“He was a juvenile at the time,” Felix said, reading off the screen where a detailed rap sheet accompanied the unflattering photo, “and was living in Canada then. He served a couple years in prison there, then was let out when he turned twenty-one.”
I stared at the picture again. He’d been just a kid. He hardly looked like a hardened criminal. Then again, he’d had time to harden up since. And what better place to do so than in prison.
“I don’t know. I still have a hard time picturing him as Barker’s killer,” I hedged.
“Does he have an alibi?” Felix asked.
“Um…”
“You did ask him for an alibi, didn’t you?” He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Sorta. I mean, I kinda got distracted.”
“Hmm.” His eyes narrowed even further, reminding me of a cat ready to pounce. “But he was the last person to see Barker alive?”
“I guess.”
“And, as Barker’s partner, he does now have sole control over the company.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Had you thought to ask him if he and Barker were on good terms?”
“Okay, fine!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air. “I dropped the ball on this one, okay? Happy?”
“I’m not sure why my reporter dropping the ball should make me happy.”
“Look, this is all the more reason why I should see Alec tonight. I need to get the straight story out of him.”
“No.” Felix shook his head. “No way am I letting you put yourself in harm’s way like this.”
“He’s not very well going to kill me in the middle of Mangia.”
Felix’s eyebrows shot up. “He got reservations at Mangia?”
I nodded.
He shook his head. “Wow. They told me they had a six-week wait.”
“It pays to be a producer.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t let you go out with this guy. It’s not worth the risk.”
“Might I point out it isn’t your place to ‘let’ or ‘not let’ me do anything?”
“I said no. End of discussion.”
“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not a child.”
“Then quit acting so damned childish!” he shouted.
“Me?” I shouted back. Loudly enough that Max’s head popped up over the top of his partition to see what the commotion was about. “I’m not the one letting my petty jealousy get in the way of good reporting.”
“Ha!” Felix barked, though there was zero humor in the sound. “Jealousy? You think I’m jealous of some two-bit felon turned wannabe producer?”
“He’s pulling seven figures a year. He’s hardly a wannabe.”
“Allie, love, if you think this is personal…” Felix trailed off and shook his head. Then he lowered his voice and sent me a look that smacked of pity. “Look, Allie, it was just one night.”
I clenched my jaw shut, my cheeks instantly filling with the heat of an embarrassing one-nighter, turned into an even more embarrassing encounter with a boss who thought I was harboring some childish crush I clearly was not. I squared my shoulders, mustering up as much dignity as I could. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I have a date.”
Then, for the second day in a row, I stormed out of his office (though, this time I’m happy to say I remembered to grab my purse first) and stomped across the floor as noisily as my heels could muster.
* * *
I drove home, took a hot shower and defiantly painted my toenails a hot passion pink. Only, I had to admit that even after I calmed down, the whole felon thing stuck with me. While I had a hard time picturing Alec’s adorable dimples killing anyone, I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. So while I waited for my toenails to dry I dialed Gary’s number
I waited while the phone rang three times on the other end, then a sleepy voice picked up.
“What?”
“Hey, Gary, it’s Allie.”
“Allie who?’
“Quick.”
There was a pause.
“The reporter?” I pressed.
“Oh, right,” he said stifling a yawn.
“Listen, I need you to help me out tonight.”
I could feel him slowly coming awake on the other end. “Uhn uh. No way, blondie. Last time I helped you, I nearly got run off the road. I’ve got a welt on the head so nasty I’ve been sleeping all afternoon.”
“Sleeping. The favorite pastime of the unemployed,” I reminded him.
He paused. “You offering me a real job?”
“If you help me out tonight, you’re hired as my assistant.”
“Do I get benefits?”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Okay, fine. What do you want me to do?”
“I’m interviewing a suspect tonight. I want you to follow us and just keep close in case I need backup.”
“What kind of backup?”
I quickly filled him in on Alec’s record and my sudden wariness at being alone with him tonight.
“So, I’m like your bodyguard,” Gary said when I was done.
“Backup,” I corrected.
“Right. I’m on it. The second I see trouble, I’ll be ready to kick some ass.”
“No! No ass kicking. I just need you to keep an eye out. If there’s trouble, call nine-one-one.”
“Fine. I’ll call nine-one-one,” he sighed. Then added, “You’re no fun.”
That was the least of my worries.
* * *
Once I had my backup settled, I blow-dried and styled my hair, doing the big, soft curls thing with just the slightest hint of styling wax that left my hair looking naturally soft and touchable, yet totally frizz-free. Then I went full force on the smoky eyes, lots of thick black liner, black lengthening mascara, and gray eyeshadow with just the slightest hint of purple along the edges to bring out my green eyes. After a thick swipe of pale pink lipstick, I was looking pretty hot, even if I did say so myself.
Careful not to smudge the mascara, I slid a short, silver tank dress over my head. It was a simple cut, ending just enough inches above my knee to turn heads, but not enough to say I was available by the hour. A V-neck gave the illusion of elongating my stature, and the low drop in the back said sexy in a very classy way. I finished off the outfit with a pair of black three-inch strappy stilettos, leaving myself just enough time to be only slightly fashionably late to the restaurant.
Which, as it turned out, was every bit as amazing as a six-week wait would have you imagine. As I parked across the street, for a moment I forgot I was a reporter peeking into the lives of the rich and famous; I actually felt as if I was one of the elite.
I saw two paparazzi outside, flashing their cameras in the faces of anyone semi-recognizable as they left. Just for kicks I ducked my head, pretending to be someone famous enough not to want to be photographed. I couldn’t help a little giggle as I saw a flash go off to my right.
“Hey, sweetie,” the guy behind the camera called. “What’s your name?”
I flipped my hair over my right shoulder. “Allie Quick. Newest star reporter for the L.A. Times.” Hey, if I was fantasizing I might as well go all the way, right?
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the guy pull out this cell, no doubt Tweeting this tidbit as I slipped through the door. Gotta love a desperate paparazzo.
The interior of the restaurant was just as swanky as the outside. Red velvet walls, crystal chandeliers and gilded frames glittering with a luxury that was just this side of opulence. As I took in the décor I heard my cell chirp to life in my pocketbook. I pulled it out. Felix’s number.
I resisted giving a very unladylike snort. Nice try, mister, but I was going Felix-free tonight. I put the phone on silent mode before shoving it back into my purse. Then I gave my name to the maitre d’, and he quickly whisked me to a table near the center of the room where Alec was waiting, a bottle of champagne chilling in a gold bucket to his right.
Maybe i
t was just me, but he was looking decidedly un-murderer-like. He was dressed in a dark blazer, casually layered over a blue button-down shirt opened at the neck. A pair of jeans beneath said he was too cool to worry about dressing up, but his Armani loafers showed he knew how to dress when the occasion called for it. He stood when I approached the table, his dimples appearing as he did a slow smile. Suddenly I felt foolish for ever worrying about my safety. No one this good-looking could be guilty, right?
“That’s quite a dress,” he said, his eyes flickering to my hemline.
“I’m quite a gal.”
He grinned. “I believe it,” he laughed as he pulled my chair out for me.
As I sat, I sent a casual glance toward the bar area. Gary had taken up residence on a stool next to a tall redhead in a blue miniskirt. He raised a martini glass my way and gave me an exaggerated wink before turning his attention back to the redhead.
“So, what are you in the mood for tonight?” Alec said.
I quickly shifted my gaze to him from my would-be bodyguard as Alec handed me a menu.
It was half in Italian, all the prices withheld. I figured it was the kind of place where if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. I chalked it up to my guilt at having been rehearsing my interrogation tactics the entire way here down the 405 that I picked out the least expensive-sounding item, going with the porcini mushroom fettuccini in white wine sauce. Alec ordered the steak, medium rare. In perfect Italian.
I downed my champagne in one gulp, forcing myself to ignore the sexy lilt of the language rolling off his tongue and remember why I was really here. “Alec, I have to ask you something,” I said, setting my elegant glass down.
Immediately a waiter appeared at my elbow, filling it to the top again. Which was fine with me. I figured I needed all the liquid courage I could get tonight.
“Uh, it’s about the Barker story,” I continued.
“Right,” Alec said. Then before I could continue, he reached into the inner pocket of his blazer, coming out with a slim, black memory stick. He pushed it across the table to me.
“The footage you wanted of Don and Deb. This is everything we shot the day Barker died. I’m not sure if any of it will be helpful—it was mostly of the kids—but it’s all yours.” He shot me that blinding smile again and winked.
I felt myself blush and cleared my throat. Took another sip (okay, it was more like a generous swig) of champagne. “Thanks. For this,” I added, slipping the memory stick into my purse. “But, actually, that’s not what I wanted talk to you about.”
“Oh?” he asked, refilling my glass (that had somehow become empty again). “Okay, what is it then? Shoot,” he encouraged, giving me a smile that reached all the way to his eyes, crinkling in a quite lovely way at the corners.
I bit my lip, really wishing I didn’t have to. “It’s about Canada,” I hedged.
“I can tell you anything a-boot Canada that you want to know,” he joked, emphasizing the northern pronunciation.
I couldn’t help a smile. Though it was short-lived as I dove in. “What can you tell me about Canadian prisons?”
His grin faltered. “Excuse me?”
I let out a deep breath, leaning in close. “Look, I found out about your felony conviction.”
He stared at me for a second then leaned back in his chair, the grin a distant memory. He steepled his fingers together, assessing me in silence for a moment.
I felt myself fidget under his gaze even though he was the one with the record.
Finally he said, “Okay. Yes. I’ve spent time in jail.”
I felt relief drain out of me that he didn’t try to deny it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not something I’m exactly proud of. I don’t usually lead with it when I’m trying to impress a girl.”
I bit my lip. He wanted to impress me. Man, it was hard to interrogate a pair of dimples that wanted to impress you.
“So, you admit you stole cars?” I forced myself to press on.
He lean forward again, this time putting his elbow on the table and lowering his voice to an intimate tone. “I was young. Not that I’m making excuses. It was a stupid thing to do. Idiotic. But my cousin, Jack, had this chop shop. I was sixteen, and my family wasn’t exactly what you’d call well off. I had two choices—I could get a job flipping burgers for minimum wage, or I could go work for Jack. I chose Jack. It was clearly the wrong choice, and I paid for it.”
I licked my lips. “How long were you in jail?”
“Three years.”
“Must have been tough.”
I could tell by the look in his eyes it was. Even just talking about it now, his jaw was stiff, his gaze guarded, his entire posture changed from the open, laid-back producer to a cornered criminal used to watching his back.
But instead of agreeing with me, he shrugged. “I deserved every day I spent there. But I can tell you, as soon as I got out I left that life behind me. I got a work visa, moved to L.A. and right away got a job with Barker.”
“So, that was what you meant when you said he gave you a chance.”
He nodded. “Barker knew about my past. Hell, there wasn’t any way I could have hid it from him. It’s on my official record. But he saw something in me. A willingness to work hard, to start at the bottom. I had a lot to make up for after I got out, and he gave me an opportunity to do that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “For?”
“For your loss. It sounds like Barker was more than just a co-worker.”
Alec smiled slowly. “Yeah, he was. And thanks.”
He sat up straight, shaking the moment off, and grabbed the champagne bottle, refilling both our glasses. “So, now you know my sordid past,” he said, flashing a dimple my way, “my turn to learn about yours.”
I grinned in response. “Fair enough. Just promise me one thing: no more secrets, okay?”
He nodded and flashed me a smile that could charm the panties off a nun. “I’ll drink to that.”
* * *
I sipped at about three more glasses (and ignored my phone buzzing silently in my purse half a dozen more times) as I told Alec about my job at the Informer, my real aspirations of being a Times reporter, about Tina, and even about my penny-pinching, over-bearing, annoyingly British boss. By the time Alec finally paid the bill, I’d spilled pretty much my entire life story and I think at least ten dollars worth of champagne (somehow those glasses got harder to hold onto as the evening wore on).
Alec put a hand at the small of my back as he led me through the restaurant, back out into the warm night air. Which was a good thing, because for some reason as we exited the restaurant, my stilettos seemed to have grown wobbly. As we stepped out onto the sidewalk one of the paparazzi snapped a photo, his flash momentarily blinding me as my shoe collapsed under my foot.
“Whoa,” Alec said. His arms went around my waist, holding me up.
I giggled. I mean, I think it was me, but it sounded more like Miley Cyrus than a grown woman.
“You okay?” he asked. He was grinning down at me, his smile close enough that I felt his breath on my cheek.
Was I ever. I nodded. Then unconsciously licked my lips.
His eyes followed the motion of my tongue, glazing over, going just that much darker.
“Sorry. I guess I’m not used to champagne,” I said.
“Maybe we ought to get you home,” he mumbled, his voice low. Intimate. Infused with meaning.
I licked my lips again, nodding in what I hoped wasn’t an overly eager way.
He leaned down, and I watched in slow motion as his warm, full mouth moved toward mine. I close my eyes, lifted my chin, prepared to feel the softness of his kiss…
And instead felt him being ripped from my arms with a loud, “Oof.”
I opened my eyes. Alec was on the ground, spread eagle, a four-foot tall person on top of him pounding him with pudgy fists.
“I got him!” Gary yelled. �
�Don’t worry! I got him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Gary, what are you doing? Get off of him!”
Though I noticed that Alec had already managed to extricate himself from Gary’s rain of little fists.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled as my back-up stood up, brushing himself off.
He blinked at me. “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m rescuing you.”
Oh, brother.
“Do I look like I need rescuing?”
“He was attacking you!”
“He was kissing me!”
Gary looked from me to Alec. “Well, from the back it looked a lot like attacking.”
I threw my hands up.
“A friend of yours?” Alec asked, brushing off his blazer.
“Alec, meet Gary.”
“I’m her bodyguard.”
Alec raised an eyebrow at me.
“Assistant,” I clarified. “Who is leaving, unless he wants to find himself suddenly unemployed again.”
Gary put his hands up in a surrender motion. “Okay, okay. Geez. I was just doing my job…” He trailed off as he ducked back into the restaurant, presumably back to his redhead. Though I didn’t really care where Gary went. What I was more focused on was Alec.
And the sudden two feet of distance between us.
I cleared my throat. “Um, sorry about that.”
Alec grinned, though it was a shallow thing. Clearly being pummeled on the sidewalk wasn’t high on his list of aphrodisiacs. “Right. No problem. Happens all the time,” he joked.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat, shifted from my left foot to my right. “So, um…”
“I had a really nice evening,” Alec jumped in.
“Right. Me too.”
“No, I mean it,” he said. And he took a step closer, closing some of the gap. “Really nice.”
I couldn’t help smiling back. “Me too.”
“Can I walk you to your car?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m good. I think I’m actually gonna take a cab.”
“I could give you a ride?” he offered. But I could tell the intimate insinuations of a moment earlier were gone from the offer.
Hollywood Confessions Page 13