by Shari King
Unable to hold back any longer, he jumped out of the car, senses assaulted by the familiar sights and smells.
Over to his right, the bar he’d played poker in every week, even though it had cost him cash, jewellery and, once, the car that had sat outside on the kerb. He never did know when to fold and walk away.
On the left, a strip joint that was home to Destiny, Carmen and Sugar, girls who knew their way to his apartment and who had shared many nights that were just clouds in his memory now. Next to that, the club in which he’d punched out Raymo Cash the first time, earning him a huge fine and a stint in rehab. That was where he’d met Chloe. The thought made his gut twist a little more. Nope, don’t go there. She’d understand. She was an addict. There was nothing about how he was feeling now that she wouldn’t recognize.
He paused at the door, took a breath, steeled himself. No going back.
Pulling open the door, he stepped inside. No one gave him a second glance, but why would they? No one was here for him.
He headed for a table in the corner, sat down, willing his breathing to return to normal.
Eventually, a woman approached him, smiling. She was tall, black, beautiful.
‘Hi. I’m glad you’re here,’ she said warmly.
He tried to return the smile, but the tension in his face made it tough.
Undeterred, like she dealt with this kind of reaction every day, she carried on. ‘Welcome to Chloe’s Care. I’m Pauline.’
With each word, his tension came down a tiny notch.
‘I’m Zander. I’m an addict, but I’m clean. And I just need to be here,’ he replied.
40.
‘Dirty Little Secret’ – The All-American Rejects
Sarah
If she died right now, her tombstone would read as follows: ‘Here lies Sarah McKenzie, who died of a heart attack brought on from being a duplicitous spy who almost got caught.’
The jet was more subdued than it had been after the earlier legs on the tour. The lights had been dimmed since take-off, and most of the band and crew were either sleeping or plugged into headphones, watching stuff on laptops and tablets. At least the war between Logan and Jonell seemed to have calmed down. They’d been hanging out earlier and it all seemed amicable. Obviously, their fight had been just another little blip on the landscape of life on the road.
Across from her, Logan was now fast asleep, mouth open, a tiny dribble of drool coming from the left-hand side of his lower lip. His fans called themselves the Logangstas. She had a hunch that if the Logangstas could see their hero now, he might slip down their devotion scale just a little.
Her watch told her they still had two hours until they touched down in LA. Home. Kind of. Was it weird that she was beginning to think of that apartment in Marina del Rey as home? This time last year, she’d never have believed she’d live anywhere but Glasgow, and yet here she was, on a jet, with a boy band, headed for her condo overlooking the sea.
That’s if she got there in one piece. At the moment, it was looking debatable. She turned her head to look a few rows back on the other side of the plane, and yep, Eli was still staring at her.
She’d called his bluff back at the stadium and he’d backed down. Hadn’t asked to check her phone. His demeanour made it damn clear he was suspicious, though, and since that moment, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He’d joined her and Logan in the limo after the gig. Sat within her eye line on the plane. And now, there he was, still staring. The guy would make someone a great stalker one day.
Unable to resist, she gave him a sweet smile and a wave. He didn’t reciprocate, and she was fairly sure he was visualizing flying daggers entering her spinal area.
At least it would put her out of her misery. The suspense of not knowing what was caught on her phone was killing her, but there had been no opportunity to check it. If she’d disappeared to the washroom for the length of time it would take to watch half an hour of footage, she’d arouse suspicion. Now everyone was sleeping, except Eli the Stalker, it was still too risky. He could walk by at any moment, see what she was watching and there would be a cop car waiting for her on landing.
Making a decision, she stood up and headed over to where he was sitting. His expression didn’t change as his eyes watched her approach. Leaning down, careful not to waken anyone else, she whispered, ‘Think I might have eaten something that doesn’t agree with me. If I’m not back out in ten minutes, can you call the medical team?’ He didn’t even make a pretence of going along with the joke, just followed her with his eyes as she headed for the loo.
OK, so that bought her ten minutes. Not long enough to watch the whole thing, but at least it gave her time to fast-forward through it quickly and check if anything was untoward.
In the luxurious, black gloss bathroom – nope, they bore no resemblance to the tuna-can toilets on commercial flights, and yes, she was now ruined for any other mode of transport for life – she sat on the lid of the toilet and plugged her in-ear headphones into her phone. A ton of messages popped up on the screen. Dammit! She’d flipped the phone to silent when she was busy playing Bond. No time to check them now. Messages later, video first.
Sarah pressed ‘play’.
Nothing to see. An empty room. She fast-forwarded until she spotted the door from the dressing-room shower opening. ‘Play.’ An image of a naked Logan filled the screen. Oh holy shit! And great – she was probably now breaking at least half a dozen federal laws, despite the fact that she’d snapped her eyes shut. Prising them slightly open again, she was relieved to see he’d pulled on a pair of Calvins. And incidentally, whatever training regime he was following was totally working for him. He was, quite possibly, the fittest almost twenty-year-old she’d ever seen.
On camera, she watched as he picked up his laptop and brought it over to the sofa where she’d been sitting. Closer. Closer. Oh no, no, no, no, stop!
He plumped down, missing the cushion that had been concealing the phone by inches. The evidence of how close she’d come to being caught made sweat beads pop out right across her forehead.
Logan had his laptop open now, and the angle of her phone gave her a perfect view of the screen. The cursor moved to the Facetime icon and he clicked.
The ringing only lasted a few seconds before it was answered and a familiar face filled the screen. Pale, beautiful skin. Huge blue eyes. Long, deep red hair.
Lauren Finney’s smile showed perfect teeth and true affection.
‘Hello, baby,’ she greeted Logan.
Sarah’s eyes widened. Well, blow me with a boy-band member – she hadn’t seen that coming. What kind of crap investigative reporter was she that she had let that one totally get by her? Logan and Lauren?
Although, of course, it made perfect sense. He was a teenage star, member of South City, lived a crazy life of fame and adulation.
Lauren was only a couple of years older, a girl discovered by Davie on American Stars, an artist who’d become a household name, a phenomenal success as a singer and host, who now also lived a crazy life of fame and adulation.
They were made for each other.
‘You are so beautiful. I miss you, babe,’ Logan groaned. Sarah’s heart melted just a little more towards this kid. Whatever Mirren had done with him, she’d done it well.
‘I miss you too. Wish you were here,’ she said, then laughed. ‘Not that you’d fit in at the moment, though.’ Sweeping her hand around the room behind her, Lauren was obviously making a point. Sarah squinted to see what it was and eventually realized it was flowers. Dozens and dozens of flowers.
‘I wish I could say they were from me,’ Logan told her, smiling.
Lauren shook her head. ‘Honey, look at this. It’s out of control. Trust me, the day you send me flowers is the day we’re done. Even the smell of them gives me the creeps. I’ve asked housekeeping to have them gone by the time I get back from the show.’
An arm became visible on the screen, and Sarah realized that Lauren was checking her watch. ‘Honey, I have to
go. I can’t wait to see you later. Will you come straight from the airport? I’ll be home by then.’
Logan nodded. ‘I will, and, Lauren?’
That incredible Julia Roberts smile again. Sarah decided if she were a less secure human being, she’d be excruciatingly jealous. Sod security, she was turning a mild shade of green.
‘Yeah, baby?’
‘You have no idea how great tonight is gonna be when I see you.’
Lauren giggled. ‘I love a man who makes promises he can keep. Bye, baby.’
On the scale of instant feelings of crap, Sarah suddenly ricocheted right to the top. Brilliant. She’d planted a camera, risked a horrific breach of trust, almost had herself taken out by a lethal close-protection agent, inadvertently broken a dozen different laws, seen Logan naked, totally invaded his privacy, and all to end up with a bird’s-eye view of a cute scene that belonged in a romcom.
OK, enough for now. Eli was probably lining storm troopers up outside the door this very minute. Her thumb went to move to the ‘stop’ button when the image on the screen jiggled and she saw that Logan had turned to greet a new arrival.
Eli’s profile came into view. Great. He was bugging her in real life and on screen now too.
Her thumb moved again and—
Stopped.
Froze.
Eli wordlessly paused in front of where Logan was sitting, pulled something out of his pocket. Oh God, she should switch off. She suddenly didn’t want to see anything that could incriminate Logan. He was such a sweet kid, and everyone made mistakes, and what business of hers was it, anyway? It was different when he was just the catalyst for a chapter in her book, but over the last couple of weeks she’d really grown to like him. And then there was Mirren too. How could Sarah possibly be complicit in anything that would hurt that woman? Hadn’t she been through enough?
She should stop. Definitely. Yet . . . she couldn’t, because she had to know. It was like watching a car crash in front of her and she couldn’t walk away until she knew exactly what the body count was going to be.
Using her thumb and forefinger, she enlarged the image, zooming in on Eli’s hand. A small, clear bag with what looked like white power inside. Another bag. Little blue pills.
Bollocks. Total bollocks.
Don’t take them, Logan. Don’t take them!
Logan wasn’t listening. He got off the couch, took them from Eli’s hand, headed over to a large holdall on the other side of the room, opened it. Sarah knew what was going to happen, but she still couldn’t switch it off. From the holdall, he pulled out that bloody red bag, the one that had bugged her the whole tour, and dropped the little packets inside.
There was absolutely no pleasure in the fact that she was right.
Damn it.
She fast-forwarded to make sure she missed nothing else. Logan getting dressed. Logan fixing his hair. The runner coming for him. Logan handing Eli the holdall. Everyone leaving and then nothing until her own face appeared, making a pretence of searching for her phone.
Then it faded to black.
So now she knew.
The question was, what was she going to do with the information? Obviously she had to tell someone. There was no way she was going to let Logan go down the same road as his sister. Right now, he was handling it well, still functioning, lucid, but how long would that last? She knew how it worked. The time would come when he needed a little more to get high. Then a little more. And more.
Before long, he would be just another addict, and the fact that he was in a boy band that was heading for global domination wouldn’t matter a damn, because all he would care about was the next fix.
If anything, his position was more dangerous than the run-of-the-mill junkie, because he had unlimited funds and a long line of people desperate to get him anything he wanted. Including that fucker Eli. Sarah was suddenly furious. How dare he? How fucking dare he? And no, she couldn’t exactly claim the moral high ground, given her little recording stunt, but a professional on the payroll supplying a young guy with drugs? Military training or not, she wanted to go out there right now and kick his arse up and down the length of the plane.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Please ignore the crazed young woman in the aisle, kicking the crap out of a South City protection officer. Thank you, and have a pleasant flight.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
‘Two minutes,’ she said brightly. No doubt it was Eli. He probably had some kind of Jedi ESP and realized she was coming for him, so he was trying to get in there first. The important thing was that despite every instinct telling her to go out there guns of indignation and fury blazing, she couldn’t and shouldn’t react until she’d worked out a plan for the best way to handle this.
Sighing, she was just about to switch her phone off when she remembered . . . She clicked into the text function. Seventeen new messages. What? She didn’t even know seventeen people in LA.
Scanning the list, she realized every single one was from Davie.
‘Just in case you see the news . . . Don’t worry – I’m OK.’
The news? Why would he be on the news? And why was he saying he was OK?
Next text: ‘Been a fire at house. Not sure how bad.’
Next text: ‘Heading there now.’
‘Fuck, I’m here.’
‘Smoke everywhere.’
‘Can see flames.’
‘Fire service here.’
‘Can’t find Ivanka.’
‘Kitchen gone.’
‘Christ, it’s a mess.’
‘Where are you, Sarah?’
‘They won’t let me go in.’
‘Can’t stand here doing nothing.’
‘This is a nightmare.’
‘Fuck it, I’m going in.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’
‘Love you.’
41.
It’s almost time.
Almost.
The watching and the waiting have been intolerable, but I did it because I had to make sure I got this right.
There will only be one shot. One chance. Because once people know about me, then they’ll come for me.
You think I don’t know that? You think I’ve spent all this time planning and watching and making it right and that I’m so deluded I believe I’ll just walk away when I’m done?
I know that won’t happen. But I don’t care.
That’s the thing about having all that matters taken away from you.
Once it’s gone, you have nothing to lose.
And the gain?
That’s easy. There’s only ever been one upside on this. I’ll take away from you what you took from me.
And I’ll look you in the eyes and I’ll make sure you know.
You’ll know it was me who did this to you.
42.
‘Burn’ – Ellie Goulding
Davie
Karma. Was that what this was? Was this retribution for every fucked-up asshole thing he’d ever done in his life?
Sitting on the terrace, in an all-weather lounger, Davie pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and scanned the chaos that surrounded him. The fire crews were mostly gone now, just a couple of guys with clipboards, still walking around the premises. Mike Feechan and a dozen security guys were here too. Mike was in the security room, running through CCTV footage from around the property. The rest of the team were patrolling and securing the grounds. Horse bolted. Stable door shut.
‘I bring you drink. You should not try to go to fire. You crazy ass.’
Ivanka pointed out the obvious as she handed him a mug of water. It was the only one he used, and it had survived the flames because he’d left it out on the patio table that morning. His mum, Ena, had bought it for him on her last visit, from the Starbucks shop at Glasgow Airport. Funny. In his world of excess, an inexpensive piece of china meant the most.
Thank God Ena hadn’t been here when this happened. Look how h
e’d reacted when he thought Ivanka was inside. Dozens of LAFD’s finest and he decides to play hero and run into a burning building to look for a housekeeper who spent her whole life conveying the impression that she thought he was a knob.
Meanwhile, he, it would seem, thought he was Bruce Willis in Die Hard, charging in, trying to save the day. Although, he didn’t remember a scene in Die Hard in which two firefighters blocked Bruce at the door, pushed him back, at which point he tripped over a sprinkler that protruded from the grass, sprained his ankle and ended up sprawled on the ground, with the sprinkler rain soaking him.
Pathetic.
Utterly pathetic.
Especially when Ivanka had turned up half an hour later after her daily trip to Whole Foods.
He’d almost risked his life for an empty house.
Karma.
‘Hey, Davie. Can you come take a look at this?’ Mike Feechan shouted to him from the security room. Located in the back of the pool house, it was an impenetrable room that monitored everything that happened in the grounds and around the perimeter of the property.
Groaning, he pushed himself up and headed over, getting a better look at the house as he passed. The main body of the property looked OK, but the kitchen was destroyed. One exterior wall of the room had completely crumbled; the others were black with smoke, water still running out of the open doors.
The damage didn’t faze him. That’s what insurance was for. But it was the potential devastation this could have caused that was twisting his gut right now. His kids could have been here. Sarah. His ex-wife. Although, if Jenny and Darcy were inside, he wasn’t sure he’d have been quite so gung-ho in charging to the rescue. He may have toddled real slow.
In the security room, Mike was sitting at a bank of monitors.
‘Come look at this, Davie.’
Shuffling under the weight of his wet clothes and blanket, Davie did as he was instructed. Mike pressed ‘play’ on an aerial shot of the house, taken from the top of the roof and programmed to capture everything within 200 yards, 360 degrees. That just about covered the grounds and drive.