“Heather, you do need to be in rehab. You can’t handle this problem by yourself.”
“I’m not going to any fucking rehab! And you can’t make me!”
“Heather,” she tried remaining calm. “We’ve already talked about this. And you know you can’t achieve your goal of stardom with a drug addiction.”
“I don’t have a drug addiction, and I don’t need rehab.”
“Heather, please, if you’ll just listen to me.”
“I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my mother!”
“Heather, please. Listen to me.” Jamie got up to try and talk to the girl, but her actions came too late. Heather, tattered blue jean handbag slung over her shoulder, made a beeline for the door, and ran out before Jamie could catch her. Racing behind her, Jamie flung open the door and sprinted down the steps after her. Heather was younger and faster though, and made it down the stairs and across the parking lot, and hopped into a beat up, black Ford Mustang before Jamie could finish getting down the stairs.
Tears welled up in her eyes as the driver of the car sped off across the asphalt and toward a nearby freeway. Heading back to her apartment, Jamie did what she should have done from the beginning and called the police. Once more, she’d made the wrong decision.
Chapter 47
Staring at the walls of her office at the Coral Gables Police Department, Sarge was thinking she might as well move into the place when Sanchez knocked on the door and escorted in her visitor. Aside from maybe seeing little green men disembark from a flying saucer, nothing could have surprised her more. Still, she kept quiet her surprise, not even raising an eyebrow. Instead, she rose with a smile, as though greeting her guest was what she’d been planning for all day. As soon as her visitor was fully inside, she waved Sanchez out of the room. “Thanks, Miguel. I’ll take it from here.”
“Sure, Sarge. Give me a buzz if you need anything.”
After nodding her head and waiting for the door to close, she gestured for her guest to take a seat in the interrogation chair, while pulling a tape recorder from the top drawer of her desk. Pointing at the contraption, she asked, “You mind?”
Her visitor shook his head. “Not at all. Feel free.”
“Thanks. I will.”
With the press of a button and a low, static hum, the record function of the machine turned on, ready to capture every word as possible evidence in a possible future trial. The room fell quiet for a second, and Sarge settled back into her chair, feeling completely in control. “So tell me, Mr. Skinner, what brings you here today?”
Chapter 48
Empathy for Sutton Arnold. That’s what Nick felt. Every ounce of pain the young man felt for his long ago love, Nick understood. Unlike Sutton, however, he didn’t have the luxury of knowing the woman he’d loved had been a victim. Janelle’s affair had been as much her doing as Rod’s. She was an adult. Every bit as responsible for her actions as Rod was for his.
Inevitably, thoughts of Rod and Janelle brought him to thoughts of Jamie, and the harsh words he’d spoken to her for not giving him the film before it was stolen and wound up in Peter Arnold’s paper. If she hadn’t thought him a jerk before, she certainly must now.
He’d really laid into her. And for what? Trying to protect him from the truth? He really didn’t need to ask to know why she’d lied. That much he could figure out for himself. Only one thing bothered him. Why hadn’t she told him about the film after he’d found out about the affair? What was the point in concealing the truth from him at that point? Still, she must have had her reasons, and it couldn’t have hurt to ask about them before he hit her with his castigation.
Snapping out of his reverie, Nick saw he’d driven past the exit that would have taken him to his office, and was now headed south on 826, toward Jamie’s apartment. Maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something.
Yes, idiot, go over there and apologize. And while you’re at it, take her out somewhere nice for that Thanksgiving dinner you two were supposed to have. He took the next exit off the highway and drove to her place.
Her apartment was dark when he arrived, but he noticed her Jeep parked in the lot two cars away from his. She was home. Asleep maybe? Nick glanced at his watch. Barely eight o’clock. A bit early for her to be in bed.
Thoughts of her answering the door dressed in her nightgown flickered through his mind. Part of his anatomy responded at once. Yeah, buddy, that’s all there is to it for you. None of these bullshit emotions of hurt and betrayal and anger. Just thoughts of Jamie naked. He shifted his car into park, turned it off, thought about leaving for half a minute, sighed, then pulled the keys from the ignition. She probably wouldn’t be too happy to see him, but, like it or not, he owed her an apology.
He waited several minutes after knocking, nearly turning around and leaving before she responded to the doorbell. She answered his called dressed in a camisole and running shorts. Not a nightgown. Not naked. But good enough as far as that certain part of his anatomy was concerned.
“Nick,” she said. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.” She stepped aside to allow him in. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted to the dark. Pictures lay scattered over the cushions of her sofa. On the coffee table he spotted a glass, half-full of melting ice and scotch, and a partially empty bottle.
“Drinking alone and in the dark, Jamie? I thought I was the only one who did that.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? Guess I’m picking up all your bad habits.”
“I’m sure this is one you could do without. Why don’t I join you and spare you the indignity of drinking alone?”
“Have a seat.” She headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get the glass.”
By the time she came back, he’d moved her photos to the coffee table and taken a spot on one end of the sofa. She handed him the highball filled with ice and sat down just out of his reach. He poured some of the scotch into his glass. “Thanks.”
Jamie watched him, hands folded in her lap. Light from the street lamp outside spilled in through the window, reflecting off her long hair, tucked behind her ears and falling in untamed lengths down her back. The camisole she wore without a bra clung to her breasts, the outline of her nipples visible through the thin fabric. She had never looked more beautiful.
“I didn’t cook anything for Thanksgiving dinner,” she said. “I’d assumed that was canceled.”
He hesitated, sucking in a deep breath and letting it back out. He felt the words sticking in his throat, but knew he had to say them. Finally, he just spit them out. “I’m sorry.”
A confused furrow crossed her brow. Her mouth dropped open. “Did you just say the words, ‘I’m sorry?’”
“I did.” He inhaled another breath. “I came over here to apologize. I had no right to yell at you. It was stupid of me. And please don’t make me say those words again. I barely got them out the first time.”
She let out a small chuckle, but slowly shook her head. “That’s funny. And I might be dying of shock right now if I felt like I deserved to hear you say them. You weren’t wrong though. It was stupid of me not to give you the film and I was wrong to lie to you about it.”
He scooted closer to her, taking her hand and threading his fingers through hers. Giving her a gentle squeeze, he noted with satisfaction she tightened her grip. With his free hand, he brushed away an errant strand of hair that had fallen over her face, feeling her tremble at his touch. “Why didn’t you just tell me about the movie after the police told me about the affair?”
She looked down, but only for a moment before bringing her gaze back to his. “I didn’t want you to know I’d lied. You told me I was the one person you could trust, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me?” He took hold of her chin, staring into her eyes. They held the faintest hint of tears. “That’s what you were worried about?”
“I promise I’ll never lie to you again,
Nick. I don’t want there to be anymore secrets between us.”
“I have your word on that?” He knew what her word meant to her.
She nodded, not speaking. He didn’t need to hear anything else. Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms. She slid easily into his embrace, feeling soft and warm; her heart beating through the thin fabric of her shirt like an accelerating motor. Her breasts pressed into his chest like warm pillows. And tonight, they were at her place. There wouldn’t be any excuses about her needing to go home. If she didn’t want him tonight, she was going to have to throw his ass out.
Lowering her into a prone position on the sofa, he stretched out on top of her and tasted her lips. When she gave into his kiss, he deepened it, pressing into the softness of her mouth and the curves of her body beneath him. Nothing else mattered. He didn’t think it, so much as felt it, and slid the camisole up over her head.
She sucked in a small breath that caught in her throat, and for a second he thought she was about to object. But she said nothing. Just stared up at him. He saw confusion in her eyes, but also desire, as hot as his own.
Holding himself above her with one elbow, he let his free hand wander over her bare breasts. They were perfect. Inviting. Rising in gentle mounds on her chest, begging to be touched. Cupping his hand around her breast, he gently squeezed, loving the shiver snaking through her in response. He circled his fingertips around each nipple, and moved his hand further down the flat smoothness of her stomach. As she sighed, he hardened fully. Nick got to his knees, sliding her shorts down over her hips, and continued his exploration into the silky warmth between her thighs. She moaned; a quiet moan that faded into the background. The confirmation that, whatever he was feeling, she felt it, too. It was all he needed to know. Quickly, eager and anxious, he stood and pulled off the polo shirt he’d been wearing. Never taking his eyes off her, he fumbled with his belt buckle in his haste to get it undone, unzipped his slacks and released the erection that begged for satisfaction.
“Jamie,” he whispered. “I want you.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered back. “I want you, too.”
Stepping out of his slacks and his briefs, he climbed back on top of her. The feel of her skin, hot against his own, stole whatever plans he’d had for further foreplay. He took her completely, driving into her with a need that overpowered every thought in his head. She gasped, lifting her hips in greeting. Trembling beneath him, she wrapped her legs around the back of his. The act sent pleasure spilling through him. Urging him on. Pulling back, he thrust into her again. Deeply. Wanting nothing more than to be inside her. She moaned and met his next thrust with complete acceptance, digging her nails into the flesh of his shoulders.
“Oh God.” He gripped her backside and pushed in deeper.
She responded with the same need, the heat of her body dampening around him. He felt it. Savored it. Willed it to last forever; to cloak him once more in the way it felt to be wanted by someone. Holding onto her, he withdrew and thrust back inside, losing himself to the rhythm of their love making. Heat and friction mixed with her softness as their dampening bodies rubbed together, torturing his self-control. Each sigh that escaped her lips, each quiver trembling through her, only stoked his passion further. He lost sense of time; of anything save the intensity of their union. Her breath quickened and she moved more urgently beneath him, holding onto him and shuddering, tightening around him as he drove deeply inside. Dragging him to the brink of ecstasy and then pushing him over the precipice. Giving into it, holding nothing back, Nick released himself inside her, and he remembered bliss.
Chapter 49
Making love with Nick had been like waking up in the middle of a dream. One that continued on after her eyes were open. Her secret fantasy come to life. But should it have?
Jamie closed her eyes, wishing the fantasy would linger, but unable to make it stay. Her hormones had overpowered her common sense at last, and her walls had begun crumbling like an eroding dam. Emotions threatened to pour out of her now that could only lead to heartbreak. She should never have let him kiss her. Not even once.
She lay on the couch, his sweat-slicked body collapsed on top of her, breathing in his musky scent and listening to the satisfied heaving of his breath. She tingled from the feel of him where he’d taken her, the warmth of his release now trickling out. Her emotions flew wildly between heartache and euphoria. It had been eight years since she’d been with a man who meant anything to her. It had been eight years for a reason. A tear slid down her face. Nick would finally see the vulnerable side she worked hard to keep hidden, and know she wasn’t so tough after all.
He rolled over to her side and put a finger to her cheek. “Hey,” he whispered. “What’s wrong?” Sadness filled his eyes. “I didn’t misread things, did I?”
“No.” She shook her head. He felt warm and damp beside her. She wanted to roll back into his arms, bury her face in his hair-covered chest and stay there forever. But all dreams ended sooner or later. “You didn’t misread anything.”
“Then what is it?” He stroked his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the cheek.
His show of tenderness was killing her. It could never last. More than likely, he was only looking for a way to chase away the hurt and anger he still felt over Janelle. Her mind raced for something, anything, she could tell him that would explain her tears and not involve him. She thought of Heather and her disappearing act.
“Jamie?” Nick touched her lightly on the arm. “Feel like telling me what’s wrong?”
She wiped her cheek with the palm of her hand. “I’m worried about Heather,” she said. And it wasn’t a lie.
Nick reacted with a predictably blank look on his face. “Who’s Heather?”
She sighed. Reaching for her camisole and shorts, she sat up and got dressed. “I guess I’d better start at the beginning.”
Chapter 50
Sarge had waited patiently for Sanchez to call from the airport and report on Nicholas Beck. After over an hour, however, her patience had given way to the beginning twinges of irritability. By the time her phone finally rang two hours later, she fairly snapped at her detective. “Well,” she demanded. “Do you have Mr. Beck in tow?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“No? Sanchez, I could not possibly have heard you right. Did you just tell me no?”
“I’m sorry, Sarge. I lost him at the airport.”
“Please tell me you’re kidding. How did you lose him?”
“I don’t know. The place was a mad house. There was a screaming kid coming off the plane, and some couple arguing about how polite she was to the guy’s parents, and some old lady in a wheelchair. I diverted my attention for a minute, just to make sure everything was okay, and I lost track of him in the crowd.”
“Did you try to catch up with him in the parking garage?” She was sure he had, but she asked anyway.
“Of course.” Sanchez let out a long breath. “I’m sorry, Sarge. I screwed up.”
“It’s okay, Miguel. Check out his office and his house, and let me know when you find him.”
“I already did that, Sarge.”
“And?”
“And no go. He didn’t show up at either place.”
“Really? Now that is interesting. Let me know when you find him.”
“Sure thing, Sarge.”
She hung up the phone wondering what made Nicholas Beck tick, and if she had overlooked something about how all the puzzle pieces really did fit together.
Chapter 51
Peter parked in front of the porn studio early Friday morning. He was pissed. Getting a call about a business problem was never something he enjoyed. He ran a tight ship at his newspaper, kept on top of every single one of his investments and knew to the penny how much money he had at the end of every day. The one business venture, the only business venture, he had handed off to someone else, and not kept strict daily tabs on, was the film studio.
No. He had trusted that assho
le Rod. Took him at his word. Believed him when he said he would run the place as if Peter were watching over his shoulder. And what did he get for his efforts? For the trust he had shown in Rod? A lot of constant griping and complaining about his lack of respectability. And now this. The guy going MIA and not showing up at the studio, despite the fact that they were supposed to be shooting a movie. It was shades of Nicholas Beck all over again. He wouldn’t be surprised if Rod announced tomorrow he was opening up his own porn film studio. That was the thanks a guy got for trying to be a mentor. Slapped in the face.
D-bag rushed over to him as soon as he stepped inside. His greasy, long hair had been tucked behind a bandana and left his broad face wide open for inspection. “Thanks for getting right over here.”
Peter grimaced and smiled, shaking hands with the guy. “Thank God I still have you around to keep things running.” Looking around, he saw that work inside the studio had come to a standstill. Three actors and two young actresses lounged on the bed, wearing robes. Off to the side, another actress sat swaddled in a robe at a dressing table, applying her make-up. Not only were the cameras not rolling, there weren’t any cameras. Anywhere. Unbelievable! This was exactly why he’d turned the studio over to Rod in the first place. He didn’t want to be involved with it. He was the one who had a fucking reputation to maintain. “Where the hell is Rod?”
“I don’t know.” D-bag looked pointlessly around the room. “I tried calling his house and his cell phone since yesterday, but he hasn’t called me back. And he still ain’t got them cameras fixed and come back here with them.”
Peter smiled, hoping to put the guy at ease. “Don’t worry, D-bag. He hasn’t returned any of my calls either. If I bring in some new cameras, can you shoot this film without him?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve always just worked the cameras. Rod always did all the editing and making sure the sound went with the movie all right and stuff like that. I’m not really good with all that technical stuff.”
Gossip (Desire Never Dies) Page 21
