“Yes, I do.”
“Very well.”
And before he could get his pen out, she began talking.
chapter 27
THE MOMENT SHE HEARD THE click of the lock, Kristin was ready. She raced to the door, positioning herself behind it, so that when he opened it, there would be an element of surprise. Her heart was pounding, but she knew that if she didn’t seize the opportunity all would be lost.
She was filled with anger as she crouched in position. Anger would make her strong. Anger would help her gain her freedom.
Mister X pushed open the door.
She braced herself, holding the bed leg poised above her head—ready to smash him with it— ready to run.
Light flooded the dusty little room. He stepped inside.
For a moment she was paralyzed, unable to move or think. And then, as if in slow motion, she sprang forward, sideswiping the figure in black with all her might—hitting him as hard as she could with the wooden bed leg.
To her amazement he didn’t fall. In movies when you saw someone get hit they always fell. Instead he staggered, letting out a furious cry of surprise.
Before he had a chance to react further, she bashed him again.
This time he almost went down. His baseball cap fell to the ground, and his sunglasses hit the floor and cracked. Seizing her opportunity, she ran past him, through the door, out into the unknown, frantically trying to figure out the best way to freedom.
She found herself on a narrow, overgrown path. To her left, hundreds of feet below, was the ocean. Ahead of her there were steps hewn into the rock leading up to a big house perched high above.
The steps were her only way out. She raced toward them, concentrating on survival, not looking back.
As she reached the first step she could hear him behind her. He grabbed her leg. She kicked out blindly.
“Bitch!” he snarled.
“Leave me alone, you sick bastard!” she screamed, scrambling desperately up the hazardous steps.
He grabbed her again, this time getting hold of her makeshift dress. The sheet tore. Half naked, she continued to claw her way up, determined that he was not going to stop her. Nobody was. She was heading for freedom in every way—not just from this man, but this life.
“Don’t you get it?” he yelled. “I own you. I always have. You’re my whore. My very own personal whore.”
There was something about his voice . . . something she almost recognized. It wasn’t the Mister X voice, the disguised growl. This was the real man talking, and it was . . . Oh God, SHE KNEW WHO HE WAS!
For a moment she could barely breathe. Then, as if in a trance, she stopped climbing and turned around.
The monster was two steps behind her, baseball cap gone along with the dark glasses. A trickle of blood rolled slowly down the side of his face.
She stared into his eyes.
He knew she recognized him.
They were both still, like two big cats in the wild, watching each other, waiting to see who would pounce first.
“Okay,” he said at last. “So now you know. And there’s nothing you can do.” And he laughed, that self-loving cackle she remembered so well. “You and your dumb sister—you’re exactly alike,” he continued. “She was a whore, too. She didn’t deserve to live. Neither do you.”
In perfect slow motion she rose from her defensive position, brought her leg back and kicked out with such force that when her leg connected with his chest he had no chance to correct his balance.
He fell back, his hands clutching the air as he tumbled over himself twice, and then disappeared over the edge of the cliff with a long, bloodcurdling scream.
Kristin watched him fall, heard the sound of his body as it struck a tree on its way to the rocks and ocean below.
She wasn’t sorry. She had finally avenged her sister. And it felt completely satisfying, as if it was meant to be.
Howie Powers would never laugh at anyone again.
Epilogue
Nine Months Later
DETECTIVE TUCCI AGITATEDLY paced the corridors of Cedars Sinai. Faye was giving birth and although he’d tried to stay in the room holding her hand, the sight of blood—his wife’s blood—had sent him running.
His new partner, Wanda O’Donahue, had stopped by to keep him company. She’d also brought a box of donuts and a flask of Starbucks coffee. There were many advantages to having a female partner, although Faye didn’t seem to think so.
“How’s it going in the delivery room?” Wanda asked, biting into a donut.
“It’s a war zone,” he said, grimacing. “A lot of blood and guts and screaming.”
“You’ll live,” Wanda said, giving him a friendly pat on the back.
Yeah, he’d live.
It had been some year. The murder of Salli T. Turner had garnered the most headlines, especially when Mrs. Bo Deacon had confessed, right after the terrible car accident which killed her husband.
Tucci had not felt that her confession rang true— although his superiors were in “we’ve caught the murderer” heaven, and the press went into headline overdrive. Olive simply didn’t have the details the killer would have possessed, although she was able to produce the gun used to kill Froo. It was registered to Bo Deacon.
Tucci stayed on the case, establishing that Bobby Skorch had gone to his house earlier in the evening, made love to his wife, fought with her, and left, forever feeling guilty that he hadn’t stayed around.
Bo Deacon had then arrived, unaware that Olive was following him. He’d come on to Salli, she’d told him he had no chance with her. A fight had ensued and he’d killed her in a frenzy of frustration. Then he’d shot the houseman and fled. Olive had observed everything from her hiding place in the bushes next to the pool.
When Olive had killed Bo in the car wreck, she’d been so overcome with guilt that she’d decided to take the blame for the murders and protect her husband’s not-so-spotless reputation. At least in death, he would be her hero.
If it wasn’t for Tucci and his concern for detail, she would have been incarcerated for life. As it was, she was soon back in her Bel Air mansion with a twenty-five-year-old boyfriend, a lucrative book deal, and a new passion for life.
Tucci took a swig of coffee. It tasted fine. For the last six months he’d taken up spinning—an exhausting form of aerobic exercise on a stationary bike. It worked for him, and it had meant no more dieting, since he’d lost twenty-five pounds.
Faye’s doctor approached him, a gentle Asian woman with the most captivating smile. “Your wife would like to see you now, Detective.”
“Is it over?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And?”
“You’re the proud father of a beautiful baby girl.”
His grin practically lit up the entire hospital.
• • •
The Freddie Leon divorce was one of the most expensive L.A. divorces in recent years. Diana received half of everything—and everything was a lot. Freddie decided it was worth it. He had his freedom and no price was too high to obtain that. Besides, business was fine; he could afford to pay Diana off.
A discreet six months after the final decree, Ria Santiago moved into Freddie’s beach house—he’d given the Bel Air mausoleum to Diana. After a seven-year affair, he and Ria were finally able to be seen together in public. Freddie felt it was the least he could do for the most loyal woman he’d ever met.
• • •
Out of the hospital and fitter than ever, Max Steele eschewed a lot of his material possessions. He traded in his Maserati for a Hummer. Sold his house and moved into the Wilshire high-rise he’d been leasing out. Did not replace his gold Rolex, and after trying to contact Kristin a couple of times and getting no response, he’d fallen in lust with Angela Musconni, even though it was against policy since the agency represented her. Of course, he’d had to persuade Angie to dump the loser she was living with, but that hadn’t been too difficult, since shortly after they got t
ogether, Eddie Stoner scored a TV series that shot in Hawaii.
It was amazing what could be accomplished when you were one of the most powerful agents in town.
• • •
Blaming himself for Salli’s death, Bobby Skorch lost all sense of concentration. While attempting a record-breaking motorcycle jump between skyscrapers in New York, he faltered and fell to his death.
• • •
Natalie De Barge got the anchor job she’d been yearning for. Sitting beside Jimmy Sica every night, they made a fine couple. When the cameras weren’t rolling, she practically had to beat him off with a stick, but that was just one of the hazards of being an anchorwoman.
She put her love life on hold and enjoyed every second of her new, invigorating career.
Her brother, Cole, moved in with Mister Mogul— who so far was treating him like a prince. However, to Natalie’s eternal relief, Cole was smart enough not to give up his day job.
• • •
Junia took the twenty thousand dollars she received for revealing all of Darlene’s dark secrets, and moved to Nashville, where she met a blond and bubbly country singing star with enormous breasts. They soon became a couple. Junia took up singing. She wasn’t half bad.
• • •
Darlene was finally nailed on that good old standby—tax evasion. Her lawyer, Linden Masters, was so livid to discover she’d kept things from him that he refused to represent her anymore. She hired a new lawyer with even more savvy than Linden, and because of her powerful connections, she got off with an extremely short jail term.
After she got out, she threw all caution out the window and found a ghostwriter to collaborate on a book, naming names. Her book—dramatically entitled Madam—was due out shortly.
Hollywood waited in a state of paranoid fascination.
• • •
Kristin took stock of her life, and her sister’s too. She met with Cherie’s doctor and finally listened to exactly what he had to say. He was a nice man with brown hair and kindly eyes. “There are no miracles, Kristin,” he informed her. “Cherie is brain-dead. The only reason she’s still alive is because you won’t allow us to pull the plug.”
“Pull it,” she said quietly. “I understand.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
After escaping from the beach house, she’d come home and anonymously called the police—telling them all she knew about Mister X, including his death and where they’d find him.
Jake had been frantic to see her, so she had agreed to have lunch with him and to listen to everything he had to say. It wasn’t enough though—there was no going back. He was part of her past now, and she was moving forward.
He told her about the story his friend Madison Castelli was working on.
“Do me this one favor, Jake, leave my name out of it.”
“It’s done,” he assured her.
A week later she moved out of her luxurious apartment into a simpler place.
A few weeks later the doctor called and invited her to dinner. “What are you going to do now that you no longer have to pay your sister’s bills?” he asked.
“I’m going back to school,” she said. “I want to get my degree in child psychology and maybe— sometime in the future—work with children.”
“Sounds like an excellent idea.”
The doctor didn’t lead a glamorous life or drive a flashy car. He was a hardworking professional who really cared for people, and he genuinely liked her for herself. Kristin found a great deal of comfort in his presence. So much so that they were married three months later.
• • •
Jake Sica stayed in L. A. for several months, photographing movie and sports stars, singers and moguls. Working for Manhattan Style was an interesting gig, and very highly paid, but after a while he began to yearn for the wide-open spaces of Arizona.
One morning he woke up, looked out his window at the hovering smog, and decided that was it.
By noon he was packed and on his way.
• • •
Madison wrote the best story of her career, all about the call-girl business in Hollywood. It was so good that Hollywood shelled out, bought the movie rights for an astronomical sum, and asked her to work on the script.
She stayed in touch with her good friend Jake. He was a great guy, but they never quite connected romantically. Wrong timing.
She took a weekend off with her parents in Connecticut. They were delighted to see her, especially her handsome father, Michael.
Then she flew to Hollywood and met Alex Woods, an edgy, incredibly talented writer/producer/director with a penchant for making powerful Oscar-nominated movies. He wanted to make her movie.
So Madison entered the next phase of her life with her eyes open and an appetite for excitement.
Things were looking up.
Don’t miss the other installments in the sexy, thrilling, four-part L.A. Connections miniseries, a behind-the-curtains peek into the exclusive mansions of Hollywood, where the city’s most powerful players willingly risk it all for love, lust, and murder, from New York Times bestselling author Jackie Collins!
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ISBN 978-0-671-02461-1
ISBN 978-1-5011-7497-1 (ebook)
Revenge Page 9
