Scandalous

by Sybil Bartel

  Luna hung up on Payne. “You heard. He’s at the W. You want backup?”

  I was already walking toward the garage. “No. I got this. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Affirmative. And that fucking pendejo needs rehab.”

  No fucking shit. “Not my problem. I’m out. I’ll check in later.”

  “Copy that.”

  I hung up and got behind the wheel.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was riding the elevator up, ready to pound Payne’s face in for the simple fact that she’d called him. I didn’t know what the fuck she’d been thinking, but it pissed me off to no end that she’d reached out to him.

  I pounded on the door to the east penthouse, and a few seconds later a chick in a bikini, drunk as hell, opened the door.

  “Well, hello there.” She grinned, holding on to the door for support. “What’s your name?”

  I pushed past her. “Where’s Payne?”

  “Fine, ignore me.” She pouted.

  I glanced around at a half dozen chicks in various states of undress lounging on the furniture. One was on her knees, sucking off what had to be Payne’s security as he sat with his head back and eyes closed in a chair by the balcony.

  Unholstering my gun, I took three strides and shoved the muzzle in to the guard’s temple. “Tell her to take a hike.”

  To his credit, the asshole didn’t flinch. He tapped the chick’s shoulder. “Take a break, sweetheart.”

  His fucking dick still in her mouth, her eyes dilated as hell, she looked at him.

  The guard upped the command in his tone. “Now.”

  Her gaze cut to my gun, and a heartbeat later, understanding dawned. Her eyes went wide, her hands went up and she fall back on her ass. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. “How goddamn high is she?”

  Putting his dick back in his pants, the guard ignored me. “It’s fine, sweetheart. Take a break, get something to eat.”

  Nodding like a fucking bobblehead, she crawled backward before scrambling to get up and take off.

  I focused on the guard. “There’s two ways this can go down. You and your client answer my questions.” I paused.

  “Or?” the guard ground out.

  “I call Miami PD and tell them about Derks and the amount of drugs in your and your client’s possession.”

  The guard sighed. “What do you want?”

  “Was Dreena MacKenzie here?” I could get Luna to talk to security and explain the situation and we could review footage, but this was faster.

  The guard’s shoulders relaxed marginally. “Yeah. Couple hours ago.”

  “What’d she want?”

  “No clue. You’d have to ask Colton. She went into his room and came out a few minutes later.”

  I stepped back, but I didn’t drop my weapon. “We’re going to talk to Payne, and you’re going to tell him to answer my questions.”

  The guard stood without comment and walked toward one of the closed doors off the living room with me on his six.

  The women fell silent as they saw my gun, but I gave zero fucks.

  The guard knocked once on the door, then opened it and walked in. “Colton. We got company.”

  Naked, fucked-up, and eyes bloodshot, Payne sat up in his bed and snorted a line on the nightstand as two naked chicks lounged next to him. “Derks better have come through. I’m almost out of blow.”

  “Colton,” the guard snapped.

  Payne looked up. When he saw my gun on his guard, he held his hands out. “What the actual fuck, dude? I already told you I’m sorry about Dreena.”

  “Why’d she come here?” I demanded.

  Payne hesitated as the two women stared at me.

  I pressed my gun harder against the guard’s head. “Explain to him why he needs to answer my question.”

  “Answer him, or your drug days are over,” the guard clipped.

  “All right, calm the fuck down.” Payne swiped the back of his hand under his nose. “She wanted a car, said she needed one pronto. She said she couldn’t rent one, or some shit, so I got her one.”

  My jaw ticked. “What car? Where was she going?”

  “I don’t fucking know. I’m not her keeper.” He held one nostril and sucked in deep. “You’re the one fucking her, you figure it out.”

  I pulled my phone out and swept my thumb across to dial.

  “Colton,” the guard snapped. “Answer him.”

  “Jesus.” Payne lit a cigarette, then glanced at the two women next to him. “What was that other chick’s name? The one who left?”

  They both shrugged, but one spoke up. “I don’t know, but she gave Dreena her car keys before she left.”

  Motherfucking shit. “She’s gone?”

  The chick nodded.

  I looked at Payne. “Who was the girl?”

  Payne threw his hands up again. “I don’t fucking know!” He tipped his chin at his guard. “Ask my useless security here. He’s the one who gets them.”

  “Name?” I demanded of the guard.

  “Don’t know,” he admitted. “I picked her and the others up at a club last night.”

  Stupid fuck. “You have them sign NDAs?”

  The guard’s eyes cut to mine, and his expression said it all.

  Goddamn it.

  Holstering my gun, shoving my phone back in my pocket, I walked the fuck out.

  GRIPPING THE SHAKING STEERING WHEEL, I cursed the piece of shit car.

  I was only going sixty miles an hour, but the old sedan sounded and felt like it was going to come apart at the seams.

  A SUV blew past me, honking.

  “Shit.” I jerked in surprise, and the right tires thumped along the lane markers.

  A second later a loud bang sounded and the car swerved violently as I blew a tire.

  Gripping the steering wheel, taking my foot off the gas, I got the piece of junk car to the side of the highway and coasted down a soft embankment. Breathing hard, my heart pounding, I tugged my baseball cap lower and got out of the car.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  The front passenger tire was completely blown.

  Praying there was a spare, I went back to the driver side, popped the trunk, and held my breath as I made my way to the back.

  A donut spare.

  Cars flew past on the highway as I stared at what I should’ve been thankful for, but everything in the past twenty-four hours hit me and I couldn’t stop it. I started crying. Stupid fucking piece of shit car. Stupid-ass donut spare. Stupid, stupid six-and-a-half-foot bodyguards, and stupid fucking me for not only sleeping with him, but saying what I did on live television.

  Tears running down my face, I yanked out the spare and the jack, not noticing the lights until it was too late. Not that I could’ve done a damn thing about a highway patrol cop pulling up on me anyway.

  Not sure if I should ignore him and start changing the tire, or just stand here like a fucking idiot, I went with option two.

  The cop got out of his vehicle and took in the spare I’d hefted to the side of the car. “Tire trouble, ma’am?”

  Please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me. “Yeah. It blew out. But I have a spare. I’m just going to change it quick.”

  His brown eyes took in my tears as his hand settled on his gun. “You okay?”

  I forced a laugh and swiped at my face. “I’m good. I just cry when I get frustrated.”

  Staring at me, he nodded solemnly. “Understandable.” He glanced at the blown-out tire. “You alone?”

  “Yes, sir.” Shit. Please, please don’t ask for ID or registration. I didn’t even check to see if the car had a current plate. I’d just followed the girl who could have passed for my sister out to the beach parking lot and taken the keys. I’d given her another grand and I’d made a promise to send her more money after I got to where I was going as long as she didn’t tell anyone. She’d agreed, and I’d gotten on the road.

  Cars flew
down the highway, and the highway patrol guy didn’t say anything for a moment, then an eighteen-wheeler passed and he nodded at the spare. “Do you need help with that?”

  Thank fuck for growing up on a farm. “No, thanks.” I moved toward the blown tire with the jack and tire wrench. “I got it. I’ve had lots of practice.”

  He looked at the rear tires. “You should get new tires, ma’am. The treads are worn down on these.”

  I nodded as I squatted next to the blown tire. “Next paycheck, I promise.”

  The radio on his shoulder squawked and a female voice issued a string of numbers. The cop touched the radio and responded in code, then glanced at me. “Be safe getting back on the highway, ma’am.”

  I smiled. “Thank you.”

  He nodded once and hustled back to his cruiser. A few seconds later he was gunning it, and I was letting out a sigh of relief. I quickly got the lug nuts off, changed the tire, and ten minutes later I was back behind the wheel, cursing my luck.

  Fifteen hundred miles on a donut tire.

  Fuck my life.

  I STARED AT THE CONTENTS of the four suitcases I’d emptied on the bed.

  I was missing something.

  How could a chick not have one single fucking clue about who the hell she was or where she’d go? I knew her bio. The grandparents who raised her in Kansas were dead. No other family, no other friends according to the shit she’d told me in the hospital. And her ex-agent and ex-publicist were holed up at the same hotel as Payne. The same hotel she’d left hours ago after seeing Payne.

  Impatient, I called Luna. I’d asked him to hack into the hotel security feeds to see what he could find and run a background check just in case. But that was thirty minutes ago.

  “I’m still working on it,” he answered, preempting my question. “But the hotel security cameras only showed her walking out with another blonde. I wasn’t even able to capture a face shot, both of them had their heads down. They walked toward the public beach parking, then I lost them. There’re no cameras on that lot. By the way, Collins is on his way over.”

  “What the fuck for?”

  “Backup.”

  “For a hundred-pound actress?”

  “She’s gone through two of my men. She’s a goddamn elephant in my book.”

  “She didn’t go through me,” I growled.

  “Around, through, behind your back, same thing—she gave you the slip. What’d you find at the house?”

  Luna pissed me the hell off with his statement, but he was right. “I went through the shit she left behind, but there’s nothing.”

  “What do you mean nothing?”

  Exactly what I fucking said. “No personal items.” All her shit was here, but it was as if she was a void. No prescriptions, no jewelry, no papers except screenplays, or whatever the fuck you called the print version of movie scripts. There wasn’t even a single piece of paper with a sample of her handwriting on it.

  “Mierda.” Luna sighed. “So far, I’ve got nothing too. Her lawyer hasn’t heard from her. Her agent and publicist say they haven’t seen her, and neither had a clue about where she’d go. Her license has the studio listed as her address. She’s got no property listed under her name, no living relatives according to her bio, and no vehicles registered to her. How can a famous actress be a ghost?”

  No fucking clue. “I need something.” I needed to fucking find her.

  “Working on it.” I heard typing. “But we may need to call this one.”

  “Fuck that.” She fucking threw my rep and Luna’s. “I’m finding her and she’s gonna retract what she said.”

  “To what end?”

  “What the fuck? What do you mean to what end?” What she did was bullshit.

  Luna exhaled tiredly. “Look, I’m the first to admit I’m pissed as hell. Mostly at myself for not seeing what a loose cannon she was. But the damage is already done. Fallout happened. We’ll fucking adjust.”

  “I’m going after her,” I warned.

  Luna didn’t say shit.

  “What?” I demanded after a few seconds.

  “Why do you want to go after her? Real answer.”

  Fucking Christ. “First Tyler, then me, then your company. She fucked us over.” What the hell? “You need more reasons?”

  “No, but it sounds like you got more reasons you’re not letting on to.”

  What the actual fuck? “Like being accused of being a sadist on national television?”

  “Are you?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” If I hadn’t served with him, I would’ve been pounding his face in.

  Luna didn’t let it go. “Did you handcuff her?”

  “Not when I fucked her,” I snapped.

  Silence.

  “That what you want to know? Anything else, boss?”

  “Jesucristo, Gunther.” Luna let out a string of curse words in Spanish. “Do I need to call our fucking lawyer?”

  “For what?”

  “Did you handcuff her?” he asked, incredulous. “Because I’m not getting my ass sued for wrongful imprisonment, or whatever the fuck you did to her.”

  “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just insinuate I had nonconsensual sex.”

  “Well, did you?”

  “Fuck you.” Adrenaline pumping, livid, my head a goddamn mess, I walked back out to the front hall and pulled up the video footage again.

  “Tell me to fuck off all you want, I wasn’t the one handcuffing and fucking a client.”

  “For the record, those events weren’t simultaneous.” I was a grown-ass man, I wasn’t gonna explain shit to him. “Not that it’s any of your business.” I scrolled through the footage of her leaving, hoping to see something I missed the first ten times I watched it. But all I accomplished was watching her ass running away from me again.

  “None of my business? You fucked her on my payroll,” Luna practically yelled.

  Jesus Christ. “Just get me a lead. I’ll find her.”

  “Which brings us right back to where we started.”

  The front door opened and Collins walked in. “Yo!”

  I nodded at him and walked back to her bedroom. “Call her lawyer again, see if he knows if she has a permanent address.” That was the best I had. I was out of ideas.

  Collins followed me into the bedroom and whistled low at the mess. “Chick’s got more clothes than a damn mall.”

  Luna snorted. “Her lawyer isn’t going to tell me shit. He gets paid not to.”

  Collins bent over by the bed and snatched something off the floor. “Damn. This isn’t a bleeder,” he muttered, holding up an old photo. “This is trouble.”

  Even more jaded about women than me, Collins categorized women into two types, bleeders and trouble. The sick fuck said bleeders were women who bled your checkbook dry, but I suspected his nickname was twofold. The other category was trouble, which he classified as a whole new level of living hell.

  I snatched the photo out of his hand. “Luna, hold up.” I stared at the picture. It was her on a horse at full gallop. She was young in the picture, ten, twelve maybe, but she looked almost the same. Her long blonde hair was blowing behind her, her smile was unguarded, and she looked like a younger version of the woman I’d had in my bed. The one without makeup or pretenses.

  Collins pointed at the top left of the photo. “What’s that say?”

  My gaze cut to the background.

  There was a street sign. Oak. The road part was faded out. Or lane, or street. I didn’t fucking care. How many dirt roads called Oak could there be in Kansas?

  “We got a lead,” I told Luna.

  THREE DAYS.

  Three long, insufferable days to drive to Iowa, and this was my reception?

  I stood in my parents’ kitchen staring at three strangers with my backpack on one shoulder.

  “Well look what the cat dragged in,” my mother muttered, going back to chopping vegetables.

  My father looked at my wrinkled dress. “That what they wear
in Hollywood these days?”

  My brother leered at me. “That’s probably what you wear when you’re broke.” He punched my dad’s arm and laughed before looking back at me. “You broke, ain’t cha, sis?”

  My mother dumped the zucchini in a frying pan. “Broke or not, everyone’s gotta pull their weight around here.” She nodded toward the table. “Wash up, girl. You ain’t no better than any of us. Set the table while the boys take the horses back to the barn.”

  Speechless, I stupidly did exactly what my mother said.

  NINE MOTHERFUCKING DAYS.

  Countless Oak Roads, Streets, Lanes, Avenues. All of them dead ends. None were dirt roads, and none had farms with horses on them.

  Pitch fucking black, in the middle of nowhere southeast Kansas at almost midnight, I sat in the SUV wondering what the fuck I was doing. Chasing a goddamn woman I’d fucked once. Three times if you wanted to get fucking technical.

  I didn’t want to get technical.

  I wanted to find her ass.

  And spank it.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  But that wasn’t gonna happen.

  I had to call it.

  Inhaling, I dialed Luna.

  He answered on the first ring in a hushed voice. “Luna.”

  “You can’t talk?” He knew it was me calling.

  “Affirmative.”

  “Copy that. Just a heads-up, I’m coming back in. No results, I’m calling it.”

  “Negative.”

  “What?” Tired, I rubbed a hand over my face.

  “Calling back.” Luna hung up.

  I sat there a minute looking at my phone. Then the minute turned into five, and I threw the SUV into drive. As I pulled back on the road, my cell rang.

  I pushed the button on the steering wheel to answer. “What’s up?”

  “I didn’t call you earlier because it was only a hunch. I needed time to confirm it, but something came up two days ago.”

  Two fucking days ago? I pulled back over and threw the Escalade in park as my heart rate rocketed. “Confirm what?”

  “Did you know her first agent died?”

  “No.” And I didn’t care.

  “Me either, not at first, until I did some searching a couple days ago, trying to tie up loose ends. She died five years ago. She was single, never married, no kids, her clients were her life, but she didn’t have any that were nearly as successful as Dreena.”