Blonde and Fabulous

by anna snow

  "Smartass." He chuckled and shook his head. A moment later someone called his name. "Don't get into any trouble on your way to the hospital, okay?"

  "I can't make any promises," I teased.

  "I'm not surprised," he said with a grin. "I'd ask those two to keep you out of trouble, but from the looks of them, it would go in one ear and right out the other." He chuckled as he walked away.

  "Let's get you to the hospital and get that stitched up. You'll probably get a tetanus shot, too." Mona said as she put her arm around me, and we walked toward the club's entrance.

  "I'll pass on the shot, thank you." I wasn't a fan of shots of any variety.

  "You'll engage an active shooter without hesitation but balk at the thought of getting a little shot. I'm beginning to think you might be just a little bit crazy," Mona said and shook her head as we once again exited the club into the still pouring rain.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Less than four hours, eight stitches, one tetanus shot, and a painkiller later, I walked out of the emergency room with an entirely new outlook on my upcoming vacation.

  Nothing like being shot by some crazy murderer to make a girl rethink her position in life. I was beginning to think there was more to life than work. Of course, that could just be the painkillers talking.

  Tyler helped me into the passenger seat of his SUV and buckled my seat belt.

  Mona and Cindy had driven my car back to my place where they were waiting for Tyler and me to arrive.

  "That blue sling your arm's in is kind of sexy," he said and tossed me a playful wink.

  I couldn't help but laugh.

  "Yeah, invalid chic," I replied and did a Vanna White wave at the sling with my free hand.

  "Let's go home and get you into a pair of those sexy pajama pants you love so much, Vanna." He started the ignition. "I've already talked to the captain. He said it's perfectly fine that you come in in the morning and give your statement. I think he was just afraid that if he said no, Mona would rip him a new one."

  "That could very well be the reason," I said with a small laugh.

  We pulled away from the curb, and Tyler steered in the direction of my house. We had no more than hit the freeway when I fell fast asleep.

  * * *

  My body was jostling. Someone was carrying me. For a moment I began to panic, thinking I was still back at the club under the barrel of Rena's gun.

  I opened my eyes and looked around with a start, only to find myself in Tyler's arms.

  "Go back to sleep," he said in his soft rumbling voice.

  But I was wide awake. Apparently, the short nap I'd had in the car was enough to help the pain medication wear off some.

  "No, I'm awake now," I said and rubbed my eyes.

  Tyler reached down with one hand, holding me close to his chest with the other, and unlocked then opened the door.

  Once inside, he kicked the door shut with the heel of his foot and carried me to the sofa. He set me down gently.

  "Where's the girls?" I asked and looked around at my empty house.

  "Mona called me while I was driving here. They dropped your car off then were going to go to Kelly's and make sure she's feeling better and fill her in on what happened."

  "Why did Kelly go home?"

  "She told Mona she was feeling much better, and she wanted to sleep in her own bed." He smiled at me. "Now, stop worrying about everyone else and rest, Wonder Woman. Is there anything you need?" he asked. "And don't say something like 'the girls to come over right now.' It's late, and you need rest."

  "Yes."

  "What?" he asked, looking as though he was a dog about to do a trick in exchange for a treat. It was actually quite sweet how anxious he was to take care of me.

  "Food."

  "How did I know that's what you were going to say?" He propped his hands on his hips and tilted his head. "I'll order takeout." He pulled his cell phone out and dialed the number for our favorite all-night Chinese restaurant.

  "Extra wontons, please." I mouthed as he began speaking to the person on the other end of the call.

  He rolled his eyes at me and grinned then ordered the extra wontons just like a good boyfriend should.

  Tyler finished placing the order then sat down on the sofa and pulled me into his arms. I laid my head on his chest and just listened to his heartbeat for a moment.

  "Comfortable?" he asked and smoothed my hair away from my face.

  "Completely." I rubbed his chest then pulled the sling off my arm and tossed it in the general direction of the table. Relaxing back against his warm, hard body, I let out a little sigh of contentment.

  "How did everything go at the station?" I asked, unable to completely forget about work.

  "Well," he said and blew out a breath. "Roy confessed to everything. Killing Tammy and Kiki, laundering money for Fernando, the works."

  "Just like that?" I asked with disbelief. "What gives?"

  "Well, not exactly just like that. We took Rena in one interrogation room and Roy into another. They were both ready to squeal on each other in exchange for a plea deal."

  "Please don't tell me that they got their deals."

  Tyler laughed. "Nope. Those two might have been smart enough to launder a great deal of money from Fernando's drug trucks, but they weren't smart enough to keep their mouths shut before a deal was offered. They spewed off everything they had done and then some before realizing we hadn't even agreed to offering them a deal yet."

  "Unbelievable." I shook my head. "What about Fernando?" I asked.

  "With Roy's confession and the club's financial records, there was more than enough evidence to arrest Fernando for money laundering, drug possession, and distribution. And if that hadn't been enough, one look in those ice cream trucks you discovered will be enough to seal the deal. Those three will be going away for a good long while." He combed his fingers through my loose, wavy hair and kissed the top of my head.

  "How did you figure out it was Roy who killed the girls?" he asked after a few quiet moments.

  "I didn't," I answered honestly.

  "Then how did you end up in the middle of everything?"

  "Luck? An accident? Wrong place, right time? Wrong place at the wrong time? It all depends on how you look at it," I said and turned to face him. "Mona and I went to the club again to take a look through Kiki's and Tammy's belongings. I knew you had searched the girls' lockers because you let it slip during one of our conversations, but I needed to see for myself what was in them," I clarified. "I'd found a lot of cash in Kiki's closet in a shoe box when I went to check the place out and wondered if somehow it was related to the club. When I didn't find anything in their lockers or vanities, I decided to do a little snooping through the employee files in hopes of figuring out why Fernando left working at the club. Instead, Roy found us, and he had a gun held on Cindy. He was going to kill us. Once we stepped foot outside, we did what we had to do to survive." I shrugged.

  "When Mona called me in hysterics saying that you were in a shootout with Roy, I almost lost it." He kissed my forehead. "I can't imagine my life without you."

  As hard as it was, because I could be a bit of a cynic, his words caused my heart to melt. I loved this man. There were absolutely zero doubts about it.

  "I love you, Barb."

  I stretched up and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

  He smiled down at me. "What was that for?"

  "That was a thank-you. Thank you for putting up with me, my crazy friends, my wacky aunt, my ability to find trouble wherever I go, my quirks and eccentricities, and the list just goes on and on."

  "Ah, but Barb, what would you be without all of those things? Boring, that's what. You're pretty darn amazing, Barb Jackson, and I love you just the way you are."

  The doorbell rang before I could form a response.

  "Food's here," Tyler said, and my stomach let out a loud rumble.

  I leaned off him, and he stood then answered the door.

  Once the foo
d was paid for and Tyler had spread it out between us, we dug in.

  I bit into a cream cheese wonton and sighed aloud.

  "Are you still wondering if you need this vacation or not?" he asked then took a bite of his General Tso's chicken.

  I poked my fork around in the creamy shrimp then looked up at him and grinned. "I can't think of anything I'd rather do more than watch you strut around shirtless on the deck of a cruise ship. Bring on the vacation, baby," I said playfully.

  "Well, would you look at that. Barb Jackson, workaholic, trouble magnet extraordinaire, is actually looking forward to a vacation. Miracles really do happen." His eyes twinkled. "I was afraid you'd say you'd already taken on a case while at the hospital. It certainly wouldn't surprise me."

  "Ha. Ha."

  "It's the truth. You're a handful."

  "You haven't seen anything yet." I grinned and helped myself to another wonton.

  Tyler shook his head, his expression one of resignation. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

  * * * * *

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  * * * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Not only is Anna Snow a wife, mom, and lipstick junkie, but she's also a multi-published USA Today bestselling author of several romance, mystery, erotica, fan-fiction, paranormal, chick-lit, and thriller works.

  Anna began writing as soon as she could hold a pen and hasn't stopped since. She loves life and can think of nothing she enjoys more than spending time with her family and friends. She loves archery, reading, writing, kitties, spending time outdoors, and did I mention kitties? *Big grin* Anna also loves to hear from her fans and answers all correspondence she receives.

  To learn more about Anna Snow, visit her online at: https://www.annasnow.info

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY ANNA SNOW

  Barb Jackson Mysteries:

  The Blonde Before Christmas (holiday short story)

  Bubblegum Blonde

  Illegally Blonde

  Blonde and Fabulous

  Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

  Hollywood Deception

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  If you enjoyed this Barb Jackson Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:

  HOLLYWOOD DECEPTION

  by

  GEMMA HALLIDAY

  &

  ANN SNOW

  CHAPTER ONE

  The set was jam packed, and it was only 9:00 a.m.

  Several production assistants wearing headsets hustled to and from other members of the crew with coffee drinks in hand. Lighting and camera people moved large pieces of equipment around the set, readying for the perfect shot. Makeup and wardrobe artists buzzed about in a flurry of activity, rushing powder puffs and starched shirts across the sound stage to the talent, hidden away in their trailers.

  I took a sip of the iced coffee one of the countless PAs had handed me the moment I'd sat down. I must admit I was a bit envious of the talent in those trailers. I had a slight obsession with fashion and could only imagine what it would be like to have a personal stylist and makeup artist of my own. But on my tabloid reporter budget, all I could afford was to watch Project Runway and use my imagination when I hit the consignment shops in Studio City.

  I reached down and adjusted the hem of my short black miniskirt then crossed my legs and checked the neckline of my pink top. I'd been trying to land this interview for a couple of weeks now, and thanks to my persistent nature—and my ample cleavage, which was always a bit hard to contain but had seemed to impress my quarry's manager—I'd landed an exclusive with none other than Bobby Baxter, host of the hit television series Bobby Tells All.

  Bobby Tells All was an hour-long show where Bobby proved the truth about everyday common misconceptions and myths while providing the audience with a healthy dose of humor and sarcasm. He got to the bottom of just about every question a person could think of, from What's Really in That Sausage You're Eating? to Can a Bundle of Balloons Really Carry a Person Away? and everything in between. The show was fun, quirky, and had been an instant ratings hit when it had debuted last year, making Bobby a household name—at least among cable TV watchers.

  He'd also become something of a B-list celebrity. A status Bobby seemed to enjoy even more than busting myths, quickly becoming a fixture in the tabloid headlines for his "bad boy" antics.

  Case in point: a couple of weeks earlier, Bobby had assaulted a fan at Beverly's, an upscale restaurant in Hollywood. Paparazzi had been on the scene, star watching, and had caught photos of the aftermath—the fan with a bloody nose. It had quickly gone viral, but neither party had made any comment on what had started the altercation.

  Until now. Somehow I had been able to land an exclusive with Bobby (see cleavage-versus-manager comment above) and was about to get his side of the story. I had a feeling it was going to be good. Okay, so it wasn't exactly hard-hitting investigative reporting that would have CNN beating down my door with offers of field correspondent positions. But as far as the kind of stories the tabloid paper I worked for, the L.A. Informer, published, this was front page gold.

  Bobby's personal assistant had assured me that Bobby would "fit me in" today between takes as he filmed his latest episode. Though, when that might be, I had no idea. A quick look at the enormous clock on the far wall told me that filming should've started nearly an hour ago. Not that running a bit behind wasn't par for the course in Hollywood, but I certainly hoped Bobby hadn't changed his mind and wasn't actively avoiding me—something I'd become used to in my line of work.

  The tinkle of my phone sounded from the bottom of my purse. I forced my eyes away from all of the frenetic activity and dug around until I came up with the little pink device. I checked the display. It was a text from my boss, Felix Dunn.

  Get the story yet? Make it good, Allie. Our front page is bare. :)

  I grinned down at the little smile emoticon then fired off a response.

  On it, boss.

  At least I hoped. I glanced up at the clock again, praying Bobby wasn't blowing me off. Working as a reporter for the L.A. Informer wasn't exactly a prestigious position. The Informer was often described as a combination of People magazine meets the Enquirer, but without the aliens and three-headed anything. We posted up-to-date information, most of it true, on celebrities, their television shows, movies, love lives, and of course all of the deliciously naughty trouble they tended to get themselves into. Most celebs had a love-hate relationship with us. They hated the way we followed them around like little puppies with cameras, poked fun at their outfits, and could blow a little thing like a bad hair day up into a sensational headline. But they hated it even worse when we stopped talking about them altogether.

  Another text came in.

  Are we still on for tonight?

  I nibbled my bottom lip. Even though it probably wasn't the best idea I'd ever had, for the past few months, I'd been dating my boss. I hadn't exactly meant to. It had sort of happened by accident. But as much as I knew it wasn't the best career move, there was something about Felix that was hard to resist.

  For starters, he was hot. Like volcanic. Blond hair, blues eyes, and a British accent that could make a girl melt. He was charming in a rough-around-the-edges way but gentle in the moments when it counted. In truth, he made me kinda giddy, like a high school girl around her crush.

  I was just about to text him back, thumbs poised over the screen of my phone, when Bobby finally burst onto the set. I say "burst" because as soon as he appeared, the crew scattered like bugs.

  "What is taking so long? Where is my latte? Where the hell is makeup?" he demanded of several people all at once. The assistant director made some rapid arm movements toward the crew, no less than three PAs ran off to presumably find a lat
te, and a thin woman carrying an overstuffed bag quickly appeared at his side and began powdering his forehead.

  This was the first time I'd seen Bobby in person, and while I'd recognize the chiseled jaw and dark good looks anywhere, it appeared that his easy smile was something he reserved for the cameras. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyebrows were drawn together in a scowl.

  I sent a quick response to Felix.

  Yes. Be ready at eight. Bobby's on set now. Gotta go.

  I set my phone to silent, slid it back into my purse without awaiting a response, and turned my attention back to Bobby. He was saying something to wardrobe now—an older woman in a flowy dress. His voice was low enough that I couldn't hear what, but from the way the scowl had deepened and he was gesturing to his clothes, he didn't look happy. He looked immaculate to me in a white dress shirt and pair of black slacks that hugged his legs perfectly. Not one shiny brown hair on his severely gelled head was out of place.

  He finally finished his tirade at the wardrobe woman, who slunk away like a dog with her tail between her legs, and made his way onto the sound stage. Today it was set up like a science lab, and I'll admit I was kind of eager to see what myth he'd be busting in it.

  Two lighting guys with instruments to check the white balance descended on Bobby, who tried to swat them off like flies. "Didn't you check this with my stand-in?" he yelled.

  The guys didn't answer, instead slinking off in much the same fashion as the wardrobe lady.

  I raised an eyebrow, making a mental note. It seemed Bobby Baxter was a diva with a capital D. The show fan in me was disappointed, but the reporter in me was giggling on the inside as I mentally began writing my article on the "Divalicious Mr. Baxter."

  I relaxed back into the surprisingly comfortable canvas director's chair and watched as the crew took their places to begin filming. The minute action was called and the cameras started rolling, Bobby's scowl was replaced with the friendly grin I had come to associate with him through my hours of DVRed Bobby Tells All.