16
I left the hospital later that afternoon.
I should have guessed Marc would be strategic about our departure. He’d pre-arranged for us to leave at the same time as Ally—and it just so happened her world-famous, Hollywood actor boyfriend, Jacob Swan, had come along for the ride.
In his bright red Ferrari.
I could see the crowd of reporters swarming around the entrance to the hospital from my top-floor window. Flashes went off as Ally came down the steps and walked toward Jake’s car. He opened the driver’s door and got out to greet her and the mob closed in. Even from all the way up here I could hear the distant shouts as the reporters called out to them with questions.
It was strange seeing fame happen to someone else. I’d grown so used to being in the middle of it, watching it from afar felt like an out-of-body experience.
“Come on.”
I jolted and turned away from the window. I hadn’t heard Marc come in.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but we need to leave now.”
I cast one last glance at the window before I walked to his side. “Ally hates the paparazzi.”
Marc guided me from the room, his palm not quite resting on the small of my back. “I guess you have a pretty good friend then. She even asked if she should kiss Jake for the cameras.”
I forgot about his hand and grinned. “She’s always been good at making a spectacle of herself.”
Even Marc’s lips quirked. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“I don’t think most of Hollywood has either.”
Ally’s dramatic behavior at the Academy Awards earlier in the year had caused headlines. Unintended, of course.
We’d arrived at what appeared to be a staff elevator and Marc ushered me in. Behind us, two of my bodyguards, Matt and Emilio, followed us. Marc dropped his hand from my back and punched the button for one of the basement levels.
We rode in silence. There was no question the men surrounding me were in control, but I could feel the tension in the stuffy interior of the elevator. They were alert to every possibility—whether it was as simple as running into a person who recognized me or something more sinister.
The doors opened when we reached the basement and the men’s shoulders didn’t move, but I swore I felt them breathe out. Two other guys from my security detail stood waiting near an older model pickup truck, painted a questionable shade of white. Or at least I thought it was white. It was hard to tell on account of the grime all over it.
“Nice,” I said, as I was led to the vehicle.
“You’re in the real world now, Princess,” Marc replied without a hint of amusement, and I tried not to frown.
Was this how it was going to be for the next however long? Constant reminders of how out of touch I was with reality?
I didn’t have time to worry about it because the men wasted no time in getting me into the truck and closing the door firmly.
I looked around the cabin. “Classy,” I said to myself as Marc came around to the driver’s side. “This yours?” I added, when he hopped in.
“Not very smart of me to drive my own car when we’re trying to leave the city unnoticed.”
“We’re leaving the city?”
He started the engine and it turned over without the sputtering I would have expected from a truck of its age. But then I should have already known Marc wouldn’t leave anything to chance.
“Where did you think I’m taking you?” he asked as we moved off.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. A movement behind us made me glance in the rear-view mirror and I saw a navy sedan pull out behind us.
“Relax,” Marc said. “They’re with us.”
“The guys are coming too?”
“It’s a family road trip.” Despite the quip, Marc’s eyes were fixed on the parking lot around us, looking for any sign that we might have been noticed.
“Will they be staying with us?” I asked. I had no idea if Marc’s plan was to have me under twenty-four-hour surveillance wherever it was we were going.
“They’ll be nearby.”
“I hope you booked separate rooms. I’ll have you know I’m used to a suite.”
Marc’s dark brown eyes narrowed slightly and he glanced over at me. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I don’t know, am I? That’s the problem with actors. You never can tell.” I wasn’t sure why I was teasing him, but he regularly caught me out with his own dry humor. Given the seriousness of the situation a bit of levity couldn’t hurt.
“You were good in that romantic comedy.”
Surprised, I twisted to get a better look at him, but my shoulder throbbed in protest. I forced myself to relax against the seat. “I didn’t picture you as a fan of romantic comedies.”
“I watched it on a plane trip. There was nothing else worth watching.”
“Right. I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. You do humor well.”
Still surprised by his unexpected praise, I answered honestly. “I almost didn’t take the role. Duncan didn’t want me to do it. It was my agent who convinced me.”
I watched with interest as a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“Hopefully that taught you that Duncan isn’t always right,” he said eventually.
“No, he’s not,” I agreed. “It really is tiring how everyone thinks he had control of me.”
“Didn’t he?”
I was thankful he at least used the past tense. This time when I shifted to face him, I did so carefully, changing my seating position instead of twisting my upper body.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” I stated firmly, wondering why I was even talking about my producer ex-husband with Marc. “It’s a story the media loves, and he never prevented it. It played to his ego too much.”
“Well, at least you’re aware of it.”
“Do you honestly think that little of me?” I closed my mouth as soon as the words came out. Where had they come from? And since when did I care what Marc thought?
“I don’t think much of him, I’ll tell you that much.”
“He’s an excellent producer.” Despite the less than desirable circumstances of our recent split, I still couldn’t hate Duncan entirely.
“But not a great person,” Marc finished for me.
“I don’t think he cares what you think of him.”
“That’s good, because I haven’t been too nice to him when he’s been calling me.”
“What?”
“You heard me. He keeps demanding to know where you are and what’s going on, like I answer to him.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. And I hope you told him it’s none of his business.”
Marc’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Not in those exact words.”
I put a hand over my own mouth, hiding my own smile, and looked out the window. “I’m sorry,” I said again after a moment. “I spoke to him once yesterday but didn’t tell him anything and have been ignoring the rest of his calls. He has a bit of a God complex.”
“A bit?” Marc’s deep voice was full of disbelief. “He thinks he’s solely responsible for your success.”
“He thinks of me as his protégé,” I said simply. Or at least that was what I had realized when our marriage was over. Although I still believed Duncan had loved me in his own way, he’d always thought of my career first. It had all come to a bitter end when he’d thought telling the media that we were splitting up so I could be seen with Hollywood’s latest heartthrob, Jacob Swan, would be good for my profile. We’d only pretend to split up, of course, for six or twelve months. Except he’d neglected to tell me about his plan first and my publicist had released a statement before I knew about any of it.
Needless to say his lack of communication and questionable ideals were why I had filed for divorce, citing irreconcilable differences.
“You were never his protégé,” Marc’s deep voice cut through my thoughts. “He was lucky he found you when he did. You would have been snapped up in a second by the other studios.”
“I was still modeling when I met Duncan,” I pointed out. While it was nice Marc actually thought I had some talent, I had to give Duncan his due.
“Yeah, and you were on every magazine cover and billboard across America. It was only a matter of time.”
“Do you really think so?” I asked, genuinely interested in Marc’s perspective.
“I do. Don’t you?”
I turned to look out the window again. “It always felt like Duncan discovered me.”
“No, Lena. He saw something you hadn’t seen in yourself yet. That’s all. It doesn’t mean you owe him anything for that.”
“But he turned me into a household name—as far as my acting career is concerned. I don’t mind admitting that.”
“He uncovered you. He’s not responsible for your talents.”
“I know that. But he did support me so I could realize those talents.”
“To his own benefit.”
I fell silent. I still wasn’t sure why we were discussing this, but Marc seemed to have a strong opinion on the matter.
“He used you,” Marc said.
“He didn’t use—”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. You both got plenty out of it. Look at you now. You’re world-famous and rich to boot. For a long time I thought you were aware of the arrangement.”
“Arrangement?” I couldn’t keep up. One second he was being complimentary, the next he was criticizing me. “You’ve spent far too long thinking about this. It’s disturbing.”
“What’s disturbing is you’ve only just started to realize the situation for what it was. And I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it because he’s a suspect like everyone else.”
“Oh.” Well, that made more sense. I hadn’t even remotely considered Duncan would be a suspect. “God, don’t tell me you thought he could break into my house and do . . . that,” I said, referring to the sexual stalker. “Or burn it down?” If that was the case, then my life really had hit new lows. Not that I believed any of it for a second. Duncan was too worried about his reputation to sink to sick stunts like that, and despite being in his fifties there was no shortage of willing women available to him.
“No, I don’t think it was him, but I had to rule it out.”
I supposed I should be thankful for that. “Do you think the same person started the fire?” I was still avoiding using words like ‘sexual stalker’ if I could help it.
“At this stage, it’s unclear.”
I resisted a sigh at Marc’s clipped tone. I knew it was his job, but I was tired of how he never gave anything away. Wasn’t it exhausting hiding his thoughts and feelings all the time? And hadn’t he known me long enough that he could be a little more open about the investigation?
“Well, it would be nice to be kept informed if that would be possible,” I suggested, my tone also clipped.
I saw him blink then frown. “I always do.”
“No,” I corrected, “you usually arrest someone first, then tell me about it.” By the time I found out who the first two stalkers were they’d already been served with restraining orders, and the third and fourth ones had been arrested.
Marc’s frown deepened. “I’d call that doing my job.”
“Yes, you always do your job. It’s just that I’m usually the last to know about it.”
“I don’t understand,” Marc muttered, more to himself than me.
“What’s there to understand?” I shot back. “I want more regular information from you. What your lines of enquiry are, what you’ve uncovered, and who the possible suspects are. As your client, I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
He didn’t reply straight away. His hands were fisted tightly on the steering wheel and he seemed to be grappling with something.
“Technically, you’re not my client,” he said eventually. “I report to the production company on this job.”
I felt an involuntary sting at being referred to as a ‘job’, but forced myself to ignore it.
OK, so perhaps he didn’t like being told how to conduct his investigations, but damn it, I knew the studio was paying him a lot of money. Everything else was just semantics.
I chose not to press my point any further though—I’d made my feelings known and I was too exhausted for one of our heated discussions.
We drove in silence for a few minutes. I looked across at Marc when he cleared his throat.
“My other clients don’t want to know,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“They don’t want to know the details. They just want me to take care of it. You told me to take care of it,” he reminded me.
“Yes, I did, but I’m not your other clients.”
“No. You’re not.”
I released an exasperated sigh. “I don’t see what the problem is. Isn’t the production company paying you enough? Does actually dealing with the client cost more money? I get that you’re not the sort of guy who likes to talk, but we all have to do things we don’t like sometimes.”
His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “The agreed fee is fine. And I’ve been instructed not to share the details of the investigation with you.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Because it’s not pretty.”
“Plenty in life isn’t pretty, Marc. I’m well aware of that.” For a split second an image of my mother—pale, groggy and exhausted from the pain—flashed into my mind. I pushed it away.
A surge of anger and bitterness pulsed through me. Logically I knew the production company was doing its job—the powers-that-be needed their star performer in top form—but I resented being treated like a child. Or worse, a delicate female.
“The production company is taking liberties. I have a right to be informed.”
Marc cleared his throat. “They felt that elements of the investigation might . . . disturb you.”
“I understand, but I still want to know.”
“Even if it upsets you?” His question was more of a warning.
“Yes,” I said firmly. I couldn’t explain why, but having him think of me as a delicate female bothered me more than the production company treating me that way.
And as far as my need to know all the gory details? I wasn’t sure I could explain it to him, even if I tried. For the past five years of my life, I thought I’d been happy. But since my separation from Duncan, it was like I was waking up from a dream. Our life together had been the perfect illusion and I’d bought into that illusion.
The silly thing was, I’d never longed for the big house, the money or the fame. Only the acting was important to me. But for a time, all the other things had filled the hole in my heart that had been left after my mother died. Whatever happened in my life from now on, I wanted it to be real.
And if that involved facing up to whatever sick evil was currently after me, then I would do it.
“I’ll take you through the details of the investigation when we get there,” Marc said, interrupting my thoughts.
I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Thank you.”
He nodded and flicked on the stereo. The steady rhythm of a funky bass line and a smooth guitar riff filled the cabin. I smiled to myself and rested against the seat.
Marc glanced across at me. “You like the Red Hot Chili Peppers?”
“I love the Chili Peppers.”
He held my gaze a moment longer before returning his focus to the road.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Didn’t pick you for a Chili Peppers fan.”
Ally had been right. “You don’t know everything about me.”
He didn’t say anything more and I let myself enjoy the music. I noticed we were on the I-5, heading into the mountains to the northwest of Hollywood.
I realized I didn’t care where we were headed. These days, whenever I traveled, it was usually in a private jet. It felt good to be on the ground, with the beat-up truck picking up every bump in the road and the steep Californian cliffs and valleys whizzing past.
Despite all my troubles, I felt something in me relax.