by G. K. Parks
I gave Cross a look. “Did you fire Dwight Perry?”
His lips curled in amusement, and he barked out a laugh. “You don’t know me at all.”
“No, sir, I don’t.” But I knew his response wasn’t exactly an answer either.
Fourteen
We stood outside the club. A light rain was falling, and the wind had picked up. The temperature had dropped considerably since the sun went down, and I turned the collar of my jacket up in the hopes of keeping the rain out. Mario Scaratilli remained entirely unaffected by the drizzle. He stood with his hands folded in front of him at the side door to what was supposed to be the newest and trendiest club. The radio was clipped to his ear, and the street light glinted off the thin silver microphone.
“Shouldn’t you be inside?” I finally asked.
His eyes never stopped scanning the area. “Additional members of my team are inside, but the club is safe.”
I smiled, doing my best to fit the part I was told to play. “You sound confident.” Maybe I should swoon. “You’re obviously capable. I don’t imagine Miss Allen has ever faced a threat you couldn’t handle.”
“No,” for the briefest moment his eyes found mine, “she hasn’t.”
“Is it hard? She’s a famous model. There must be thousands of obsessed fans. Stalkers. Psychos. Thieves. Maybe a few gypsies and tramps too. This morning you were convinced the threat was legit, but I haven’t noticed any extra measures being taken by your team.”
“You wouldn’t.” He didn’t move or react. To any onlooker, it wouldn’t even appear as if we were having a conversation. “Security is tight. We’re careful. Her information isn’t readily available. Anything untoward gets filtered through one of her representatives.”
“Untoward,” I repeated, “how poetic.”
He glanced at me. “What the hell do you want?”
“I didn’t see you on set. For someone who said Miss Allen might be in danger, it’s weird you’re not maintaining eyes on her. Shouldn’t you be a bit more concerned? Or is this just a paycheck?”
His face remained impassive, but the undercurrent changed. “My people are looking after her.” He jerked his chin ever so slightly to the left, and I looked past him to the growing mob of paparazzi and fans. “The paps pose the most risk. That crowd is a threat to her reputation and her safety. It’s hard to determine with their gear if any are armed. Any one of them could be dangerous. So I stay out here and keep a handle on things. Inside is a private party. Security cameras are off. It’s just her and her costars blowing off steam.”
I looked at him again. “How exactly?”
He didn’t respond.
“Maybe a bump of blow?”
“What Miss Allen does is irrelevant. It just needs to stay off the internet.”
“You fucked up in Maui.” He clasped his hands a little tighter but otherwise didn’t react to my words. “That sex tape ended up on the internet.” I jerked my head at the club. “Unless you know for certain that Lance or one of Dinah’s other costars doesn’t have an axe to grind, you can’t be sure that leaving her unattended with them is a wise decision. If the lot wasn’t breached last night, whoever dressed up the dummy and stabbed it through the heart is someone she works with. Records indicate two of the last people to leave set last night were Lance Smoke and Neil Larson. She’s had relations with both of them, and they’re inside with the security cameras turned off.”
“As I said before, other members of my team are inside.” He was growing agitated.
“What about when she’s working?”
He looked away. “When you called, you said you had additional information. Was that a lie?”
“Yes. Cross is going to fire me if I don’t figure this out. I have no idea how someone keeps getting on the lot and targeting Dinah. Since you’re in charge of protecting her, I thought you might be able to shed some light on the matter.”
“I’ve evaluated Cross’s methods of safeguarding the studio. His plan is adequate.”
“That’s high praise coming from a man with your reputation.”
If Scar wasn’t the consummate professional, he would have smiled. “The flowers are more troubling than the dummy. That’s the second time she’s received Bacarra roses. The sender must be the same, except the second delivery was left in her trailer, and no one saw who did it. That means whoever left them knew precisely which trailer to target. The lack of fingerprints on the card leads me to believe the person who wrote the note also left the flowers. A florist or PA wouldn’t have been so careful.”
“Maybe the delivery person just didn’t touch the card, or he might have been wearing gloves.”
“You may be right, but I had the vase checked. It only contained two sets of prints. Miss Allen’s and her assistant’s.”
I thought back to that first night. “Elodie said someone left flowers again. When was the first batch delivered? What did that note say?”
“Something similar.” He swallowed. “The first delivery was waiting at the front desk of the hotel when we arrived.”
“Anything else odd happen since your arrival?”
“Only what’s been going on at the studio.” His accusation was unmistakable. He blamed Cross.
“I’d like access to the first card.”
Scar looked down at me. “Ask your boss. I gave it to him, along with the list.”
“What exactly is the list?”
Scar focused on our surroundings again and not me. “Names of the crazies. People who have sent death threats and hate mail and the names of those who are a bit too obsessed. Fame has a price, Miss Parker. I do what I can to make sure there is a wall of privacy and protection between my client and the people who want to hurt her. In order to do that, I have to know who to keep out.”
“You don’t think someone at Broadway Films is responsible? Without any clear indication of a breach, it’s possible one of her castmates or someone on the crew could be to blame.”
“Like you said, the flowers could have been delivered by a third party, and I’m not convinced the stabbed dummy is an immediate concern. To be clear, pranks are commonplace. Actors and the crew get bored. Sometimes, it is meant as a bonding experience. Had Cross’s men not found the posed dummy, it would have been addressed by the director the next morning, probably resulting in a sensitivity lecture. Quite frankly, your people don’t know enough about what’s going on to make a judgment call either way. While I appreciate the help you are attempting to offer, you and your boss need to keep something in mind. You are assisting my team in safeguarding Miss Allen. It is not the other way around. And I am already looking into the matter.”
“Do you think this could be the same person who was stalking Dinah in Los Angeles?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
His head jerked, as if he were fighting with himself over the answer. “This conversation falls under the purview of the NDA you signed.”
“Sure.”
He looked at me from the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the crowd near the front of the club. “According to the police, Miss Allen wasn’t stalked.” He pressed a hand to his ear and spoke into the radio. “I’ll tell the driver to meet us at the side. Let me know when you’re taking her out.” He turned back to me. “I have a job to do. You’re a distraction. Leave.”
“Thanks for your time, Scar,” I said with fake sweetness before walking in the direction of the paparazzi. When I emerged from the alleyway, the crowd turned to face me. A collective, disappointed sigh was released when they realized I wasn’t anybody special, and they went back to hovering near the door. Truthfully, it was nice to be a nobody.
When I made it back to my apartment, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a drowned rat. Even though it had been a light rain, the constant drizzle eventually soaked through my hair and pants. My shoes even made a squishing sound when I walked. Stripping out of everything, I took a hot shower and climbe
d into bed. Before going to sleep, I phoned Lucien and left a message. Someone needed to tell my boss Scaratilli was under the impression we were working for him.
I was too tired to think about the two flower deliveries or even how someone snuck onto set. Instead, I closed my eyes and didn’t open them again until the alarm went off at 4:30 that morning. I was dressed and on my way to the lot when Cross called back.
“Lance Smoke complained to the studio. You’re an unwanted interruption.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, wondering if this meant I could go back home and sleep until the sun rose.
“You’re allowed on set, but you’re barred from areas where they are filming. Dinah wants you to remain as her advisor, so I’m sending another member of our team to act as technical consultant. It will allow more of our people to investigate,” Cross said.
“I’m glad you approve,” I replied, deciding it didn’t hurt to take credit.
He probably realized it had been a coincidence and not a carefully laid plan. “You need to get close to Dinah and her team. We need to find out how many threats there have been. Once we establish a pattern, it should make it easier to determine who is behind the threat and whether he works for the studio or found a way to breach the lot.”
“Lucien,” I said, tired enough to be even ballsier than usual, “why do you care? Your job is lot security. My job is technical consultant. We have nothing to do with protecting Dinah.”
“We do when these incidents happen in a place where my team is providing protection. If the only weaknesses to her safety occur when she’s at work, that is my responsibility. And yours. Don’t forget that.” He disconnected before I could say anything else. So much for turning this into someone else’s problem.
When I arrived at the front gate, the security guard smiled at me. I recognized him from the office and held out the extra cup of coffee. “Thought you could use a pick-me-up.”
“Thanks.” He took the cup and performed a quick inspection of my car, another newly implemented tactic Cross insisted on. “Someone left a note. You’re to meet Miss Allen at her trailer and remain there.”
“I heard.”
He chuckled. “Who did you piss off?”
“Everyone.”
He looked inside my car. “Too bad you didn’t bring enough coffee to win them over.”
“Unfortunately, no matter what I bring them, it won’t compare to what craft services can whip up.”
He pressed a switch, and the gate lifted. I said good-bye and drove to the parking lot near the trailers.
The floodlights illuminated the dark lot, and I could already see crew working on one of the outdoor sets. Getting out of my car, I decided to take the long way around and walked the perimeter. The fence surrounding the lot was at least twelve feet high. It wouldn’t have been easy to climb over, and it was impossible to go under. If there was a breach, someone must have come in through the main gate. The guard station was manned twenty-four hours, but distractions happened. It was also possible someone could have created a fake pass. I looked down at the lanyard around my neck. It wouldn’t be difficult to create a facsimile.
Cross had gone over the list of visitors or was in the process of doing so. Think, Parker, was it someone on the outside or someone on the inside? My gut didn’t have an answer, and my brain refused to function properly due to the limited amounts of sleep it had been getting.
It took a good thirty minutes to circle the entire lot. When I made it back to what looked like an RV park with the dozens of trailers crammed together, I spotted Scar waiting outside Dinah’s trailer. His arms were folded over his chest, and he looked agitated. To be fair, he looked exactly as he did when I saw him a few hours ago, but since he was waiting for me, I knew he was agitated.
“Miss Allen is waiting inside.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else but refrained.
I knocked on the door. A moment later, she opened it. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her face was splotchy. She didn’t speak, only stepped away from the door and dropped onto one of the two sofas that lined the walls of the main room of the trailer. I glanced back at Scar, but he remained a statue, his gaze focused in front of him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Elodie handed her a tissue. The assistant looked tired and nearly as frazzled as Dinah.
“Thank you,” Dinah sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. “You always take such good care of me.”
“Of course. That’s why I’m here. Is there anything else I can do?” Elodie asked.
“No. I just need to speak to Alex.” Elodie moved the tissue box closer to Dinah, offered a tight smile, and went out the door. After it was closed, Dinah spoke. “Something happened last night.”
I took a seat across from her. We sat in silence for several long minutes. She didn’t feel the need to say anything, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. The silence was usually too much for most people, but she didn’t seem to be aware of it. Maybe she wasn’t aware I was still in the room.
“It’s not my business, unless you want to tell me,” I finally said.
She blinked. “The morning I interviewed you I got the distinct impression you worked private security.”
“Once.”
“You don’t do it anymore?”
“Cross has teams better equipped to handle personal security. I’ve used them myself. They are good at what they do.”
Her brow scrunched for a moment. “Why did you need personal security?”
“I have a habit of pissing people off. In my line of work, those people occasionally decide to shoot at me.”
She studied me. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“Oh, no. It bothers me, but there isn’t much I can do about it.”
“You could go into a different line of work.”
For a moment, I didn’t think this conversation was actually about me. “I tried, but it didn’t take. Good or bad, this is what I’m meant to do. This is what makes me happy and miserable. It’s necessary.”
“I can see that.” We sat in the silence again. Finally, she spoke, “Scar is a good man. He takes care of me. He always has. He’s been with me since my early days modeling.”
I waited for her to go on.
“Asking for outside help seems like a betrayal, but you took the initiative without even asking. You want to know what happened, and I get the distinct impression you would focus less on keeping the paps off the set and more on making sure I’m okay.”
“Priorities. What can I say?”
Her lips curled into a smile, but it didn’t make it to her eyes. She ducked her head down and thought for a moment. “Lance doesn’t want you involved in the production. Broadway Films has already spoken to Mr. Cross about finding a replacement who isn’t as disruptive.” Disruptive, maybe I would add that to my business card. When she brought her head up, there was newfound determination. “I want to hire you to identify my stalker.”
That’s why she felt she was betraying Scar. Before I could say as much, she read my mind. “Scar protects me, and while there could be some potential overlap, I want you to figure out who is doing this. My lawyer has already drawn up a new NDA.” She pointed to an official looking document on the coffee table. “You can handle the investigation, and I can watch you do it. I will want daily progress reports and updates, and I might follow you to your office or the lab and watch your process. It isn’t the FBI, but I’ve watched you long enough to know that you’re doing the same job even without the badge. The way I see it, it’s two birds with one stone.”
“The difference is following the letter of the law,” I supplied. “Nowadays, it’s more the spirit of the law that is being followed.”
“Good.” She jerked her chin at the nondisclosure. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way first, and then I’ll tell you what happened two hours ago.”
Fifteen
I made no move for the contract. “I’m not signing it. If you want me to investigate,
I will. Cross Security is already investigating the dummy left on the lot. We can broaden the scope of that investigation to encompass identifying your stalker, but I need to be able to discuss these matters with my colleagues. I can’t have my hands tied.” I gave her a look. “You can choose to believe I won’t unnecessarily divulge your private life, or you can find someone else.”
She picked up the contract and tore it in half. “I had a feeling you would say that, but Cherise insisted. Everyone is so afraid a secret will leak and ruin my career. I’m so tired of it. Honestly, Alex, I’m tired of this.” She gestured around the trailer. “Don’t get me wrong. I want to do this movie and more in the future, but I’m tired of hiding in these trailers and having a bodyguard with me at all times. The last time I felt normal was when I was twenty-one years old. It’s been a decade and a half of this shit, and instead of getting better, it’s getting worse.”
“What happened?”
“After we left the club, a group of us went back to Clay’s suite. We’re staying in the same hotel, so it shouldn’t have been an issue. He’s two floors below me. We were already buzzed, and we got blitzed.”
At this point, I interrupted. “On?”
“Oh god,” her eyes fluttered, “booze and pot. I haven’t touched the harder stuff in months.”
“Who was there?”
She blinked a few times. “Clay, Gemma, Neil, a bunch of people. I don’t know.”
“It’s okay. Go on.”
“Anyway, things had died down. Most people had left, and I was on my way out. I didn’t bother to call Scar for an escort upstairs. It was only two floors, and it was the middle of the night. Nothing should have happened.” She glanced out the window. “The elevator was taking too long, so I took the stairs.” She swallowed. “He was waiting in the stairwell. He came up behind me. I screamed. God, I think I woke the entire building. Scar burst through the door on the floor above and scared him away.”