled through Shealyn.
Jessica was crazy jealous, and Shealyn didn’t think there would be any reasoning with her. She had no idea how she was going to get out of here alive. The woman had come here determined to kill and realized she had a short window of opportunity to get the deed done so she could pin the crime on Cutter.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. She and Jessica both whipped their stares around to the unexpected sound.
“Who is that?” Jessica snapped.
“I don’t know.” It was the truth . . . though she had suspicions. “It must be someone I’ve approved or they would never be allowed past the guard gate.”
The woman raised the gun, pointing it right at her head. “I’m going to stand behind the door, right beside you, while you tell whoever’s there that you don’t want to talk this morning. If you don’t, I’ll end the fucker while you watch. Got it?”
Heart pounding, Shealyn nodded. What choice did she have?
“Go on.” Jessica prodded her toward the foyer with the wave of her weapon.
Swallowing hard, Shealyn turned and headed for the door. As she wended through the kitchen, she debated the wisdom of grabbing a big butcher knife and shoving it in Jessica’s chest. But the woman maintained a cautious distance between them, far enough away that she could pull the trigger quicker than Shealyn could slice her. Instead, Shealyn shifted her gaze from side to side all over the house, looking for anything to use as a weapon. But keeping a relatively clutter-free place didn’t leave her many options.
She hoped Lance had been suspicious of Jessica’s early morning visit and magically sent the police to check on her. On second thought . . . she hadn’t seen the woman’s car in the driveway. Had she walked? Likely so. How else could she get away with murder?
Shealyn thought next of trying some kickboxing moves she’d learned in past exercise classes, but she’d never get in a lick before Jessica shot a couple of rounds into her brain.
Just as she ran out of time and options and reached for the door, it opened in front of her and a familiar figure barged into the foyer, key in one hand, advancing on her with a glower.
“Goddamn it, Shealyn. I’ve been up all night. We need to talk about this shit with . . .” Tower caught sight of Jessica and her gun. And his eyes widened. “Oh, god.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Jessica growled at him.
Her co-star stared down the barrel. “What are you doing?”
“You’re a smart man, Tower. There’s nothing to see here,” Jessica insisted. “Turn around. Close the door behind you. Keep breathing, go on with your life. When you knocked, Shealyn didn’t answer the door. As far as you know, I wasn’t here, and you haven’t seen me in ages. If you say that, we’ll be fine.”
He blinked, staring at the crazy woman capable of killing anyone she pointed her gun at. S
healyn held her breath. She was both hoping that Tower would remove himself from harm’s way and help her. Then she realized Jessica was waiting for Tower’s reply . . . and not paying much attention to anything else. Maybe if she crept closer, if she could ease slightly behind Jessica, kick or trip her while Tower held her attention, she could save them both.
“Sorry to have barged in,” Tower said suddenly and gravely. Shame and resignation covered his face. He couldn’t look Shealyn’s way. “I’ll tell the guard at the gate that no one answered the door and that I saw nothing.”
“Good boy.” Jessica sent him an acidic smile.
Tower was leaving her here to die. Shealyn wanted to be shocked, but she wasn’t. The human instinct was to survive, and his tough-as-nails persona aside, Dean was just a regular guy without the kind of training or guts necessary to go up against the weapon in Jessica’s hand and win. Still, Shealyn felt betrayed by his choice.
He finally lifted his stare to her. It was full of agony and apology. He hated what he was about to do . . . but that wouldn’t change a thing.
“It’s all right,” she choked out. “This isn’t your fight.”
He pressed a fist to his pursed lips, looking as if he wanted to cry. “I’m sorry. I just . . .”
When he huffed as if he didn’t know what to say, she shook her head. “I know. There’s no reason for both of us to die, and I don’t blame you at all. Go while you can.”
“I’m sorry I outed Cutter’s name. It seems petty now. I—”
“I don’t have time for your teary confessional. Get the fuck out,” Jessica demanded. “Now!”
Tower heaved a long breath and raised a silent hand to Shealyn. Then he turned and shut the door behind him with a soft click.
Her last hope to be saved was gone. Shealyn tried not to cry. She tried not to think of her grandparents’ sorrow or her sister’s inconsolable sadness, especially before her wedding. She tried not to imagine her fans’ shock at the news of her untimely murder. And what would become of the show?
What if she had never come to Hollywood? She would probably still be in Comfort, married to Alex or some rancher, with two kids and a third on the way. She would have never known another way of life or met Cutter so she could fall in love with him.
She hated that all of her dreams were coming to an end, just like her life. But she couldn’t change that now. She could only die with dignity and hope that her family would be all right, that Cutter would think of her occasionally with fondness.
“What’s your plan?” she prodded Jessica.
“Lock the door. Slowly.” When Shealyn grabbed the knob and considered yanking it open to run for freedom, Jessica pressed the barrel of the gun to her crown. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Jessica could blow her brains out here and now, just like she’d probably do in the next two minutes. But every moment she lived meant another opportunity to escape might present itself, and she wasn’t going to give up without exhausting every second life had left to give her.
Shealyn turned the knob of the deadbolt, locking them in and complying—for now.
“Good. Now go to your bedroom. No funny shit along the way.” Jessica prodded her in the back with the gun across the kitchen and family room, down the hall and toward her bedroom. “You know, it’s good that Tower showed up. If Cutter went straight to the airport, he might have an alibi for your murder, but Tower coming here gives me a great backup. I wouldn’t mind him going to prison for me. After the way he treated me, it would be poetic justice.”
When she cackled, Shealyn wondered when Jessica had snapped. When had she gotten bitter and mean enough to kill another person over petty jealousy? Shealyn wasn’t going to question how she hadn’t seen Jessica’s true colors before now. That was the thing about actors. They were professional liars. Jessica might be unhinged, but she was good at her job.
Once they entered the room, Shealyn found her courage crumbling. Unless she thought of something, these were her last moments on Earth, the last time she’d glance out her window. She had to somehow make these seconds count.
“Stop there,” Jessica insisted when Shealyn reached the middle of her bedroom. “Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
“Do it! If your lover was going to kill you in the heat of passion, he’d do it when you’re naked.”
Damn it. Shucking her clothes would only make her feel more vulnerable. She couldn’t just give up. Time to get creative, distract Jessica—something.
“Can I pray first?” Maybe if she seemed lost in her own thoughts that would lull Jessica into relaxing for just a moment so Shealyn could get a jump on her. It was a long shot at this point . . . but everything was.
“What?”
“I’d like to pray. I’m leaving behind family who will be devastated, and I’d like to ask God to watch over them and settle some of my own guilt before I knock on Saint Peter’s pearly gates.”
“Ugh.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “I forgot. All you hicks from the sticks are annoyingly religious. Don’t you get it? There is no God. Only fame, money, sex, and control over it all.”
“If you don’t believe in love, a higher power, or hell, then I’m not surprised you’re the sort of person who would murder someone for your own pathetic gain.”
Thunder rolled over Jessica’s face. “You want to pray, bitch? Then get on your knees now. Or I’ll blow your head off.”
Shealyn hadn’t seen that coming. If she was kneeling, how could she possibly take the other woman by surprise and maybe wrest the gun from her?
Then she saw the little device on the bottom shelf of her nightstand. The security system’s panic button. It might bring the police quickly enough to save her life. If not . . . the authorities arriving in three minutes might save Cutter a murder rap. Even if their love hadn’t turned out the way she had hoped, Shealyn could die knowing that she’d done a good deed and another child wouldn’t enter the world without his or her father. And if there was some explanation for his pregnant fiancée that didn’t involve his deceit . . . then this was the very least she owed Cutter for failing to trust him.
Sliding to her knees, she pretended to slip and right herself on the nightstand. Sneaking her hand onto the open shelf, she grabbed the device and pressed the button—hard. She did it a few times for good measure, then shoved it under the piece of furniture, clasped her hands, and closed her eyes, hoping she’d get to open them again.
CHAPTER 18
Going nearly ninety miles per hour, Cutter drove past Lance at the guard gate. He didn’t bother to stop, merely busted through the traffic arm and sped on. He prayed like hell the guy called the police. Maybe they would come faster to help him save Shealyn.
If he wasn’t already too late.
He came to a grinding halt in Shealyn’s rustic pebbled driveway, stunned to see Tower’s flashy convertible half parked in the grass. The man himself was pacing the side yard, phone plastered to his ear. He paused when Cutter cut the engine and leapt out.
“Where’s Jessica?” Cutter barked.
“I have to go. Send help.” He hung up. “Inside. You figured out that she’s guilty?”
“About ten minutes ago.”
“Yeah. She’s got a gun. She’s lost her damn mind.”
How the hell could the man know that from his vantage point outside the house? Cutter didn’t waste the time to ask. “I think she’s planning to kill Shealyn and has been all along.”
Tower nodded. “I know you thought it was me. I might be angry, but I would never—”
“Focus. Have you heard gunshots yet?”
“No. Thank God.”
Amen. “Any idea where in the house they are?”
“I don’t,” Tower admitted. “But we have to help her. I knocked on the door and . . .” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe what was ha
ppening. “Then I called the police—”
“So did I. They should already be en route.”
“That’s what they said. They also told me a moment ago that they’d received a signal from Shealyn’s panic button.”
So she was in the bedroom. “Wait here.”
“If you’re going to rescue her, I’m coming.”
Tower would only be a hindrance.
“If you want to help, talk to the police when they come. I have a feeling this will be over in the next thirty seconds.”
Cutter didn’t wait for Tower’s reply. He dashed off, heading around the side of the house, hopping onto the balcony at the far end of the structure and stealthily making his way along the back, peering into the windows for figures, movement, shadow—anything that might tell him if Shealyn was anywhere other than her bedroom. He’d get only one chance to surprise Jessica, so he had to make it count.
As he crouched against the wall bordering the giant French doors of Shealyn’s bedroom, he did his best not to think about the consequences of failure. If he didn’t get to her in time . . .
No. He had to keep it together. He couldn’t panic. Clean, surgical, perfect. Otherwise, this day would be fatal—both for her and his heart.
Cutter risked a peek through the glass. Shealyn knelt on the far side of her expansive room, next to her bed, lips moving softly, head bowed, and hands pressed together in prayer. An impatient Jessica stood over her, obviously waiting for Shealyn to hurry up her last wishes so she could pull the trigger.
The back door was locked, and he’d need to break in with a lot of splatter and flash. But once inside, he must act fast or . . .
Cutter refused to think about the “or.”
Creeping quickly to one of the wrought iron patio tables nearby, he grabbed the nearest chair and tiptoed toward the French doors with it, glad as hell for the east-facing house. The early morning sun had barely reached the west-facing balcony. There were still plenty of shadows for him to hide in.