Another week passed, with Zaira notcing that Kelly was watching her more and more closely.
One morning she could stand it no more, and called her friend on it. "Come on, Kelly, out with it."
"With what?"
"Come on, I know you well enough by know to see you looking at me out of the corner of your eye all the time. So out with it."
Kelly brought two mugs over from the countertop, and sat across the kitchen table from her. “All right, there is something."
"Well, come on, tell me already, will you, before I really start to get worried." She took a sip of the chamomile tea, gripping the mug with white-knuckled fingers.
"Zaira, I hate to add to your worries, but I really think you should go to a doctor. You’re not looking to well.”
“I’ll be all right, it is just the worry.”
“I think it’s more than that. Female problems maybe?” she asked, looking at Zaira sharply.
“Why no, I’ve missed my...”
Zaira lapsed into a miserable silence. “Great, just what I need now, of all times.”
“Babies have a nasty habit of popping up inconveniently. You could always go to a clinic.”
“No!” Zaira gasped, clutching her belly.
Kelly nodded. "There's your answer, then. Your decision about what to do has already been made."
Zaira took a deep breath, and said, “Wow, you're right. It won't be easy, but it was that simple to make up my mind. It's Brad’s baby, and I love him. Even if I never see him again, it isn’t the child’s fault my life is such a mess.”
Kelly patted her on the shoulder. “I know it's just one more thing added to your list of worries, but it could be a blessing, really. It will give you hope, something positive to look forward to in the middle of all this chaos. I’ll give you the name of my doctor. You make an appointment straight away, do you hear?”
“I will,” Zaira said. "Thank you for telling me. I don't know how long I would have fone on in denial if you hadn't spoken to me just now."
"Don't mention it. Just start taking better care of yourself, okay? And if there's anything we can do for you or the little guy, just ask, all right?"
"I will, thanks."
"You see, every cloud has a silver lining. If not for your ex, we would never have met, and I wouldn't get to be an auntie. That is, unless you already have—"
"No, no one. Auntie it is for sure, if you don't mind my odd extended family of actors and academics too."
"You have a ton of love to give, so I'm sure it won't be a problem for us all to share you. Just so long as Brad doesn't mind."
"Oh, Kelly, I'll be lucky if he ever speaks to me again, let alone—"
"He'll do more than speak to you, girl, I just know it. Just be patient a little bit longer, and then you can start telling him the truth. And planning a future for three."
"I sure hope so, and this side of a jail cell too," Zaira sighed, hugging her friend as the tears began to fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The next day, the doctor confirmed she was pregnant. Zaira was so stunned, she could barely take it in. Brad’s baby. It was almost too wonderful to imagine. Zaira immediately began to take better care of herself, reading up on nutrition and taking more exercise, which helped take her mind off the investigation, and how much she missed Brad and longed for him with every fibre of her being.
Her own articles defending Brad appeared in the papers, and Zaira also persuaded Dave to tell the papers to run the story on the photos being missing. If Jonathan wanted to give the police more evidence, he was going to have to fabricate it quickly, which meant even more opportunity for him to slip up and add to their growing dossier they could soon hand over to the police.
The team watched him like a hawk for another week, and finally they hit the big one. Jonathan was filmed buying a very large amount of cocaine from his supplier down on the docks, and the Tremaines kept the dealer under surveillance as well.
Then, just when they were giving up hope, several days later Jonathan moved to plant the cocaine, first at the office, in a few places around the Studio, and then at Brad’s house.
Kelly got films of all his activities, including snaps of him at the Studios.
“Listen, if he's planted them, the police are going to raid there any minute. I think we're going to have to tell the police now. If they go in on one of the busiest days in the Studios, the publicity is going to look awful,” Kelly said to Zaira.
“But Jonathan’s already thought of that, don’t you see! It will be a side show for all of LA. No, it has to go ahead. If we tip off the police before he does, he’ll run for it.”
“But Zaira, think of the damage!” Kelly begged.
“We have films of him planting the stuff! We can handle it if it ever comes to an investigation. But it won’t. We're going to have to get more of a link with Brad’s situation than this." She thought for a moment, pacing up and down restlessly in front of her small makeshift desk where she had been working on another romance novel to pass the time while she waited for news from Kelly. At length she looked up at Kelly. "Get Cormac out now. Make him go out of town for a few days so the police can’t drag him into all of this.”
Sure enough, the police raided the Studios, offices and house in an incredible sweep that made front page news for days after.
Zaira sighed as she read the papers, and prayed she had done the right thing in letting Jonathan's game continue to the bitter end.
At the end of a frantic week, Kelly argued with Zaira desperately, “Please, we have to go to the police. They're crucifying Brad. Don’t you care that he's innocent and helpless in all this? Zaira, for heaven’s sake, this has to stop!”
Zaira tried to remain unemotional, though her fear was overwhelming. She said in as flat a tone as possible so as not to betray her own unease, “We've gone too far and risked too much to change course now. If we show our hand, all of this suffering will have been for nothing. Jonathan will get a few years and be back out on the streets and after us all again, me most of all. You know it, and I know it."
Kelly sighed, and nodded. "But that bastard—"
"I know. But I also know him. I told you, we just have to stick to our guns a llittle while longer. Jonathan thinks he’s won. He is going to get careless. Don’t let him out of your sight for a second. We have to know exactly what his movements are, where he's going to run for cover when all this blows up in his face. He won't have any place to run, and he'll be lucky he doesn't get life once all the charges against him are added up.”
"All right, Hon, you're the boss. Just make sure you're not sentencing yourself and that baby of yours to a living hell at the same time."
"It doesn’t matter about me, but—"
"It does. And it will matter to Brad too. He may never recover—"
Zaira shrugged one shoulder as if it didn't matter in the least, though her stomach churned. "Any publicity is better than none. He'll be fine. He's a great director. Like I said, once everyone sees what we've seen, knows what Jonathan has been doing for months, he'll be seen for the innocent victim he is."
Kelly gave a pointed look at the phone. "You haven't phoned him in days. Don't you think you should let him know—"
"I will, thanks. In a minute. Let me just pull myself together, okay?"
She patted Zaira on the shoulder. "Sure thing. And listen, I don't mean to come down heavy on you, it's just that—"
"I know. I've been a great friend."
"One who wants this over, and to see you all happy."
"Happily ever after for for novels and the movies, Kelly, not for people like me."
Kelly hugged her briefly. Zaira accepted the bear hug with a sigh.
"Phone him."
"I will. I swear."
"And tell him—"
"Plenty of time for that."
"Yeah, seven months or so," Kelly said with a pointed look.
Zaira sat down at her desk heavily. "Please, Kelly, on
e thing at a time."
"I'm sorry. Like I said, I just want all this to be over and you guys to be happy." She gave a small wave and vanished.
Ziara pushed back the heavy fall of hair from her eyes, and reached for the phone. She dialled Brad's London number, carefully blocking her own. She calculated the time difference in her head as she heard ringing on the other end. She was almost going to put the receiver down because she did the math and realized she might be waking him up, but at his hopeful, "Hello, is it you, Zaira, Sweetheart?" she felt her heart skip a beat.
"Yes, it's me."
"Thank God. I've been so worried. And thinking, well, I don't know what. All sorts of stupid things. Zaira, why haven't you called—"
"I was waiting for news," she said hurriedly, and it was only half a lie she told. She was so on edge whenever she spoke to him, sure all her secrets would come tumbling out of her mouth, that she had hardly dared phone.
“Brad, you’ll see it in the papers, and I think maybe you should get out of the London apartment, just in case. The fact is that Jonathan’s planted drugs everywhere. The police are going to be stepping up their investigation, and will probably try to extradite you.”
“That bastard! That's it, Zaira. I've done as much running and hiding and I can stomach. I've had enough of him getting everything his own way while I'm stuck here so far away from you and the life we've built for ourselves in New York. I’m coming home.”
“No, not yet! It isn’t safe, Brad."
"But Zaira—"
"Please, Brad, just listen. Promise me that you'll give it a few more days. Then we'll have all the proof we need of everything he has been doing. Don’t trust anyone except me and your father and Matt. Don't come home, but get out of the flat now. Ring Matt if you need anything.”
“Zaira, why is it I can never ring you? What the hell is going on?”
“Never mind that now. Trust me. I love you. I swear, just a few more days, and then it will all be over.”
“Zaira, where are you?” Brad asked suddenly, realization dawning in his voice.
“Goodbye, Brad. I love you.”
She put down the phone and lay her head on her desk, the tears streaming down her cheeks mingling with the ink with which she had penned her passionate romance about a young college professor and a handsome Hollywood director.
As the sky began to darken, she rose from her seat to splash her tear-streaked face with cold water.
Cormac appeared a short time later, and said, “This is a disaster. We have to do something now.”
“I think we’ll have to go to the police with all the evidence. Only leave me out of it. Say you hired the detectives, and so on,” Zaira urged.
“All right, whatever you say. I’ll take Dave Tremaine with me. He'll know who to speak to, and go over all the evidence with them.”
“Listen, go tomorrow. But first, tell Dave I want copies of everything kept, just in case. We need some insurance here. Jonathan is far too clever, and the police can be bought off by a man with as much money as Jonathan. I want him behind bars where he belongs, and I intend to get him there.”
“Zaira, the only way to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt is if he pleads guilty. There's no such thing as a miracle,” Cormac argued.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Zaira sighed, then shrugged as she saw Cormac’s eyes boring into her.
“Tell Dave to make two copies of everything, and be ready to go to the police at noon tomorrow. And one more thing, can I go to Brad’s house tomorrow, on my own?”
“Certainly, here’s the key,” Cormac assented, removing it from his ring. “But it seems an odd request.”
“It’s just that I have to go back to New York soon, and I want to be reminded of him one last time,” Zaira said, trying to sound convincing.
Cormac’s eyebrows raised. “I have the feeling you're up to something, but whatever it is, you're not going to tell me.”
“You know what it is. It’s finished between Brad and me. You’ll put Jonathan behind bars, and I'll go back to New York,” Zaira said nonchalantly.
Cormac nodded. “If that’s what you want, I can’t force you to stay. I’ll see the auditors this evening, and we'll get whatever they have into some sort of shape to present as evidence. Then we will see. I’ll send you some copies as well.”
Zaira said quietly, “Thank you for everything. If I don’t see you, goodbye, and tell Brad— Well, just tell him.”
“Believe me, I will.”
Zaira sat alone in the house, almost frightened of the silence, and quailing at the magnitude of what she was about to do. The pen shook in her hand as she scrawled a note to Jonathan on a small piece of lilac-scented paper. Zaira had always used that stationery when she had been away from him in England, so he would know the note was genuine. Then she got together some blank audio tapes, and went over the plans for the surveillance cameras in Brad’s house.
Zaira patted her stomach softly, saying a prayer for herself and her unborn child. This was going to be a struggle for no less than life or death, and she had a feeling the odds were not in her favor.
Cormac did go to the police the next day with the evidence, but just as Zaira had suspected, nothing happened. The police fobbed Cormac and Dave off with excuses about it not being relevant to their investigation, since Jonathan wasn’t under suspicion.
Finally, one sergeant, whose name Dave didn’t catch, told them to wait while he went over it all with someone in authority. They waited for hours, and when they grew impatient and made inquiries, were told that no evidence had been submitted.
Zaira’s suspicions were confirmed. Jonathan could buy anyone for the right price, and all their evidence had been stolen and probably destroyed. It was now completely up to her.
Zaira dressed carefully in jeans, sneakers, a tee-shirt and baggy sweater. It looked odd for the scorching Californian heat, but suited her purposes exactly. She checked her tape recorder for the hundredth time, and drove Matt’s car downtown to a novelty shop.
The man in the shop was very helpful, and Zaira was soon ready to go out to Brad’s house in Malibu. She was hours too early, but she needed to be prepared. She parked the car a fair distance away down the beach, and walked the rest of the way to the house.
Once inside the sumptuous beach-front house, decorated in navy, gold, and cream, she checked all the cameras to see if they were working, and then spread the evidence down all over the floor.
She gazed out of the window and over the balcony, to where the surf crashed down onto the rocks below. Would this have been her home with Brad, if they had ever got married?
Zaira shook her head. There was no time for daydreams now. She had no future with Brad, of that she was certain.
A small sound behind her caused her to look up, startled. Jonathan was early, no doubt hoping to lie in wait for her, but she was ready.
“Well, well, Zaira, I couldn’t believe it when I got your note. A charming spot for a reunion, don’t you think?” He smiled, reminding Zaira of a wolf baring its teeth.
“Charming with the right company of course. But I would hardly describe this as a reunion. You can see all over that floor the evidence that my private investigators have got on you. I think you should really give yourself up, and then perhaps they will go easier on you.”
“Your concern is touching, my dear. But the point is, I have no intention of doing any such thing. Your so-called evidence was thrown out of the police station yesterday, so this final copy of yours is a waste of time.”
“We know where Mike and all the other models are. We have the drug dealer. They're repeat offenders. It doesn't matter what you've paid them. They'll talk to save their own skins. You can’t escape from this forever,” Zaira argued, forcing herself to stare into his sherry-brown eyes.
“Sure I can. Since they're repeat felons, everyone will think they're lying to save their own skins. That's if anyone in this town would even bother to try to take me to court. I can run away with
the millions I stole from Clarke Studios any time I like, Honey. But I have bigger game in mind. Brad's been completely discredited, and I’m Cormac’s new heir. Once Cormac is out of the way, I’ll have it all.”
Zaira shook her head. “I’ll go to the FBI, anyone, with this evidence, to stop you.”
“It’s too late. I’ve won it all. Cormac is already dead. As you will be in a minute.”
Zaira sat down on the sofa, so numb she barely noticed the gun Jonathan was holding.
“How?” she said, forcing her voice to project for the benefit of the cameras she knew were filming them.
“A small fire at Lot 54. A pity there were so many film processing chemicals laying around. What a dreadful explosion.”
“You're a monster."
"Just a good businessman with lots of ambition."
"And what do you plan to do with me, Jonathan?” Zaira demanded, once again projecting her voice for the benefit of anyone who might be listening.
“Make it look like suicide, of course. Insane that you lost me, and Brad turned out to be such a fiend, you took your own life. One last headline in this incredible story.”
“You were no great loss, and you're the fiend, not Brad."
"Now, now, dear, temper—"
"Why? You had it all! Why the drugs, the porn, the theft? Even murder?” Zaira shouted.
“The challenge of it all. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. The drugs especially. You always were a bit of a prude, my dear, if I may say so,” Jonathan said with a smirk.
Then he pulled her to her feet and fondled her roughly. “What, not even a last goodbye kiss?” he sneered, as she began to struggle against his embrace.
“I’ll see you in hell first, Jonathan.”
“And I shall enjoy sending you there, my dear wife.” He laughed harshly, and brought up the gun, dangerously close to her temple.
Zaira knew his plans for a neat suicide would be foiled if she ran. She kneed him in the groin, and shoved him away. The gun went off, and she could feel a sharp pain in her left wrist, and warm blood trickling down her fingers.
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