by Jillian Dodd
“It’s just you and me now,” Vince says lovingly.
Lacy takes a step back, picks a life jacket up off a counter, and tosses it at him.
Vince moves sideways, avoiding the jacket and taking another step toward her. “When you first told me you might not go, I asked you if you wanted this as badly as I do. You told me yes.”
Lacy screams, “Well, I changed my mind!”
She takes another step backwards.
“No! Don’t give me that bullshit. Matt changed your mind! You came crying to me about it! I told you to figure it out. But you didn’t fucking listen to me. You listened to him.”
Realizing she’s trapped, she pleads, “Don’t do this, Vincey. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”
He doesn’t stop moving toward her.
And he doesn’t reply.
He grabs her by the neck and starts dragging her out of the shed. “I want you, and I’m going to have you. All to myself.”
And he will. If it’s the last thing he does.
He learns that her friend Damian and his band have gone back to Europe and that she did not go with them. Her friend, Cush, tried to come see her, but the guards wouldn’t let him through. There have been no sightings of the nanny, the younger girls, Abby, or Tommy.
Matt has been seen going back and forth to her house, so he knows Lacy is still there.
Eventually, they will have to leave the house. And he expects it will be soon, as Tommy has a scheduled appearance on a late night talk show coming up.
On the morning of the appearance, the thugs are all in place. Vincent needs to know if she will be going with or if she will be home alone, where she will be easy-pickings. He desperately hopes it’s the later. One of the thugs manages to sneak into the neighborhood on foot and watch the house.
“They just left,” he says, calling in.
“Are you sure she went with them?”
“Yes, boss. I watched her get in the car.”
“Who went with her?”
“Abby Johnston, Tommy Stevens, his assistant, and a five-man security crew.” The thugs believe, based on the story they were told, that Vincent is Keatyn’s biological father and that Abby lied to her former husband about the girl’s parentage after she and Vincent had a torrid affair.
“Where are they going?”
“Well, that’s where things get a little tricky.”
“What do you mean?”
“There were two different flights that left the airport at the same time. One bound for Utah, the other going to New York City.”
“Don’t lose her,” he orders.
But lose her they do.
Tommy and the whore showed up for the interview without Keatyn. Matt has left the country without her—good riddance. Her friends don’t seem to know where she is either.
Until he sees a post suggesting that she’s in a famous rehab in Malibu.
Vanessa texts him about it, showing her loyalty.
He thinks about it. Rehab would be an easy place to stash her. They are typically quite secure, mostly to keep the paparazzi at bay. More than likely, they believe his obsession with her will blow over. They will hide her away for a short time, keep her safe, then bring her back after a few weeks, looking tan and relaxed.
He doesn’t have time to wait, so he makes a call.
When the thug tells him that’s she’s not at the Malibu clinic, he becomes furious. He throws his phone across the room, causing his assistant to burst into his office, wondering what’s wrong.
He lies, says something about an investment gone bad, and sends her away.
A few days later, someone mentions a friend saw Keatyn at a rehab in Utah. Knowing a plane left for Utah the same day as the New York bound plane, he knows this is it.
He calls one of the thugs and sends him there, waiting for confirmation of what he already knows.
But once again, they come up empty.
But while he was waiting, he remembers the soccer player’s move to Oregon.
Curious, he decides to make the trip.
He goes to the boy’s high school, telling the secretary that he’s moving to town with his daughter. He inquires to as if there are any other new female students, hoping they could become fast friends. When the secretary tells him no, he briefly considers strangling her with his bare hands.
Nevertheless, he leaves the office. He waits in the parking lot for hours, then easily spots the soccer player and follows him home. He’s tired of this game, so he boldly goes to the boy’s front door and knocks on it.
The soccer player answers right away. Vincent quickly surveys the home, seeing no sign of anything girl-related in the messy abode. He feigns having the wrong address, but asks if there are any new families that live nearby. The boy says no.
Vincent stays and watches the house, follows the boy back to school a few hours later for a soccer match. He sits in the crowd during the game, hoping to spot her.
He goes back to Los Angeles feeling a sense of hopelessness.
A few days later, he finds mention of another rehab. He believes it to be a red herring, but sends a thug anyway. Same result.
He considers kidnapping Abby’s little girls, holding them ransom until they give him Lacy, but by the time he considers this the family has moved to Vancouver. He sends one of the thugs to the airport the family flew to, where the thug shows a man there Keatyn’s photo and is paid handsomely to notify him of her arrival.
She got on the plane to New York and hasn’t been seen since.
So where is she now?
Is she still there?
Living a new life?
It would make sense. It’s where he would go if he wanted to get lost.
He sends a team of men there to scour all the private schools in the city, searching for his Lacy.
They don’t find her.
He studies the surfer’s tour schedule and realizes that he will be in New York during the long Labor Day weekend. If she is in New York, surely she would go see him. Lacy loves Matt even though he’s not nearly good enough for her. Vincent decides to take matters into his own hands and go to the tournament himself. He’s tired of relying on private investigators and thugs.
And he has a feeling about this.
It’s like he and Lacy are connected somehow even when they are apart. And he’s certain she will be there.
When an invitation from an actor friend who hosts an annual all-white Labor Day party in the Hamptons arrives, he eagerly accepts. He’ll go to the tournament in Long Beach then skip up to the party.
And, if all goes well, he’ll have Lacy on his arm.
I stand around and watch while he finishes his autograph session. Watch girls fawn all over him, watch him loving it, and wonder what it all means.
But I know, just like Mom, if you’re going to be in the public eye, you have to do stuff like this. So I can’t fault him for it, and I shouldn’t take it personally. It has nothing to do with our relationship.
I mean, if we have a relationship.
Regardless, he’s my friend. I should be supportive.
But then he says, “Hey, I have to, uh, run somewhere real quick.” He puts his arm up and scratches the back of his head. “I’ll be back in a few. Uh, hold down the fort.”
I’ve known Brooklyn for a really long time and can read him well. The scratching of the head. The weird look in his eye.
There’s something he’s not telling me.
Plus, as he’s walking away, he glances back over his shoulder a few times. Like he’s making sure I stay put.
I know something’s going on, so I follow him.
I lose him in the crowd for a minute, but then I spot him. He’s talking to the big-boobed girl. I’m shocked when she lays a big kiss on his lips and pulls him into a changing tent.
About ten minutes later, they sneak back out. Him looking satisfied, and her just looking like a sleazy train wreck.
And I can barely believe it.
; If you would have told me this, I never in a million years would’ve believed it.
I just saw it with my own eyes, and I still can’t believe it.
It’s one thing for him to kiss girls for publicity. It’s another thing entirely for him to be doing them in cabanas.
So much for his best friend love.
I’m so done with him. Like, forever.
I walk straight up to him and the girl. “It’s a good thing all we are to each other is friends, or I might’ve been really hurt by that. And I’d say, Have fun, enjoy your tournament, but you obviously already are. I’m outta here.”
I turn and walk away.
He leaves the girl standing there and comes after me. “But, Keats.”
He grabs my arm. “Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t leave,” he says.
I flip him off and continue walking toward the car.
He doesn’t follow me any further.
I hop back inside the dark-windowed town car, turn, and look for the driver. I had told him to wait here because I thought that after I talked to Brooklyn I would run my stuff to his hotel.
A crowd is still streaming in.
I’m getting ready to text my driver when a face causes me to look twice.
It looks like Vincent.
But it couldn’t be.
I look closer.
Shit. He’s got on the same yellow driving shoes he wore the night we had dinner.
It is him!
And he’s walking straight toward the car.
Straight toward me!
My first instinct is to hide.
I drop down below the window and start to shake.
What am I going to do? Should I call Garrett?
My phone. I go to the special app and hit it three times. 9-1-1.
The driver’s side door opens. I fall to the floor and try to make myself small.
Someone pats me on my back and I stifle a shriek.
The driver says, “Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”
“Shut the door. And lock it, please,” I whisper. “These windows are tinted, aren’t they? Can anyone see me in here?”
“They are pretty darkly tinted. Someone would have to be very close to see inside.”
I peek up, see Vincent standing literally right next to the car. He stops to check himself in the window. He takes off his dark sunglasses and fixes an out of place hair.
My heart has stopped beating. I can’t breathe.
I’m still in shock. I can’t believe he would actually come all the way here to look for me.
“Don’t move,” I whisper to the driver. “See that guy there. Checking himself out in the window?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t let him see me.”
“He looks like a actor,” the driver says. “Lover’s quarrel?”
“No, he tried to hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. What would you like me to do?”
“Don’t move. Keep the doors locked. Pray he doesn’t see me.”
Then I think about where he’s walking. Toward Brooklyn.
Shit.
My phone is buzzing. First a call from the spa and then one from Garrett.
I take Garrett’s call. I whisper into the phone. “Shhh.”
Garrett says, “Are you okay? Did you mean to hit the app three times?”
“I’m at Brooklyn’s surf tournament in New York. He’s here,” I whisper.
I look at Vincent. It’s hard to believe such a nice looking man could be so messed up. I can see why they let him go. Apparently he’s taken an interest in surfing. At least that’s what he’d tell anyone who asked.
He puts his sunglasses back on, but then he frowns and reaches in his pocket. He takes a call, walks over, and leans against the town car, talking on his phone.
“Oh my God,” I whisper breathlessly. “Please, please, go away.”
“Should I get out and tell him to get the hell off my car?” the driver says.
“No. Don’t move. Don’t even speak.”
We sit in silence while Vincent leans against the car. He’s having an animated conversation. I can’t really hear what he’s saying, but he sounds pissed.
Vincent is just arriving at the surf tournament when he gets a call from one of the thugs who is supposed to be watching the surfer’s tent. He’s hoping for good news.
“Did you find her? I just got here.”
“Sorry, boss, but I’m not there,” the thug replies. “My car broke down and had to be towed, but I’ve got a guy on his way.”
Vincent slams his fist into the side of the car he’s leaning on. He’s so pissed off.
He slams his fist into the side of the window and I jump about four feet into the air.
“That’s it,” the driver says. He opens the car door and says to Vincent, “What the fuck are you doing hitting my car?”
I dive further down into the floorboards as Garrett yells at me, “What the hell are you doing there?”
Fuck.
Why did he have to do that?
And he’s left his door open.
Vincent slams his phone into his pocket. “I’m sorry, sir. Just got a call with some bad news.” He turns and looks at the window. Literally straight at me. “It doesn’t appear I did any damage.” Then he reaches in his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash, and peels off a twenty. A picture drops out of the wad.
The driver bends down to pick it up.
Vincent says, “You been here long?”
“Only about an hour.”
“You happen to see this girl?” He holds my photo in front of the driver’s face.
I thought my heart stopped before.
I may literally be going into cardiac arrest.
Please, God. Please don’t let him be swayed by a wad of cash. Please let him say no. Please. Please.
Garrett yells in my ear again, “Keatyn, goddammit, answer me.”
“Shush.”
I hear the driver say, “I’ve seen a lot of pretty girls. Can’t say I’ve seen that one, though.”
“Thanks, anyway,” Vincent says. “Sorry about the car.” And he walks away.
The driver gets back in the car.
“I can’t believe you did that after I told you to stay in the car!”
“Nobody is going to hit my car and get away with it. He had a picture of you.”
“I was afraid when you saw that wad of money, you might tell him I was in here.”
“No way, Miss. I saw his eyes. He has cold eyes.”
“Yes, he does.”
“You ready to get out of here, I take it?”
“Yes. Please.” Then I say into my phone, “I’m fine, Garrett. We’re leaving. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
After he drives for about ten minutes, with me staring out the back window trying to make sure we’re not followed, I have him pull into a convenience store parking lot.
“I need to make a phone call,” I tell him, then step outside of the car.
I call Garrett back. Tell him what just happened. He puts me on hold to call B’s security team.
I pace the length of the car.
His voice booms in my ear. “What the hell were you thinking going there? All the work we did to get you somewhere safe and you go see Brooklyn at a publicized event?”
“I thought it would be okay. I never thought he would fly all the way to New York.”
“Do you believe me now? Do you fucking believe that you can never let your guard down again? Do you now believe me when I said your life as you knew it is over?”
I start bawling and lean against the window Vincent punched. “Yes, I believe you. I’m sorry.”
“None of this will work if you don’t make it work.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“No. No sorries. I want you to think about what could have happened to you there. I want you to think about what Vincent wants to do to you. Are those pleasant thoughts?”
I sob. �
��No.”
“Good. Remember them next time you think about doing something stupid like this. Let’s get you back to school.”
“I’m going to the Hamptons. Some friends from school have a house there. I’ll be safe. It’s my new life. I swear, Garrett, I’m trying. I really am.”
Garrett calms down. I hear him take a deep breath.
“Please don’t tell my mom or James or Tommy. Promise me?”
“I’m putting you on hold. Don’t hang up.”
“Okay.”
I wait on hold for a few minutes. A text from the spa pops up with an address.
Garrett clicks back on. “I want you to get the driver to take you to the address that was just sent to you. Do not, under any circumstances, tell him where you are going next. Do you understand?”
“I understand. What is at the address?”
“A helicopter. I’m getting you the fuck to the Hamptons and fast.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“As for telling your family, I will keep quiet if you promise to never do something so stupid again.”
“I got it.”
His voice softens. “Are you okay?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I start to cry again and stutter out, “I went . . . to . . . to . . . see Brooklyn . . . and he . . . hooked up with a girl . . . in a cabana . . . while I was there.”
“Damn. That’s not cool.”
“I know. You’ll make sure he’s safe though, right? As much as I’d like to kill him right now, I don’t really want anyone else to hurt him.”
“They said he’s out surfing. He’s fine. Right now I want you to tell your driver to take you to the address. Remember not to tell him where you are going. Okay?”
“Okay.”
