by M. S. Parker
But then they’d asked me, What’s it like to kill somebody? What’s it like...being in prison?
I’d stopped, halfway through the scrawl of my name. If I’d been smart, I would have just finished up, ignored the questions and gone on. If I’d noticed the paps hanging around, I would have. But it hadn’t been until after that I’d noticed them at all.
“You serious?” I’d asked, staring at the girl who asked.
She looked like she’d been trying to make herself out as some sort of street tough, a hoop through her right nostril, the start of what might be a tattoo sleeve on her right arm.
To me, she looked like a little girl trying on her bigger, meaner sister’s clothes. A child playing dress-up.
“Yeah.” She fluttered her lashes, black and thick with too much mascara. “What’s it like...Bobby?”
“It hurts,” I said bluntly, too freaked out to give her anything but the truth. “It tears out a piece that makes you human, and no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try to fix yourself, you can never get that piece back. No matter what you do, you can’t fix the hole you tore in another family when you ended somebody’s life. You’re broken. They’re broken. That’s it.”
She blinked then, caught off-guard, and looked at her friend. “But...”
“No.” I shook my head. “You wanted to know what it’s like and I told you. No buts. Prison? Hell, that’s a bucket of laughs. If you like having to guard your food and bolt it down so nobody steals it from you before you can eat it. Ever had somebody try to shank you while you were eating?”
I half-turned, dragging up my shirt and displaying the long, thin jagged scar that tore up my right side. Carly had gotten the story out of me one night when she’d been tracing all of my scars. It was still the most impressive.
“It barely missed my kidney. Spent some time in the infirmary over that one, and that was just one of my easier stays there. Want to hear about the other times?”
“Um.” She blinked again, her eyes watering.
I should’ve felt bad, and some part of me had, but her questions had been insane. Wanting my autograph because I was dating someone famous was one thing. Wanting it because of what I’d done...no way in hell would I ever be one of those assholes who wore their crime or time like a badge of honor.
Her friend had reached up and wrapped an arm around the blonde’s narrow shoulders.
“Don’t you want to know?” I’d asked softly, not quite done yet. “The first time I went to the infirmary was after I’d been on the inside less than four days. I’m a decent looking guy, and I was still pretty young. You know what that means?”
She had, the quiet one. I’d seen it in her eyes. Her eyes had been a darker shade of blue than Carly’s, but they’d had that same tough look to them. It hadn’t been her idea to come up and talk to me, I’d realized. She’d just decided to come with the blonde.
I’d looked back at the blonde then. “A couple of the bigger guys, the cons who’d been in there a while, they figured I’d make a nice little bitch for them.”
She flinched.
“Does that really sound like some sort of bad boy fantasy?”
“Okay.” Her friend had hugged her tighter. “She gets the point.”
We’d stared at each other for a few more seconds. Then I’d nodded. “Good.”
As they’d walked off, I’d grabbed the gym bag I’d dropped and looked up. That had been when I’d seen the vultures hovering. Son of a bitch. The media and all the paparazzi were something I still couldn’t get used to. Some days they didn’t pay any attention to me at all, but other days...
Sadly, that had been one of those days where my own personal flock of nuisance photographers had decided to zero in on me.
After dealing with the hassle on a personal level for a couple of months now, I’d developed a new appreciation for Carly’s patience with them. Now, as I sat with the rest of the main security detail, trying to pin down a schedule of sorts for the tour, I found myself with a deeper appreciation of the trouble Ryan went through planning everything.
While everyone else was listing places they wanted to go in various cities, I was trying to see what new shit the media had cooked. I skimmed a caption, and then moved on before it hit me. When it did, I went back to it. I read the caption again and then stared at the thumbnail of Carly and me.
Hollywood’s Most Romantic Couples!
“They’ve got to be kidding me.”
We’d been together for nearly four months and the media hadn’t gotten tired of us yet. The VMAs had long since come and gone, as had Christmas. The best Christmas I’d had since my mother had died.
Now, Carly and I were looking at our first Valentine’s Day together as a couple and it seemed we were being subjected to several of these inane lists. If I had my way about it, I’d never look at another of these things again, but while they annoyed the hell out of me, I also couldn’t seem to stop reading them.
Hollywood’s version of a train wreck, I supposed.
Besides, it was easier to brood over this than my media mis-steps. Or the letter I’d had waiting for me this morning.
Don’t say you weren’t warned, Cantrell. Now see how she suffers.
After nearly two months without anything, why in the hell had it come now? Right before we left on her book tour? It was the fifth letter I’d received. She’d just received a fourth. It seemed to echo the sentiment in the one I’d gotten.
You were warned, Ms. Prince. Sometimes the innocent must suffer the consequences of the guilty.
Neither Ryan nor the cops’d had any more luck in tracking down the source. I suspected Ryan was now trying to talk them into getting the FBI involved.
A headache pulsed at the base of my skull and I fought the urge to drag Carly out of the room and up to our bedroom. I’d moved in with her a few weeks back. I still worked my shifts, and nobody seemed to think anything of my relationship with Carly. Well, except Ridley.
But Ridley was an asshole.
Correction. Ridley was actually a lot worse than an asshole.
After Carly publicly sent him away, he’d gotten a lot more subtle with his jabs, and he kept most of them to when the two of us weren’t likely to be overheard, but I knew he was getting into more and more trouble with Ryan and he was being sent out with Carly less and less. Cameo had mentioned a few days earlier that she’d overheard Ryan giving Ridley a warning. Ridley was down to his last chance and that’s all there was to it.
I didn’t know what he’d done to piss Ryan off, but I found myself wishing he’d do it again. Preferably before we left at the end of the week so he didn’t go with us on tour. I knew that would complicate Ryan’s job a lot, but Ridley pissed me off that much.
Having Ridley breathing his rage down my neck was only adding to how on edge I was lately. I could hold it together, and being with Carly made it easier in some ways, but in others, it made it harder. Knowing the letter-writer was still out there, knowing that, no matter what I did, I might not be able to protect the most important person in my life...It was a different kind of stress than I’d known before.
Even Ace had said I’d been a bit on the scary side during training sessions.
“I was wondering when you’d see that,” Carly said, interrupting my thoughts as she leaned over to study the Top Ten countdown on my screen. “We only made number seven.”
“Why the hell are we on it at all?” Even as I said it, I wanted to punch myself in the head. Hard.
Cameo narrowed her eyes at me as I floundered for a way to pull my foot out of my mouth. “Look...um...I just…” I shot Ryan a desperate look.
“You’re on your own, kid,” he said, shaking his head.
Carly ignored him. “What’s wrong with us?”
“It’s not us that I can’t figure out.” I should have kept my damn mouth shut. Now I had to fix it. “It’s me. Why does anybody want me on a list?”
“Oh, baby,” Carly said, her voice falling to a
soft, husky croon.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ridley muttered.
Cameo gave him a dirty look, and grabbed the remote, turning up the sound on the TV as Carly leaned in to kiss me.
“You’re on all of my lists,” she said against my mouth. “The best kisser, the best boyfriend, the best...”
“The best dumbass?” I suggested, trying to lighten the mood. I didn’t mind a little PDA, but sometimes when Carly kissed me, I had a tendency to forget things...like the fact that we had four other people in the room.
She laughed.
“...visitations for rock music icon Cindel will be limited to friends and family only...”
Carly looked up and, immediately, I wrapped an arm around her.
Ryan had told me last night that Carly was attending a funeral visitation tomorrow. Cindel – just the one name – had been an opening act for Carly’s dad back in the day, and the lady had been one of the few who’d continued to come around and visit Carly after her dad died. She’d probably been the closest thing to a real mom Carly had for a long time. They’d grown apart over the last couple years, but Cindel had been there for Carly when a lot of others hadn’t.
As an image of the woman from her hey-day splashed across the screen, I pressed a kiss to Carly’s temple. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice sad. “I just wish I’d known she was sick. We hadn’t talked in years, though. I guess there was no way I could have known, but I wish I would have kept in touch better.”
She kissed my cheek and then pushed up, pacing the wide, open room. Stillness never sat well with Carly. Instead of following her, I stayed where I was.
The TV continued to play on, the volume too loud, but when Cameo went to change it, Carly said, “Leave it. I need the distraction.”
“...scandal involving drag racing down a suburban street in Anchorage, Alaska. Keown is on location in Anchorage while filming his upcoming action thriller. It is unknown if he’ll face charges.”
Carly snorted. “He won’t face charges. Again. He’ll end up dead or killing somebody and then everybody will be oh, how did this happen?”
The news continued to play, with Carly offering biting commentary from time to time. Dave suggested a BBQ joint for the stop in Memphis. As almost all of us were fairly fond of BBQ, that was a definite yes. Cameo was the only exception, being a vegetarian, and she shrugged.
“As long as I can get a salad, I’ll tolerate you all imbibing dead pig.”
“I’m eating cow,” I volunteered.
“I might try chicken,” Carly offered.
The discussion moved to Savannah and some sort of pirate house. Carly continued to pace, and I continued to watch her.
“It looks like the Hershel family will be adding to their family again. This makes number five in just as many years. We have to wonder just how Amber will ever get back in shape to go back to the silver screen...”
“Yeah, because that is of the utmost importance in life.” Carly stopped in front of the TV, her toes tapping out a beat on the thick carpet.
The gossip gave way to local news and we waited for her to change the channel, but she just stood there, staring at nothing as one, then two stories went by.
“In grimmer news, a young minister faces yet another tragedy.”
I focused on Carly as the group deliberated on stopping at some kind of cemetery in Savannah. A cemetery? Not that I cared. Wherever I was, as long as she was there, would be fine.
I glanced at the TV as a man’s image came across the screen. He was probably a few years older than me, and he had a tired, worn look to him. He looked like a man who’d seen some hard times, but still had a friendly sort of smile.
“Pastor Eric Haskell of Monterey, California, lost his wife to breast cancer late last year and now his daughter is missing.”
Ridley snorted. “Reap what you sow, Reverend.”
“Hey, you prick–” I snapped.
But even as I started to say more, the remote hit him square in the forehead.
The TV abruptly went silent. I glanced at it and saw ‘mute’ in green print flare across the screen before I turned to look at Carly. She was rigid, her entire body shaking as she glared at Ridley.
“What did you say?”
He rubbed his head, astonishment written on his face. “What was that for?”
She pointed a finger at him, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
There was an edge to her voice that I didn’t like. Slowly, I rose. “Carly...”
She ignored me, turning to look at the TV. The news was still rolling. It looked like the dad was giving an interview now.
“Sound on,” Carly said.
Nothing happened. The system was set up to respond to voice as well as the remote, but she’d probably accidentally turned that off when she’d smacked Ridley’s hard skull with the remote.
Cameo scooped up the remote and held it towards Carly. “Here.”
Carly’s hands were shaking. I saw the tremor as she grabbed the remote. “Ridley,” she said. Her voice was calmer now. Barely. “I’m asking again, what did you say?”
Ridley opened his mouth, then closed it. The dick finally realized he’d done something wrong, but clearly didn’t know what. Shrugging, he said, “Look, everybody knows those preachers are always crooked–”
“You think I care about a preacher?”
Apparently, she was too frustrated to mess with the voice control, because she punched a button on the remote and we all watched as the screen rewound.
“A kid,” she said, her voice flat as the newscast went in reverse. “This is about a kid who is missing.”
Instinct had me moving closer. I slid my arm around her waist. “Carly.”
I didn’t know if she even heard me. Her fingers slipped off the remote and a shudder ran through her.
Carefully, I tugged it away from her and hit the button until the news began to play at regular speed.
“Pause it, Bobby. Look at the damn screen and tell me what you see, Ridley,” Carly said, her voice odd. Tight.
I looked up, stared at the image of the little girl. She had golden blonde hair. Big blue eyes. She looked like a little doll. A solemn-eyed little doll, and like her dad, she looked like a person who’d seen too much.
“Nine year-old Haley was last seen yesterday morning, riding her bike...” the newscaster said.
“She’s just a baby,” Cameo said softly.
I glanced at Ridley, but he was looking outside.
“Ridley. Carly wanted to know what you saw on the screen,” I said, my voice hard.
“There were reports of a dark gray late model Dodge Caravan...”
The voice droned on as Ridley swung his head around, his sullen glare bouncing off me before it landed on the TV. It skipped away, and then returned.
“If anybody has information that can lead to location of nine-year-old Haley Haskell, please notify the Monterey Police Department or call...”
Carly jerked away from me and started to walk.
Ridley took a step as if to go after her.
Hell no.
I put myself in front of him, and this time, when he rammed into me, I rammed him back.
With my fist.
20
“I’m not apologizing.”
Dave just lifted his eyebrow.
He’d gotten a promotion a few days after Jake’s fall. He’d been part-time for a while after his daughter had been born, but now he worked a full week. He didn’t live on the estate or work nights, but he’d been the obvious choice for the promotion. The team had teased him about it, called him Ryan, Jr. Which, I guessed, was fitting, since he’d taken Ryan’s former position. Ryan had taken over Jake’s. Not that anybody called Ryan Jake, Jr.
There would never be another Jake.
Ryan had kept his old office though, so I was in Jake’s former office, cooling off, or so I was told.
I was here because Ridley was in Ryan’s offic
e.
“Is Ridley cooling off too?” I asked mockingly as I studied my knuckles.
“No.” Dave stretched out his long legs, his hands flat on his belly. “I believe the house staff is assisting–”
He stopped talking and straightened up, one finger to his right ear. He had his earpiece in. Ryan and Dave wore them almost all the time. The rest of us typically only wore them when we were on the clock, but Ryan was always on the clock and Dave took a radio with him when he went home at night. Me...well, the crew had asked that I always take my earpiece out as soon as I was done.
I forgot one time during a make-out session...
Dave flicked a look at me and stood up, turning his back.
That had my gut drawing tight. Dave clearly didn’t want me to see his face.
“You’re certain?”
As their discussion continued, Dave’s side in mostly murmurs and single word replies or terse questions, my unease grew.
When his phone started to blare a minute later, I grabbed it. He tried to beat me to it, but I was faster. Before he could try to wrestle the phone away, I backed up and answered it.
“Yeah?”
“Ah...is this Mr. Bobby?” It was Laureen, the petite, middle-aged woman who ran Carly’s house with an iron fist.
“Yeah. What’s up, Laureen?”
“There are police on the phone. They need to speak with you–”
The door crashed open, drowning out the rest of her words.
Ryan came striding in and he shoved me back, hard and fast, catching me off-guard. In my momentary surprise, he managed to get the phone from me.
“Hi, Laureen, it’s Ryan.” He paused a moment to take a step back as I glared at him. “Yes, yes...I know. Tell the investigating officer he’s on his way. They...I know. He’ll be there within a few hours.”
The first thought I had was that this was just great timing. My PO wanted a surprise visit, right after I finished pounding Ridley’s face through the other side of his skull, or at least, given it my best shot. Then Ryan’s words clicked. Investigating officer?