The week after Midnight checks into rehab, I’m sitting in my office when Misha and Leland walk in. I can tell by their frowns this won’t be a happy-dance kind of visit.

Misha doesn’t mince words. “Ward is filing a suit against Alta.”

“Ward?”

“Holt Ward, Midnight’s costar in the film,” she explains.

“Why?”

“He says the delay will cost him another role in a different film.”

“And what do you say?” I ask.

“I call bullshit. Midnight said he didn’t want her as a costar from the beginning. He’s using this as an out. The bad thing is Alta’s hands are tied.”

I gesture to the door, indicating for Leland to close it. I have an open-door policy here but in this case, we need privacy. When we’re away from prying ears, I ask, “What do we have on him?”

Leland groans. “He’s squeaky clean. I’ve tried to dig up something, but it’s a blank slate.”

“No one is a blank slate.”

Misha laughs. “You are.”

She’s right. The only thing anyone can find on me are a few speeding tickets and that I rent the occasional porn flick. “Okay. Then we’ll manufacture something.”

“What do you want?” Leland asks.

“Something so damaging, it would ruin any chances of him acting again.”

Leland is quiet for so long, I figure I’ve lost him. Then he says, “Connections to the Russian mob.”

Misha’s head snaps toward him. “No fucking way. If the Mafia gets wind of that, we’re all six feet under.”

“How would they?” Leland asks. “Why the hell would he leak that, because we certainly wouldn’t?”

“What if he comes forward and says it’s not true? Then we’re forced to come out with more information. I’d rather do something like he’s gay or into cocaine. Then if he calls us and we fire off some bogus pics, we won’t have Vladimir Kolikov breathing down our necks.”

“Who the hell is Vladimir Kolikov?” Leland asks.

Misha pins him with a chilling glare. “You don’t want to know.”

I hold up my hand. “Okay, no Russian mob. Misha’s right. That’s way too dangerous and someone could get killed. Personally, I think him being gay would only land him more fans and that’s not an unfavorable thing anyway. We need to go with something else. Like maybe linking his name with human trafficking.”

Misha snaps her fingers and a demonic glint hits her eyes. “That’s it. That would put him in one fuck of a hot seat. Rashid could set up a phony website to threaten him with and if he won’t back down, then we go in with the big guns. Rashid can hack into that site they’ve been targeting and make it look like his name is on there. It would totally put him in the spotlight.”

“What’s the website?” I ask.

Leland names it and I tell them it’s a go. “Who wants to contact Mr. Ward?”

“I think you should do it,” Misha says to me.

“Fine. I’ll call Rashid and have him get everything set up, and then Mr. Holt Ward will be getting a sweet little call from me.”

This Midnight Drake case is getting more complicated every day. We found Trent Dexter. Gino grabbed him and took him to an undisclosed place for questioning. He was very cooperative after Gino explained some things to him that involved more than a few jabs with Gino’s oversized fists.

According to Trent, he spotted Midnight at the club that night and recognized her from her films and TV roles. He was with his friend and they’d been scouting the place for someone to persuade to spend the night with them. Their idea of persuasion, compared to everyone else’s, is wildly different. Trent drugged Midnight and took her to the hotel where his friend met them out front. That’s when their fun began.

The bad part is the videos they uploaded on Midnight’s phone aren’t the end of it. They also filmed the whole episode on camera but cropped out her face. Then they did more editing—getting rid of them shooting her up with heroin—and uploaded it to a porn site where it’s been downloaded over fifty thousand times. Each time someone streams, it costs $5.99, so these fuckers cashed in on this.

We’re stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place. If we report this as a crime, Midnight’s career is fucked. If we sue, her career is fucked. We pulled the film, but who knows how many people have it on their hard drives and uploaded it to pirate sites? It could be in the millions. I want to cut that fucker’s dick off. It was a good thing Gino went instead of me. Then again, according to Gino, after he was finished with him, Trent won’t be doing this to anyone else.

My conversation with Rashid is brief. He assures me it will only take him a few minutes to give me what I need to scare the shit out of Holt Ward. He delivers it about an hour later, and it almost scares the shit out of me.

“Are you sure this is fake?” I ask.

He laughs. Rashid is the best. “Yeah, boss. When it comes to the cyber world, you can’t beat me.”

He’s right about that. When this is all said and done, Holt Ward will be hiring me to clean the shit I stirred up. A hearty laugh roars out of me.

Misha is walking past my office and veers inside to find out what’s so funny. When I tell her, she laughs right along with me.

“It’ll serve the asshole right. Midnight’s been through enough as it is. She doesn’t need his bullshit to go along with it.”

“Let’s see how this pans out.” I take a screenshot of the website and then make the call to Holt’s agent, asking for his number. He tries to give me the runaround, but when I explain how urgent it is and that if I don’t personally speak to Holt about this matter, he can expect to be fired, he rattles off the number immediately.

Holt answers his phone and I calmly say, “Mr. Ward, my name is Harrison Kirkland, and in about two seconds you will receive a photo from me via text. I hope this persuades you to drop your lawsuit against Alta and Midnight Drake regarding your contract in the film you two were cast in. If you have any questions, feel free to call me.” I end the call and wait for him to call me back.

Holt Ward doesn’t disappoint. When I answer, he tries to rip me a new one. I lean back in my chair and listen patiently as he rants about how I can’t do this and that I’m framing him, blah, blah, blah.

When he finally runs out of steam, I say, “It took you long enough to shut your fucking mouth. One, I’m not framing you. It’s not my problem you have an affinity for buying and selling women, especially those who are under eighteen. Two, if you don’t drop the lawsuit, this shit will go broad, and by that, I mean my firm will release it to every media outlet in the entertainment industry. Any questions?”

“You can’t do this! I haven’t been involved in anything like this. I don’t know where you found this, but it’s phony.”

“Prove it, Mr. Ward. It looks legit to me. I even clicked on the links. It’s a pity too. I would’ve expected better from you.”

“Dammit, it’s not mine!” he yells. I have to hold the phone away from my ear, he’s so loud.

“Sure looks like it to me. Aside from that, this trafficking site may be on the Feds’ radar. Your name wouldn’t be on it if you were clean. Drop the lawsuit and I can make this all go away. You can even hire me if you want. But my first priority is Midnight Drake. I want you back on the film with her, and I want Alta happy again. Am I clear?”

I hear his heavy breathing on the line. Finally, he says, “Fine. I’ll make the call. But clean this shit up, will you?”

“Not a problem. Expect a bill from my firm.”

It’s my turn to end the call and after I do, I toss my phone on the desk and chuckle. The asshole just lost a wad of money by fucking with my client and he became my client in the process.

I buzz Helen and ask her to send Misha and Leland in. When I relay how the call went, they high-five me. I wait for the call from Alta—which comes about an hour later—to have Rashid pull the dummy site down. It was never active to begin with, so there was no concern there. If you didn’t have the web address, there was no way you could’ve found it. When he’s finished cleaning everything up, I have Helen send Holt a pricey bill.

Now we have Midnight back on board. When I’m on the phone with Alta, they tell me their fan division is fielding more correspondence than ever for her. Everyone wants to know how she’s doing. It’s great to hear our plan is working. Which reminds me, I need to get her phone back to her, if it’s allowed.

I’d love an opportunity to talk to her. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. She was so worried about being stuck there for a month so I wonder how she’s doing.

The next day, I check with the facility and ask about her ability to have a phone. They say she can have visitors on the weekend, but no phones are allowed until her final week. I decide to pay her a visit on Saturday to fill her in on what’s happening.

But when Saturday rolls around, she refuses to see me. A crushing wave of disappointment washes over me. Where the fuck did that come from? She’s a client, dammit.

I shake it off and write her a note instead, briefly explaining what’s been going on. When I’m done, I give it to the front desk and ask them to deliver it to her. She’s completed her second week so she’s halfway through the program. I think about what she has to look forward to when she’s released.

Pushing the unexpected and unfamiliar feelings of excitement down, I refuse to let myself question them. There’s no way Midnight Drake has gotten under my skin. Not at all.