Hollywood Deception

by Gemma Halliday

  I let out a pent-up sigh and shook my head. "Honestly? I don't know what's going on between us. I thought we were a thing, but now I'm kinda worried we were just a fling."

  "Ouch," Cam said, taking a bite of her quesadilla. "Did he say that?"

  "No, but I'd swear he's been avoiding me lately. Plus…" I trailed off, not sure how personal I wanted to get with Cam. While I liked her fine, she was a coworker, and this was her boss we were talking about.

  "Plus what?" she asked, chewing thoughtfully.

  I sighed again. "Well, there's just this other thing between us."

  "Other thing?"

  I leaned back against the red vinyl back of the booth. "He kinda won't stay over at my place."

  "He won't stay over? As in—" She held up her hands and made air quotes. "—stay over?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Exactly."

  "Why? Does he have issues in that department?" She held up a straight index finger then let it slowly droop down.

  "No! No, God, no. I mean…no. He's…we're good there." I felt my cheeks grow fierier than the hot sauce packets on the table. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to discuss this with Cam.

  She shrugged. "Well, maybe he just wants to take things slowly."

  "Maybe," I mumbled, sipping my water.

  "Have you talked to him about it?"

  "No." I shook my head wearily. "I don't even know where I'd begin."

  "That's a tough one," Cam said and recapped her water bottle. "Well, you're going to have to face him sooner or later. I mean, you do work for him."

  I groaned. "For now."

  Cam frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  I shook my head. "Oh, nothing. It's just the article I'm supposed to be writing about Bobby Baxter. I have a bad feeling Tina's gonna scoop me, and I'll have nothing to show for the last week of work. I'm not exactly in the running for employee of the month at the moment."

  Cam leaned her elbows on the table. "Tell me what you have so far. Maybe a fresh perspective would help?"

  I hesitated a moment, knowing that Cam and Tina were friends. Should I trust her? On the other hand, it wasn't like I had a whole lot to go on anyway.

  I wiped my lips on my napkin and gave Cam the rundown on my extremely short list of suspects, my conversations with them, and lastly the guy who attacked me at Bobby's trailer.

  "Whoa," she breathed and leaned back against her seat. "Scary encounter. And you didn't get a look at his face?"

  I shook my head. "No, it was dark, and he was wearing one of those thick black ski masks. All I saw was that he had a tattoo on his forearm. It was a dead tree with a snake wrapped around it. For all the good that's done me."

  "Actually…" Cam leaned forward. "I think that might be a good lead."

  I shook my head. "None of my other suspects have tattoos."

  Cam tapped a fingernail on the Formica tabletop. "If you can find out who did the tattoo, the tattoo artist might be able to tell you who it was for. If so, that would lead you to your attacker and possibly Bobby's killer."

  I felt a small glimmer of hope. "That's not a bad idea. I never thought to track down the tattoo artist." I paused. "But do you know how many tattoo shops there are in L.A.? It's like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles."

  Cam grinned. "I know a guy. He's been in the business forever. If the tattoo is unique enough, he might be able to help you track down the artist."

  "You think?" I asked, skeptical.

  "Sure. Every artist has their own signature and style. I'm sure he could at least point you in the right direction. I'll give him a call and tell him what you're looking for."

  It still felt like a long shot, but it was the only lead I had at the moment, so I thanked her anyway.

  "No sweat," she told me with a grin. Then she checked the readout on her phone. "Okay, I have to get going. I'm supposed to get some shots of Bradley Cooper's birthday party tonight. He's throwing a big pool bash in Beverly Hills, and there's an extremely good chance some will end up drunk and in their birthday suits." She waggled her eyebrows.

  "Ooh, I wouldn't want to miss that either." I grinned to match hers.

  Cam stood and grabbed her bag. "You can tag along if you want," she offered.

  "Squatting behind a bush for who knows how many hours until you get the perfect shot? No thanks. I'll pass." I laughed.

  "Spoilsport," she teased. "Come on. I'll drop you back off at your car."

  We tossed our trash in the nearest bin and left the restaurant.

  Cam pulled to a stop behind my car, and I got out. "Thanks for the ride and the company," I said.

  "Anytime," she called as she left.

  I got into my car, frowned over at my enormous furry pink passenger, and drove home.

  Mr. Bear was a pain in the butt to drag up the stairs, but I managed to make it to the top without falling. As soon as I approached my apartment, I saw another bouquet of flowers sitting beside the door. I picked them up, juggled them, my keys, and the bear, and let myself inside. I dropped the huge bear in the corner and placed the flowers on the living room table without bothering to read the card. I already knew who they were from. I just hoped his allowance ran out soon. This was getting ridiculous.

  I fed Mr. Fluffykins, who was snoring away on the kitchen table, grabbed a hot shower, and then settled into the bed, alone. I was exhausted, but at least I had a plan.

  * * *

  When I woke up the next morning, I hit the ground running.

  In a pale peach spaghetti-strap top with a crisscross back, white pencil skirt, and a pair of nude heels, I walked into a tattoo shop on Ventura, the Silver Fox. Cam had sent me a text bright and early that morning saying that her friend had, in fact, been able to find someone who recognized the tattoo description. Hope fluttered in my belly as the little bell over the door chimed when I entered.

  I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but the shop was like walking into a biker bar and a fine art gallery all in one. The walls were covered in bits of small artwork and paintings in all subject matter. The lighting was brilliant, and several metal, industrial-looking fans lined the ceiling between black wooden rafters. Beneath my feet, the floor was a deep dark, rich wood, and the air held the scent of disinfectant and a faintly woodsy incense.

  "Hey, I'm Sky. Can I help you?"

  I turned to see a tall tattooed woman with flame red hair, a nose ring, and a vintage Ramones T-shirt tied at the waist approaching me.

  "I hope so. My name is Allie Quick." I introduced myself and pulled a business card out of my clutch. "I'm a reporter for the L.A. Informer. I'm looking for Brody," I told her, giving the name Cam had texted me.

  She nodded. "Sure. He's in the back. Follow me."

  I followed Sky through a beaded curtain with a pattern of the Mona Lisa printed on it and into the back. The smell of disinfectant was strong here, mixing with the buzz of a tattoo machine. There were only two tattoo stations. The currently empty one I assumed was Sky's. She led me toward the second station where a rather large, tattooed man was busy inking the back of a smaller man wearing leather pants and a bandana on his head.

  "Hey, Brodie. This is Allie." She hiked her thumb in my direction. "She's a reporter."

  "My friend Cam said you might be able to help me," I explained.

  The man she called Brodie looked up at me and stopped his machine. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, his head was shaved, and he had a thick brown beard threaded with gray. He leaned his muscular form back in his chair, squirted some liquid on the man's back, and wiped it with a paper towel.

  "Right, she mentioned something about you being attacked?" he asked in a deep baritone voice.

  I nodded. "The only look I got of the guy was his tattoo."

  "Can you describe it again?" he asked.

  "It was a dead tree with a snake wrapped around it. It was on the guy's forearm," I explained.

  "Black and white or color?"

  "Black and white," I answered.


  Brodie nodded. "I think I remember that one. Just let me finish up here." He waved toward the massive tiger tattoo he was currently working on. "In the meantime, Sky could probably work you in if you want a little something-something." He grinned.

  "Thanks, but I'll just wait." I thought I felt Sky and Brodie exchange a look, but neither said anything. Sky led me back out to a chair in the lobby, where I sat and pursued the collection of magazines showing tattoos from around the world. While I had to admit some were really beautiful, I lacked the kind of commitment needed to put something permanent on my body. Fleetingly, I wondered what Felix thought of tattoos—sexy? Stylish? Or too trendy? Not that it mattered. I had a bad feeling he wouldn't be getting any views of my body again anytime soon.

  Half an hour later, the man with the bandana was done, and Brodie came out wiping his hands on a rag. "I have a book with the stencils of tattoos I've done," he told me, reaching behind the reception desk. He pulled out a large black binder, sat the book on his lap, and thumbed through a few pages. He then turned the book around so that I could see the image he'd stopped on.

  "Is this the tattoo you're looking for?"

  The image I was looking at was the same one on my attacker.

  "Yes. That's it! Do you happen to remember who you put it on?" I tried to control my excitement.

  He shook his head. "Sorry. I don't remember the guy's name. He paid in cash."

  Great. Another dead end.

  "But I remember talking to the guy. He was awfully chatty."

  Okay, maybe not totally dead… "Could you describe him?" I asked, pulling a notepad and pen from my purse.

  "Tall. Dark hair. Big guy. Looked like he worked out. Kinda rough around the edges, if you know what I mean."

  I might have described Brodie the same way, but I didn't mention it. "Did he talk about anything personal? Like where he was from, what he did for a living?"

  Brodie rubbed his beard. "The guy was talking about this new job he just landed. He said he was pretty happy about it since not a lot of places hire former felons."

  Eeek. So his theft at Bobby's trailer wasn't his first time breaking the law. "Did he say where this job was?"

  "Oh yeah. He said he was going to be driving a truck for a sanitation plant. Sunbeam Sanitation? Sunrise Sanitation…" He trailed off, snapping his fingers, trying to remember the company name.

  "Sunshine Sanitation?" I provided, feeling my heart leap into my throat.

  "Yes! That's it." He slapped his knee. "Sunshine Sanitation. Weird name for a trash company, right?"

  I nodded, but my mind was reeling. Someone at Sunshine had wanted Bobby's notes badly enough to break into his trailer…and they hadn't cared who they'd hurt in the process. Was my tattooed attacker that "someone," or had he been simply the hired goon? And had he been hired to kill Bobby as well?

  I shoved the pen and paper back into my purse, tossed the strap over my shoulder, and thanked Brodie before handing him a business card. "Call me if you see him again or remember anything else, please."

  He nodded and took the card as I hurried out of the shop. Then I jumped into my car and sped back to the Informer.

  Someone at Sunshine Sanitation was now sitting firmly at the top of my murder suspects list.

  All I had to do was figure out who that someone was.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  My first instinct about Tattoo Guy was that he was muscle for hire. He had a criminal record already, which made him a prime target for someone looking to get Bobby's laptop for a fee. If Bobby had something bad on Sunshine Sanitation, the people it was most likely to affect were at the top of the company's food chain. Unfortunately, when I got back to the office and did a little digging into their corporate officers, I realized that encompassed a lot of people. Not to mention their board of director and major shareholders.

  What I needed was a clear link between Bobby and someone at Sunshine who I could put a name to. His phone records had only listed the main company number. But if he'd called them…maybe he'd emailed them too. Of course any record of that would have been on Bobby's stolen laptop. Or stored in Sunshine Sanitation's mainframe.

  If I could get into their computer system, I could snoop around and see if there was any written correspondence between Bobby and an executive at the company. What I needed to do was hack into their computers and go through the higher-ups' email accounts. The only problem with that was that I had no idea how to hack into anything. I couldn't even follow those "life hacks" that people post on Facebook all the time and that make everyday chores easier.

  As much as I didn't want to do it, I knew I needed backup on this one.

  I picked up my phone and reluctantly called Shane. While the kid's crush on me was out of control, and I was certain that the last thing his parents would want was for him to be hacking into a recycling plant's system with an older woman, he was currently my best bet.

  Before I could change my mind, I dialed his number.

  "Babe! You called." Shane sounded excited enough to make me feel guilty.

  "This isn't the kind of call you think it is," I quickly hedged. "I, uh, need your help with something."

  "With what?" he asked.

  "Something big, illegal, and possibly dangerous if we don't play our cards right. I feel terrible for asking you because you're just a kid, but I really need your help."

  "Hey." Shane sounded affronted. "Watch it with that kid business. I'll have you know that I'm seventeen and three quarters."

  Yeah, counting the quarters was not helping his case.

  "Sorry," I said quickly. "Can you help me?"

  "Sure. Whatever you need, babe."

  "I'll pick you up at seven o'clock. And, uh, can you bring a laptop with you?"

  "Sure thing. I'll be waiting," he said, and I disconnected the call.

  * * *

  I ate lunch at my desk and spent the rest of the afternoon poring through the bios of the corporate officers of Sunshine Sanitation. By the time six o' clock rolled around, I was bored stiff and anxious all at the same time.

  I grabbed my purse, powered down my computer, and turned to go.

  I didn't get far however, as Felix beckoned me into his office with a crooked finger as I passed by.

  I reluctantly obeyed, pausing in his doorway. "You called?" I asked.

  "I was hoping for an update on the Baxter story," he said, looking down at a file in his hands instead of meeting my eyes.

  "I'm still working on it."

  "You've been working on it for a few days now."

  I bit my lip. Yeah, I was aware. "It's a murder case. I'm not Columbo. It takes a while."

  He glanced up. "I'm not asking you to solve a murder. I'm asking for a story. Something to print."

  "Yeah, but wouldn't printing the truth about Bobby's death be sweet?" I smiled, going for charming.

  He frowned. "Tina said she's turning something in by the end of the week."

  I closed my eyes and thought a really dirty word. "I'll have a killer story to you before then." I paused. "No pun intended."

  The corner of his mouth hitched up a bit. "You know, I'm happy to go over your notes with you. Maybe over those rain-checked drinks?"

  I sunk my teeth into my lower lip again. "Uh, tonight?"

  He nodded.

  "Actually, I would love to, but I kinda have plans."

  "Plans." His smile faded, his eyes going back to the file folder in his hands.

  "Yeah. Kind of important ones, actually."

  Still not looking at me, he asked, "They wouldn't be with the fellow who sent you the roses, would they?"

  Oh geez. This again? "Yes, but it's not what you think. Shane is just—"

  "It's none of my business, Allie," he said, cutting me off, his voice terse.

  I rolled my eyes. "He's a kid, okay! Seriously, there is nothing going on. He's helping me with the story. You know, the one you want."

  "Fine. Enjoy your evening." He turned his back to me.

&
nbsp; "Felix—"

  "I expect the story by noon Friday, or I go with Tina's," he told the wall behind him.

  I shut my mouth with a click. Ouch. Low blow.

  "Fine," I shot back, matching his clipped tone. Then I spun around and left before he could throw any more threats my way.

  I fumed all the way down to my car and moved on to cursing by the time I hit the freeway. It was one thing to be jealous or to be busy. And if he was losing interest in me, if I really was just a fleeting fling to him, well, I could get over that. Eventually. But it was crossing a line to bring Tina into it. Oh, he was going to get his story all right. It was going to be the best damned story he'd ever seen!

  Traffic was a nightmare, but I pulled up outside Shane's house two minutes before seven o'clock.

  He was waiting on the curb, a black backpack covered in skateboard stickers next to him. I swallowed down a healthy dose of guilt and unlocked the passenger side door.

  Shane hopped in and tossed his backpack in the miniscule backseat before I pulled away from the curb.

  "So what's on tonight's agenda?" he asked cheerfully and popped a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth. He offered me a piece.

  "No thanks," I said. "First, when do you have to be home?"

  Shane rolled his eyes. "Didn't I tell you I'm almost eighteen? I can stay out as late as I want."

  I wondered if his parents agreed with that logic. "You sure?"

  He nodded. "Mom's busy with her book club tonight, and Dad is on a business trip in China."

  "Okay. Good." I nodded. "Let's get something to eat, and I'll explain."

  I weaved my way through traffic and pulled in at an Arby's with free Wi-Fi. I figured it made for a slightly more anonymous network than the office to do our hacking from. Plus, there'd be no chance I'd run into anyone who knew me at an Arby's. We both grabbed beef and cheddar sandwiches, curly fries, and sodas and slid into a corner booth to eat.

  "So what's this secret mission?" Shane asked as he unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite.

  I quickly filled him in on the attack at the studios, the guy with the tattoo, and the connection to Sunshine Sanitation.