I flung the blankets to the floor and launched myself out of bed. I was supposed to have left for work three minutes ago. There was no way I was going to make it there on time. I ran haphazardly around my room, shoving a toothbrush in my mouth and my hair into a bun as I texted my boss and told him I was going to be a little bit late. I hadn't been late before, so I hoped it wouldn't be a big deal. The last thing I wanted to do was screw up this opportunity.
Being an assistant set designer didn't pay great, but I'd worked hard to get where I was, and I loved what I did. There was more room for advancement, but I was happy where I was, quietly in the background of the movie set. I finally felt like I'd found my niche in life, and I didn't want to do anything that might ruin that.
I quickly bustled out into the living room, where Chelsea was still asleep on the couch with her arm over her head. I swooped down to pick up her empty wineglass to put by the sink on my way out, and my foot connected with something hard as I turned. I swore under my breath. The suitcase! In the dim lighting, I hadn't seen it, but how was I supposed to know it was there in the first place? Why couldn't she have tucked the damn thing beside the couch instead of leaving it out for me to trip over?
Chelsea stirred, but definitely wasn't awake. I decided to move the suitcase now, before she woke up and did the same thing. The hard black case was lying on its side; I grabbed the top handle and pulled it up. As I did, the zipper gaped, and its contents spilled out onto the floor.
Except it wasn't clothes or toiletries that fell out.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
I rubbed my hands over my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, all thoughts of rushing to work lost. I wasn't seeing things. The cash was real. It was secured in fat bundles with thick elastics, all in fifty and hundred-dollar bills. Some of the wads were on the floor, but I cracked open the suitcase to see that there were even more inside.
My heart raced, my pulse pounding out a staccato rhythm in my veins. Where had Chelsea gotten all this money? What the hell was going on?
“Chelsea!” I hissed. “Wake up!”
She groaned and rolled to face the back cushions. “In a minute.”
“Chelsea!” Not knowing what else to do, I bent and grabbed one of the stacks of cash and chucked it at her head. It hit the mark and bounced off onto the cushion behind her mess of red hair.
At first, she probably didn't realize what I'd thrown, but the second she did, Chelsea sat up straight and stared at me with wide eyes.
“What the hell is going on, Chelsea?” I gestured to the cash strewn on the floor. “What is all this?”
She gulped, and I could see her try to push her emotions back under the surface. It wouldn't work. Chelsea was always much too easy to read.
“It's vacation money,” she explained. “I just wanted us to have a good time while I'm here.”
“Vacation money?” My voice had risen a few octaves, now. I was pissed. “You expect me to believe this is vacation money? Chelsea, why are you here? What did you do—rob a bank?”
“Of course I didn't rob a bank!” she cried. “That’s insane, and almost impossible; it’s not 1920!”
“You’re not funny, Chelsea! What the hell am I supposed to think?” I gestured wildly at the money, as if either of us could have forgotten it was there. “What would you think if I suddenly showed up on your doorstep with a suitcase of cash? How much money is here, anyway?”
She rose to her feet and stepped towards me, placing her hands on my shoulders. Even though she was trying to calm me down, there was a wild look in her eyes. Whatever she had done, it was a big deal, and she knew it. Whether or not she was ready to admit that to me yet.
“It's not as big of a deal as you think,” she pleaded.
Liar!
“Chelsea.” My tone was low and warning now. “I've missed my call time, and you have no idea how bad that is… so you’d better tell me what's going on, before I beat it out of you.”
I would never touch a hair on that girl's head, and she knew it. We hadn't been the kind of siblings who constantly fought with each other. In fact, we'd been each other's' best friends until our paths diverged in our early twenties. I was probably closer to smacking her right now than I'd ever been in my life.
“Okay, relax.” She brushed imaginary dust off my shoulder and tried on a relaxed smile, but it was lopsided and insincere and I felt my anger simmering. “Remember how awful my job was?”
Was? Oh dear. I already knew I wasn't going to like where this was going.
Chelsea continued, “Well, it's been extra awful, recently. I was going home crying more days than I could count. My coworkers were a bunch of soulless, spineless jerks, and I'd had enough. So, I told my manager I was going on vacation, but I actually dipped into the funds a little and skimmed a bit off the top before I got out of town.”
“You embezzled money from your employer?” My face was hot with rage. This was a mess. This was a big, freaking mess.
“Shh!” she hissed. “Why don't you scream it out for the whole island to hear? I'm on the run, you dodo! And embezzling is such an ugly term.”
Leave it to Chelsea to not be able to be serious about something as serious as this.
“I guess I just missed the part where this was all okay somehow,” I muttered. “What are you doing here?”
A pained look crossed Chelsea's face. “Well, it’s not like I planned it. The whole thing was a bit...impulsive. You were the only person I could think to come to, especially since I knew you were in the Bahamas. It made sense at the time. And hey—” She punched my shoulder affectionately. “I'll give you half the cash if you're willing to help me out of this, uh, tight spot.”
“Tight spot?” I gritted my teeth. “You think this is just a tight spot? Chelsea, it's a serious felony!”
“Which is exactly why I need my sister's help!”
I wrenched myself free from her grip and took a few steps back, using the space to breathe a little.
In. Out. In. Out.
This was, without a doubt, the craziest thing my sister had ever done. And, like every other crazy thing she did—which was usually just bungee jumping or a sketchy restaurant—she was trying to rope me into helping her clean up the mess.
“I can't help you, Chelsea!” It pained me to say it. I wanted to protect her—of course I did—but this time, she'd gone too far. “I can't be involved in this. I'm sorry. I think the best thing for you to do is to go turn yourself in. They're going to find you, eventually.”
“I can't turn myself in.” Chelsea shook her head decisively. “No way, Megan. I won't do it. I'm not going to jail. I feel like it’s not as exciting as it looks on TV.”
“Then you shouldn't have stolen the money!” I spat. “How much did you take, anyway? Do I even want to know?”
Chelsea smiled sheepishly. “It was only a hundred thousand dollars. I'm sure they won't miss it.”
Christ. At least it could be worse—she could have stolen two hundred thousand dollars.
“Please, Megan. Help me out. I'm begging you.” Chelsea pressed her palms together in supplication, blinking up crocodile tears in her big, blue eyes. I knew they weren't real tears, because neither Chelsea nor I were big criers. She hadn't even shed a tear when she’d broken her arm in the eighth grade.
“I can't. Chelsea, you've gone too far this time. This is a big deal. I can't get caught up in this with you.”
She winced. “Uh, well... You already kinda are.”
My heart leapt up my throat. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that,” she said. “You're technically harboring a fugitive... Not to mention, since we're identical, they could very well haul you in too. The only option that makes any sense is for us to disappear together.”
I couldn't believe my ears…or my eyes. Actually, I could. I could believe that Chelsea would do something unbelievably stupid and selfish based on some idiotic, impulsive whim. Why was she always so goddamn irres
ponsible? I'd thought that when she’d gotten this job—the first grown-up job she'd ever had—she would start acting a little more mature.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm down, trying to let the panicked emotions swirling around my brain drain out with each breath. But they kept swirling, faster and faster until I was ready to explode.
“How could you do this to me?” I screamed. “How could you knowingly ruin your life like this? What about my life? Do you have any idea what you're asking me to give up?”
Chelsea slid away from me, plopping back onto the couch and looking down at her hands as her fingers clenched and unclenched in her lap. She was silent for a moment, lips trembling. Then the dam burst, and she started to sob.
I knew this was real. Chelsea couldn't cry on command like this, and even if she could, she knew better than to try it on me. I always knew when she was hiding something from me, but there was no hiding the raw anguish of her sobs as she shook against the cushions.
“I'm so sorry,” she said, her voice distorted and hoarse. “I'm so sorry, Megan. I didn't mean to put you in this position. I wasn't thinking. I never wanted to hurt you. I never even intended for you to find out. I was going to leave, find somewhere to start fresh, y’know?” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, but all that did was smear her already smudged makeup even more. “I'm going to have to get a new identity and as get far away from the States as possible. If anything...” She hiccupped. “If anything, I was coming here to say goodbye.”
My heart broke, right then and there. I'd never seen Chelsea so distraught, and because of that, I was torn. The logical side of me, which coincidentally was the side that usually got the most use, told me to kick her out. The sooner the better. That way I'd have reasonable deniability if anybody ever tried to associate me with my sister’s crimes.
Oh, God. My sister's crimes.
My sister was a criminal.
Even if she looked like the most pathetic criminal there had ever been, it was the truth. Her hair was a rat’s nest of ginger bed-head, her eyes were puffy and pink, and black mascara and eyeliner stained her cheeks. She needed me. She'd never needed me more. I couldn’t turn her away now. Could I?
I wanted to protect Chelsea. I always wanted to protect her, but this was different. We weren’t hiding bad grades from our parents, or covering up a broken piece of pottery… this was jail time.
This was too hard of a decision to make right now. I had to get to work. Just because I would lose my job when I was implicated in my sister's embezzlement, that didn't mean I needed to lose it now.
“I've got to go to work, Chelsea. I'm really late.” I grabbed my keys from the counter, which I'd been heading for when I first knocked over the suitcase. I wished I'd never knocked it over in the first place. Then I could be blissfully unaware of everything going on. Plausible deniability.
“What do you want me to do?” Chelsea asked, sniffing. “Do you...do you want me to go?”
I sighed. “No. Don't go. We can deal with this when I'm finished with work, okay? But for right now, stay here. I mean it. Don't leave, and don’t spend any of that money!”
Chelsea nodded, a faint smile ticking at the corners of her lips. “Thanks, Meg.”
“Don't thank me yet,” I muttered, halfway to the door. “I haven't even decided what I'm going to do with you yet.”
Chapter Three
I slammed my car door and jogged toward the beach, gulping down the calming scent of salt spray as I tried to figure out how to explain my tardiness to my department head. She would have noticed my absence by now.
Sea birds called overhead; today, my fantasy of turning into a bird and flying far, far away was more appealing than ever. If I were a bird, I could catch a ride on an updraft and soar away from all of this. I wouldn't have to worry about my sister, or my job, or even what I was going to make for dinner that night. I'd be free. Totally and completely free.
“Can I get some help over here?” Hank, the set supervisor, squawked at me.
I sighed. Back to reality.
I'd been heading for the refreshment tent to grab some coffee, but detoured to help Hank carry a piece of staging equipment across the sand to the area that had been cleared for filming.
On my way back over to the refreshments table, Allison fell in step beside me. “Good morning!” she chimed.
“Good morning.” My returned greeting was markedly less excited, and Allison noticed.
“You seem glum this morning.”
“Just stressed.” I grabbed a disposable cup and filled it with the strongest coffee option available, leaving no room for milk or sugar. I preferred it black and bitter, something that had always perplexed Chelsea. Suddenly, the differences in our personalities were more poignant than ever.
“What's on your mind?” Allison grabbed a bagel and leaned against the side of the table as she munched.
I shrugged off her question and tried to change the topic. “It's nothing, really. How's your morning going so far?”
“Oh, you know.” She rolled her eyes. “Hawthorne wasn't happy with his foundation. He said it didn't have enough color. I didn't know how to tell him that he already looks completely orange. Have you seen the man in a white shirt? He’s like a cheese puff in a napkin.”
I chuckled. I was glad that Allison accepted my change of topic, and amused at the male lead's diva-esque antics. It seemed like Allison had something new to complain about every morning, and she was always excited for me to get there so she had someone to complain to.
“Megan! I need you over here!” Hank called.
I chugged down a mouthful of the hot coffee and gave Allison a friendly wave as I walked out from under the shade of the tent.
As I went through my jobs for the day, I couldn't help but wonder how I was supposed to focus on anything in light of my sister's recent dabbling in thievery. Everything else seemed so meaningless. Who cared if the scene looked exactly how the director imagined it? My sister could go away to prison for—God knows—months, years? Either that, or she would disappear, never to be seen again. That was the happiest scenario I could think of. But how could losing contact with my sister for years, possibly forever, be the best-case scenario in this situation? How was that fair?
I was wandering around between takes, trying to walk off some of my nerves, when an idea struck me.
Well, the idea didn't so much as strike me as I struck it. Or him.
I'd been walking between two trailers, my mind elsewhere, when Dr. Lockhart stepped into my path. Or, I suppose, I stepped into his path. Whatever the case, I ran face-first into the man's muscular, impossibly solid chest. He stood several inches taller than I did; so I doubt the impact hurt him at all. My nose, on the other hand, was not so lucky.
“Ow!” I exclaimed, bouncing back a few steps. I put my hands up to cup my nose, knowing it wasn't broken, but worrying all the same, as my eyes began to water.
“Are you okay?”
A comforting pair of hands dropped onto my shoulders, and I looked up into the most dazzling pair of green eyes I'd ever seen.
Dr. Joel Lockhart was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He was clean-shaven in all of the headshots I’d seen of him, but when working on set, he always had the most delicious five o'clock shadow. His eyes were almost surreal in their brightness, offset by long, thick lashes. I'd never seen a mouth curve so sensually without its owner even trying, just like I'd never seen such facial symmetry that screamed perfection in a natural-looking way.
I'd developed a crush on the doctor from our first day on set, and I wasn’t alone—he was a gorgeous specimen, and he had admirers of both genders among the crew. Now, I'd gone and embarrassed myself in front of him, in one of the worst ways possible. I was never this clumsy, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
I dragged my eyes away from his and dropped my hands, scrunching my nose a little to make sure everything was still working correctly.
“It's fine,” I said.
“I'm fine. Sorry.”
He smiled, and my insides melted like butter on a hot summer's day. His white, straight teeth gleamed, and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners, adding a touch of honesty to the polite gesture.
“You should watch where you're going,” he replied, straightening. “You have such a pretty face. It would be a shame to damage it.”
He sauntered off with a wink, and I disintegrated into a puddle on the floor. He thought I was pretty? Oh dear, this day was full of extremes. First, I'd found out that my sister was a criminal, and the FBI would probably soon be knocking down my door to find her. Now, the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on had just genuinely complimented me. Although my encounter with the doctor didn’t fix anything regarding the situation with Chelsea, at least it got my mind off the matter for a few minutes. I was happy to allow myself to daydream about Dr. Lockhart, if it meant I wasn’t ruminating over the fact that I could be arrested any minute.
I went back to my work mechanically, thoughts occupied by my sister and the doctor's words.
One second I'd be giddy, the next, anxious and depressed. It was as wild a rollercoaster as any I'd ever been on, and I desperately wanted off. More specifically, I wanted the problem with my sister to go away, without her disappearing or ending up behind bars.
But what could I do? It wasn't as though I had a magic wand I could wave that would give her a new face and identity so she could escape.
Or did I?
It was a crazy idea, but wasn't this a crazy situation? And crazy situations called for crazy solutions, right?
At our next break, I took another walk, but this one actually had a purpose. I found Dr. Lockhart inside the director's tent, and waited outside for them to finish their conversation.
Joel Lockhart was a plastic surgeon, and a good one at that. He even had a clinic here in the Bahamas, so he'd be the prime candidate to make my sister into someone else. She had a bunch of money now, and if she had to spend some of it on plastic surgery to make sure she wasn't caught, that was tough.
Hell, I'd probably have to get work done too, now that I thought about it. Especially since I was technically involved—or, at least, my face was. I wasn't just involved by proxy, either; talking to Dr. Lockhart would officially make me a willing member of my sister's new criminal organization. Membership: two.
Do Me Doctor Page 2
