by Saba Kapur
I pulled my phone out from my pocket and opened the photograph up. Milo shook his head at me again as he took it. Good one, Gia. He was definitely going to need therapy after this case was over.
“Any clue what this says?” he asked me, his eyebrows knitting together with concentration as he tried to decipher the message.
“No, but I think it’s Chinese. My skills are kind of lacking in that department.”
“I’ll get it checked out.” Milo replied, turning the picture sideways.
Milo handed my phone back to me. “I’m going to need that napkin. And I need to take another look at the footage. Now that we know the blonde woman is you and not an accomplice, we can try to get a clear shot of the man in the brown coat. Did you see his face at all?”
I shook my head no. “He disappeared the moment Jack and I chased him outside.”
“Yeah, I saw that on the tape.”
“Did you manage to get a good look at Dr. D on the video footage?” I asked him hopefully.
“Not as good as we would have liked,” Milo told me, and I tried not to show my disappointment. “He was pretty good at hiding from the camera’s view.”
“Damn it!”
“Yeah,” Milo agreed grimly. “Unfortunately we don’t know the specific details of all the times he’s visited the place. We can’t exactly pull the footage for every single day. We would be here for months.”
“You’re not going to tell my dad are you?” I asked him, suddenly remembering the cost at which this revelation would come. “Technically we weren’t supposed to be at the Coco Club that night.”
“I kind of have to, Gia,” Milo said with a frown. “I mean, I can try to be delicate about it. But I would recommend that you don’t try to question anyone else while this investigation is going on. It could be dangerous.”
“No more personal investigations, I swear,” I told him, only half believing it. Besides, Dad was already furious. There was no point in hiding anything now. “How do you think Dr. D knew we were going to be at the Coco Club that night?”
“Well,” Milo said. “It’s possible he trailed your car without you noticing, although I doubt it. The security at the front of the house would pick up on any suspicious cars parked right outside.”
“The last bug,” I said, the thought suddenly popping into my head. “The one we never found.”
“Where did you and Jack discuss the details for the Coco Club?”
I cast my mind back, fully aware I was going to be no help. “Initially, at one of the Golden Globe events. After that, all around the house really. The kitchen, the TV room . . .” I paused, flicking my eyes to the ground. “My bedroom.”
“It was probably the bug that told him,” Milo said. “Which, unfortunately, could be anywhere.”
I looked up at him. “Sorry,” I said, as if I was causing such an inconvenience. It definitely felt like that.
“Gia, there’s no need to apologize!” he replied, almost laughing. “None of this is your fault! And you were honest about the Coco Club.”
“Yeah but—”
“But this doesn’t change things about Jack. He’s still a person of interest.”
Hold up. I had watched enough NCIS episodes to know that wasn’t a good thing.
“Milo,” I said calmly, leaning against the back of an armchair. “Jack isn’t a person of interest. He’s not a person of anything. He’s . . . Jack! He’s my bodyguard.”
Milo gave me an oh really look and raised his eyebrows. “Fine,” he said, even though I knew it so wasn’t fine. “Then tell me why every time Dr. D has called, Jack’s never been around.”
“Yes he has! He was around that one time when . . .”
I racked my brains, trying to think of all the times Dr. D had called.
“Yes?” Milo asked expectantly, as he watched me prove his own point.
“Oh I got it!” I cried, throwing my hands in the air in excitement. “The first time Dr. D called! Jack and I were in the kitchen and the phone was on speaker! There!”
I did an internal victory dance, and then told myself to snap out of it. Defending Jack was not meant to give me that much pleasure, especially when it involved Milo on the receiving end.
“Fine. What about that time he was supposedly in the shower?”
“Remind me of that time again.”
“The time when he even mentioned me right at the end of the phone call.”
“Oh,” I said. “He really was in the shower!”
Or so he said. It’s not like I could guarantee it. I’m pretty sure that would have involved crossing some boundaries.
“Okay,” Milo said, accepting my lack of proof. “What about today? Where was Jack when he called today?”
“Jack dropped the car keys in sc—” I thought about saying school. It made me seem childish. Although I was talking to a police officer. If he couldn’t figure out that I was still in high school then we’ve got ourselves a problem. “Inside the building. He went back to get them when Dr. D called.”
“He was gone pretty long, don’t you think?”
“My friend Veronica saw the keys lying on the floor and took them with her. Jack had to chase her all the way down the hallway to get them back.”
Milo looked at me sympathetically, as if he felt sorry that I actually believed Jack was with Veronica.
“Did you know,” he began slowly, “That if Jack’s father dies, he stands to inherit millions?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Nope. Wasn’t aware of that one.
“I don’t understand. What?”
“And I don’t mean one or two million,” Milo continued, pleased that he had hit a nerve in my Jack is Innocent campaign. “I’m talking hundreds of millions.”
“But that’s just cra—”
“Crazy?” Milo finished for me. “Yeah, it does seem a little odd. Ask yourself this, Gia. Why would someone who has a trust fund need a job as a bodyguard for celebrities?”
“Trust fund?” I repeated incredulously, and Milo nodded. “No, you’ve obviously made a mistake. Jack’s not rich. He can’t be!”
I thought back to what Jack had said about his father. If they didn’t get along then why would his dad have set up a trust fund for him? That didn’t add up.
“Can’t he?” Milo said. “Dr. D’s got to be getting his money from somewhere, right? That restaurant isn’t worth anything! Of course, I don’t know what Jack’s motive would be, but—”
“Motive? Wait, what? Slow down!” I cried, backing away from Milo, my head spinning in confusion. “This doesn’t make sense. Jack . . . he’s not Dr. D.”
“He could be working for him?” Milo said, and I shook my head fiercely.
“No. No, that’s not possible! That doesn’t make any sense.”
And it didn’t. I mean, not really.
“Gia,” Milo said softly, taking a step toward me. His tone sounded like he was telling a five-year-old that her puppy died. “There’s a lot more about him that you should probably know.”
“Well I don’t want to know!” I declared, holding my hands up in attempt to stop him from continuing.
It was absolutely insane. Jack couldn’t possibly be involved with Dr. D. He was Jack! He was so not a criminal mastermind. Although he was pretty slick. I mean, he wasn’t Bruce Wayne, let-me-keep-my-identity-hidden, but he wasn’t exactly handing out autobiographies to strangers. He couldn’t possibly be the bad guy in this equation.
“Alright,” Milo said quietly, accepting defeat. “I understand that. But I’m going to keep looking into this, whether you approve or not. My job is to keep you safe, from whoever.”
“I can’t stop you from doing your job,” I told him with a sigh. “But I can’t know about anything you find.”
“Your dad’s asking for you,” Jack’s bor
ed voice came from behind me, making me jump a little.
Milo and I turned to look toward the study door, where Jack was leaning casually against the frame, arms loosely crossed. I had no idea how long he had been standing there, or how much he had heard, but there was no way he would have been pleased by our conversation.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” Milo said to me quietly, taking a long stride to the door and pushing past Jack without making eye contact with him.
“How much of that did you hear?” I asked him finally, after a few seconds of silence.
“How much of what did I hear?”
I opened my mouth to elaborate, then closed it again. He clearly hadn’t heard. I mean, that was a pretty relationship-damaging conversation. If he had heard Milo talking about his little research plan then he would have said something. Besides, if he had heard and was playing the fool, I wasn’t going to go announce what we were talking about. I’d just play along. Cool as a cucumber.
“Never mind.”
It was only just noon and I was ready to crawl back into bed and never get out. Between getting mobbed by a group of paparazzi and being photo-shopped onto a whale, I was having the worst day in the history of the world. Oh, and finding out my hot bodyguard and dare I say it, friend, might also be evil wasn’t much help either.
“I had to tell Milo about the napkin,” I told Jack, fidgeting nervously with the fringe on my shirt.
He shrugged. “Alright.”
Jack’s phone buzzed in his hands and my heart skipped a beat. What if that was Dr. D giving him further instructions? What if some other rich guy was transferring millions into Jack’s account as I stood there watching him? Suddenly a million possibilities were swimming around in my mind, and I didn’t know how to make sense of them all.
“You’re on E! News,” Jack said, raising an eyebrow.
“Already?”
Okay, I’m not an idiot. I knew news of the reporters ambushing me wasn’t going to stay hidden for long. But damn, the E! Network moves fast!
“Turn on the TV,” Jack said.
I reached for the remote and turned on the plasma across the room. Jack moved into the room beside me, just as I found what we were looking for. My heart sank as I watched my shocked face stare back at me on the television screen.
“I—I really can’t comment,” I was saying, and I covered my eyes my hand, as if I were watching a horror movie.
“Oh lord,” I groaned, sinking onto the leather sofa.
“It’s not that bad!” Jack assured me, taking a seat next to me. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. “I mean, your hair looks cute.”
I groaned some more, watching my embarrassingly dumbstruck face on TV through parted fingers.
“Dear God, why?” I wailed, as footage of Jack shielding my face with his hand came on screen.
“Is that really what I look like from the back?” Jack asked himself more than me. “Wow, I look good.”
I lowered my hand and forced myself to watch the television screen, muting the TV so that I didn’t have to hear the questions being flung at me all over again.
“Your hand,” I said, pointing at the TV screen in horror. “Is ridiculously low on my body! You’re practically groping me!”
Jack watched the screen with concentration, a grin threatening to appear on his face. I pointed again as his hand rested on my lower back, as he eased me into the car.
“I was protecting you!” Jack replied, the grin fully evident now.
“You were protecting my ass.”
“And I succeeded. Nothing happened to it.”
“There you are!” Dad said suddenly, appearing in the doorway. “I was yelling out your name. Why are there pictures of you with colored-in teeth stuffed into our mailbox?”
I looked at Jack with widened eyes. Meghan, the spawn of Satan, had resorted to tormenting me on a domestic level!
“Oh God . . .” I picked up a cushion and buried my face in it.
Hopefully if I clasped my eyes shut for long enough, I’d be floating on a rainbow when I opened them.
“Oh fantastic,” I heard Dad say sarcastically. “News has spread.”
I guessed he was looking at the TV screen. This was worse than cramps and math tests put together.
“Just ignore the flyers, sir,” Jack said. “They’re not important.”
“Good. Because right now, I’ve got a bigger problem to deal with,” Dad replied.
“What now?” I cried, looking up at the chandelier in disbelief. “What could possibly be wrong now?”
Dad took a deep breath that told me he needed a drink, and blew out a sigh.
“Your mother is flying in tonight,” he told me. “She heard about the reporters and is furious. But more importantly, she’s worried about your outfit for the Golden Globes.”
Rehearsals! I had completely forgotten that I had rehearsals that afternoon. Now I had to go and get barked at for three hours while I stumbled like an idiot across the stage. And now I had to deal with Mom? She was all the way in New York! Which meant my friends and the rest of the school would have heard about the reporters by now as well. News travels faster than STDs amongst teenagers in L.A. I just couldn’t deal with my friends asking questions about being stalked and me moving to New York. Which reminded me, was I actually being shipped to New York to live with my mother like that reporter said?
At this stage, I didn’t care if Dad was ready to ship me to Madagascar in a wooden box. I needed a break. Big time.
Chapter Twenty
“Ow!”
That was the fifteenth time I had been poked by a pin in the last hour, and I was less than pleased. My bedroom had been transformed into a makeshift boutique, and I was clearly the mannequin on display. My mother stood watching me from across the room, hands on hips, eyeing me uncertainly as I stood there with my arms stretched out by my side, while two Filipino women continued to use me as their human pincushion. Jack was sitting on my couch, occasionally looking up from his phone to laugh whenever I got poked. It seemed Jack had officially become less of a bodyguard in the house, and more of an adopted son. I was on my way to being replaced.
“The top needs to be tighter,” Mom said, more to herself than anyone else.
“Can’t I just pin it?” I asked, knowing fully well the answer was going to be a flat no. “It’s better than becoming Swiss cheese.”
“Gia!” Mom said sharply. “Monique was kind enough to do this fitting in our house rather than her boutique to avoid the media. The least you can do is suck it up and quit complaining while these kind ladies sew you into this dress that cost me thousands.”
Couldn’t argue with that. I dropped my eyes and looked at gown that was pinned all over. It was beautiful. I mean, worse things could have happened. Well, for some. Mom had been in the house three days and Dad was already on the verge of having an anxiety attack. She cared far less about the reporters coming to school than she did about that little Photoshop stunt. She’d spent an entire day yelling about how she was going to make the Adamses pay, laughing at Meghan’s mother’s “botched nose job.” It was pure luck that while my life was in shambles in L.A., my mother had busied herself in New York with finding the perfect dress for me to wear at the Golden Globes. And boy, had she found it.
Mom’s friend Monique Lhuillier had been working on a collection that hadn’t been released to the public yet. The collection was every girl’s dream, and I couldn’t believe I was standing in a part of it. Mom practically cried every time she was reminded that the dress wasn’t made especially for me, but with such short notice, I was beyond a lucky Cinderella.
The one-shouldered, deep purple gown was breathtaking. It just looked out-of-place on me, especially with the messy bun positioned high up on my head. The silk felt cool against my skin, and I fingered the flowing net material, careful not
to lower my aching arms too much and get poked again.
“We’ll have to go get you some jewelry,” Mom said, biting her thumb fingernail thoughtfully.
I winced as one of the ladies poked the skin under my breast. Hopefully that would be a less painful process than this.
“I need heels too,” I reminded her.
“Jesus, Gia,” Mom said, shaking her head. “You really have no breasts at all!”
“Mom!”
I glanced at Jack, who was looking back at me with a wide smile on his face. His gaze lowered to my chest and he feigned a thoughtful look. I rolled my eyes. Good job, Mom. Go ahead and announce my lack of endowment to the world.
“I need to get you a new push-up bra.”
“Kill me now.”
“I mean, honestly,” Mom said, clearly talking to herself. She looked at my chest, shaking her head some more. “Here I am, desperately try to get you to cut back on junk food, and no breasts is how I’m being rewarded.”
“Mom!” I snapped in horror, and she looked up at me. “Less junk. No breasts. Got it. We don’t need to keep talking about it.”
“Oh!” Mom cried, as if she had suddenly remembered something. “I need to make sure your outfit is ready for tonight’s W Magazine event.”
Of course. The magazine event. It seemed everything was being sprung on me last minute, and I was just expected to show up and look pretty whenever I was told to. Mom had actually been invited to the event to “celebrate style icons,” but the editors had suddenly decided that it would be good publicity to invite this year’s Miss Golden Globe to come along and make an appearance, maybe even get an informal interview out of her.
Mom whipped out her phone, business face on, and walked past me as she typed away furiously.
“Wait!” I cried, as she reached the bedroom door. I craned my neck as best as I could in my statue position to see her. “Don’t leave me here with the pokey twins!” I hissed, motioning toward the dress fitters who were working away like mad scientists.
“I’ll be right back,” Mom called behind her shoulder, strutting out of the room in her Louboutin pumps.
