"No, you didn't," said Richard, shaking his head. "I checked your phone already. There's no signal. You followed Shayne here."
"There might not be any signal now, but there was when I called her. You can check her phone. She didn't answer."
"Is that why you broke into my property? Did it occur to you that Shayne and I might have been busy?" he asked, adding a lascivious smile.
Ben took a long, slow look at Richard from head-to-toe and back again. "No," he said.
"I don't think you called anyone at all. Shayne didn't. She was too busy chasing the story, and you were too busy chasing her to tell anyone. Question is: what do you want, the story or the girl?"
"Both," said Ben as I gaped at him. My mouth dropped a little wider when he added, "but I'll settle for just one. Why did you kill Chucky?"
"Isn't that obvious? The little shit has been taking from me my whole life, and I've always been the faithful sidekick. The butt of all his jokes. The good-natured kid that followed Chucky around like a lost puppy; and did Chucky even appreciate everything he got and so easily? No. He just wanted to lead a quiet life. He couldn't even enjoy the fame. He didn't even want to live the life of a star, bar signing a few photographs for groupies. I would have lived. But Chucky was talking about retiring permanently when we were both asked to read for the hosting gig. He also wanted to reconcile with his old girlfriend. So I told him, go for it, get the girl, and I'll audition. But he couldn't step aside. He had to take that too! I was sick of it! Sick of being pushed around by the nation's golden boy!"
"You were jealous?" I asked, wishing I felt more surprised.
"Jealous? Hah! I was pissed off for the last time. When Chucky told me he got the job, he said I could do a couple of voxpops. Like that was any kind of compensation! I was too good for that and he knew it too. I went to his house to try and persuade him to live the quiet life he sought, but then, he didn't want to so..."
"So you had to kill him," I finished. "You crammed a handful of sleeping pills down your best friend’s throat, and only so you could get his job. Chucky eclipsed you and you hated him for that."
"So now you know. And now I have to kill you two," Richard sighed. "Why couldn't you have left the story alone, Shayne? You could have gotten a decent obituary and made your name some other way."
"I think I mentioned before I'm a reporter," I snipped, sarcasm sliding through my annoyance.
"Okay, here's what's going to happen," said Richard, ignoring me. "We're going to take a little walk outside. I'm just having a nice day, hanging out at home before I go to work. Then I see two people sneaking around my house and realize I'm being burglarized. I'm terrified. I fear they're going to kill me. One of you found my gun and points it at me. I wrestle it from you, and the gun goes off. Dead." He held up the gun, not looking at all worried about the idea of shooting either one of us.
"One problem: there's two of us," I pointed out as Ben nudged me in the ribs. I held still as his hands tugged at the stubborn knot again, still concealed behind our bodies.
"Good point. You discover your pal here lying dead on the floor after he attacked me and make a break for it. Unfortunately, in your haste, you trip, hit your head and fall into the pool. You drown. Horrible. Tragic even."
"The police will never believe that!"
"Sure they will. I'm an actor."
"No, I mean the video that was released. The police will find out and realize I know you."
"Ahh, I thought of that already. When they investigate, they'll find out you were looking at me for your story. You and Ben. They'll realize you weren't breaking in to rob me, but to illegally search for private information for your story. Of course, I won't officially know that until much later as being victimized in a burglary is very traumatic."
"Sounds like he's got it all worked out," said Ben, turning to me just as the knot tugged free. I slipped my hands out from the bindings, but kept them concealed behind my back just as Ben did. "Sorry about all this. I should have insisted you listen to me when I said this guy was bad news. I was never interested in stealing your story, I promise."
"No, I'm sorry I got you into this! I am so, so sorry. And I'm sorry about your mom too. I didn't know what happened to her or why you came back to The Chronicle. I shouldn't have shot off my mouth back at the office. I should have called you, and told you I needed help. I was way out of my depth and so focused on getting the story, to prove myself to the paper, that I never considered the danger I could be putting myself in. And now you too." I stopped short, inwardly appalled and upset to see where my actions had brought us. Ben should never have been sucked into this, especially when all he did was try to protect me, starting from the moment he warned me about Richard to the moment he freed my bound hands. It would be my fault if he got killed.
"And miss out on this story? You did exactly what I would have done. I'm impressed." Ben grinned before wincing at the pull on his cut eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. This story is all yours."
"You said you wanted the story, or..."
Ben leaned toward me, his eyes closing as his lips settled on mine. The kiss was gentle and slow, but the fireworks it created ricocheted through me. When he drew back, I was breathless. "I said I'd settle for one," he reminded me, his voice little more than a whisper. "One more thing..."
"Yes?" I answered against his lips.
"Run!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
I barely had enough time to register Ben's single word when he launched to his feet and rushed past me. He set his head low and barreled into Richard before he had the chance to aim the gun. All I saw was Richard’s surprised expression when Ben's head slammed into his chest, propelling him backwards until he crashed into the wall.
"Shayne, run!" Ben yelled again as the two grappled. "Ugh!" he grunted when Richard's fist connected with his head.
I remained rooted to the floor, still too surprised to get up.
"Shayne!" Ben yelled again. This time, I snapped out of my stupor, forcing myself to stand up. I looked around quickly, trying to respond despite the panic. I could run for the front door, but how would that help Ben escape? And if Richard overpowered Ben, he would still come after me. Then what? I could hardly get inside my car and peel out of there, not when that meant leaving Ben behind. I could try and tackle Richard and maybe, between the two of us, we could overpower him and wrest the weapon away before any harm came to us.
A third option sprang into my mind. If I could get to a phone, I could call the police. What kind of burglar or snooping reporter calls the police? That wouldn't help Richard's defense at all.
The two men sank to the floor, rolling and grappling, but I couldn't see the gun anywhere. With a deep breath, and my mind made up, I darted forwards, heading for the house phone in the kitchen. I would call the police and request immediate assistance; then I would kick the living shit out of Richard for hurting Ben. That is, if Ben hadn't already succeeded in doing that. A little bit of me hoped there would be a teensy bit left for me to kick.
Purposefully, I jogged forwards, slipping on the tiled floor, and skidding past the two men, their fists flailing. There was no sign of the gun when I edged past them. I just sidestepped their grappling bodies and turned for the kitchen when a hand suddenly clamped around my ankle and pulled it out from under me.
With a dive that would have disqualified an Olympic athlete, I went down hard, barely breaking my fall with my hands. Kicking backwards, I tried to free myself, but the hand only clamped harder. All I could do was tug myself forward in a half crawl on my elbows while flailing my free leg. The hand loosened, then disappeared, and I scrambled to my feet.
A loud blast from the gun stopped me dead.
No, not dead, I realized as I checked my body for exit wounds. It hadn't registered physically because the adrenaline was still spiking my blood. Terror, plain and simple, froze me. If I weren't shot, who was?
"Don't move," came Richard's cold, har
d voice.
I waited, hoping Ben would say something, but there wasn't another sound. "Ben?" I murmured, breathing hard.
"This is great," said Richard, suddenly cheerful again. "Your pal, Ben, really helps my story with his 'have-a-go-hero' routine. Now, I can show the cops my busted lip and legitimately claim self defense, especially after they check his knuckles."
I turned slowly around, hating to have my back to Richard.
When I could see him fully, I probably shouldn’t have bothered. There was nothing reassuring about the sight that now lay before me. Richard stood over Ben, half spent with exertion, his hair a bloody mess, his clothes torn. Droplets of blood clung to his lip and his cheek bore the imprint of a fist. Below him lay Ben, face down, and he didn't move.
"You killed him!" I accused him, incredulous, as I stared at Ben's prone form.
Richard grinned. "Not yet. Help me turn him over."
"Huh?"
"I said, help me turn him over. I can't shoot him in the back. That would look too suspicious. Help me roll him over."
"You didn't shoot him?"
"No, I shot that," said Richard, pointing to the couch across the room. "But I did knock him out. Help me move him. Now!" he added, waving the gun.
"No. No! Absolutely not!"
"Do you think you have any choice? I have the gun."
"I'm not helping you stage Ben's death!"
Richard shrugged. "Guess it's you first then. Outside!"
"No!"
"Oh, right. Sure. Hands up."
"What?"
"Hands up, then we'll go outside. That's better, isn't it? More foreboding. Hands up!" Richard raised the gun, pointing it at me.
My hands shot into the air.
"Now turn around and let's take a walk. Doesn't that sound gangster? My agent said I couldn't do gangster, but I think I could convince her now."
It was all I could do not to roll my eyes, but he did have the gun. Ben was merely unconscious, and if I weren't very lucky, I was soon to be murdered barely days into my fabulous, new life. This day totally sucked. With a despondent heart, I slowly turned away, my eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon. I needed a miracle and I needed one quick.
"Let's go," said Richard.
"Richard, are you really going to kill me?" I asked, stalling for time until I could come up with a plan. Any plan.
"I think I mentioned that already and I haven't got a better idea, so, yes."
"In the pool?"
"Um, yes."
"But don't you want to swim in it again?"
"Sure, I do. What's the point in having a pool if you don't swim in it?"
"The weather forecast is great for the next few weeks."
"It's LA. And?"
"And do you really want to go to the expense of having your pool drained, then finding crime scene cleaners in order to deep clean it? What if you can't get my blood out? You might need to have the whole pool retiled. It'll be expensive and very inconvenient."
"Why should you bleed? You're going to drown."
"I'll probably thrash around," I told him, trying not to imagine it too graphically. "I might hit something hard."
"Could you try not to?" Richard sounded almost polite.
"I think it would be involuntary. It's going to be a mess, Richard."
"Damn it. I'll have to kill you here instead."
"Really? Inside your house? You would have to pass the site every day. Multiple times a day. I might even haunt you."
"I don't believe you. I don't believe in that stuff either."
"And bloodstains really devalue a house. It will always be there even if you can't see it. Not to mention, your house will probably end up on one of those true crime Hollywood tours. Tourists will ask to take photos from the outside."
Behind me, Richard sighed. "I guess I'll just have to put up with that. Turn around."
"No."
"I said, turn around."
"I don't want to. I just turned this way."
"Listen, Shayne, I am the one holding the gun. You're in no position to argue."
"I don't want to be shot from the front. It sounds really untidy."
"Are you serious?" He sighed again. "I never thought killing someone would be so annoying. I almost want to shoot you in the back just so I don't have to keep arguing with you. It makes me wonder what our relationship could have turned into. Nag, nag, nag, all the time. Turn around so I can shoot you, like you were attacking me, or I'll shoot your friend in the head right now."
I opened my mouth, but there was nothing left to say. I had nothing left to stall him with and I felt drained. All I could do was think positively, hoping at least this headline would be good.
"Shayne."
My heart thumped, and I wondered if I were imagining it. Then, Ben's voice came again, albeit thin and raspy. "Down," he said.
"LAPD. Richard Adamson, you are under arrest!" sounded a new voice and I dropped to my knees, hitting the floor when a single shot was fired. A bullet exploded into the pillar I was previously facing. Another shot rang out seconds after that, then another, followed by a grunt, and a thud! when a body hit the floor.
Hit the floor, I realized as I stared at the tile, not was already on the floor. I shuffled around, not daring to rise as I searched for Ben until I came eye-to-eye with Richard. He blinked at me, looking stunned and making gurgling noises. A person leaned over him, knocking his gun to one side before pulling his wrists behind his back, and securing them both with handcuffs.
"Detective Smith?" I asked, amazed. I practically stared up at the officer I tried so hard to outmaneuver in disbelief.
"Don't sound so surprised. Someone had to come in here and save your ass," she replied.
"I was doing that!"
"Yeah, you were doing really well too, from what I remember."
"I'm not shot." I ran my hands over my arms, and stared down at my body, still incredulous.
"Fortunately for you, your boyfriend is a lousy shot. And fortunately for him, I am an excellent marksman. I put two rounds in his shoulder. You will not believe the paperwork I will have to file for this."
"I believe it," I told her, a rush of euphoria elating me. I wasn't shot! I rolled onto my knees, searching for Ben over Richard's prone frame, and found him struggling into a seated position on the other side of Richard. Ben wasn't shot either. Only Richard was! Hurrah! "You're amazing!" I told her, meaning it.
"If this were a mystery novel, I'd be a guy cop and we'd make mad passionate love to each other right about now, since I saved the day," said Smith.
I raised my eyebrows. "That's what you're taking away from this?"
She laughed. "Just an innocent observation."
"I'm not even wearing high heels," I told her, shaking my head, but amused all the same. I scrambled around her to Ben. I don't quite know why I threw my arms around him, but I did, and it felt warm, comforting, and very, very nice, especially when he returned it with his strong arms. I was pretty sure he sniffed my hair too, but now wasn't the time to bring that up, especially when Detective Smith's partner entered with two LAPD uniforms on his heels.
"How did you find us?" asked Ben. He held a hand to his head before scooting to press his back against the wall. The cut had reopened and I was pretty sure he would spend the next couple of weeks charting some nasty bruises.
"I followed Shayne," explained Smith. "After I ran into her at Marguerite Casta's, I knew she had something, so I figured it was easier to continue to tail her than try and beat her to the next punch."
"Continue?" I asked, picking up on a word that surprised me.
Smith beamed. "I've had you tailed since you broke into our morgue and read up on the case evidence."
It was Ben's turn to look at me in surprise. No, not in surprise. Admiration. "That's what you were doing at the morgue. You said you were volunteering with therapy dogs for trauma victims and couldn't find your dog."
Both Smith and I turned to him. "You believ
ed that?" she said; then in an aside to me, "He believed that?"
"No, I did not believe that!" Ben protested, then winced. "Anyway, that's got nothing to do with how you just burst in here at exactly the right time to save our butts. You weren't just tailing Shayne..."
"Okay, fine. Richard was my number one suspect from early on. It was simply a choice between him and Jenna, and I had nothing on him. When you hightailed it over here, I figured you found the smoking gun. Then Jenna called, babbling something about you wanting to learn more about cufflinks," Smith said. "Turns out, I was right. You're welcome, too."
"The cufflink is over there on the island," I told her, knowing the smoking gun she wanted. "There's an edition imprint on it that I think you'll find matches the one found in Chucky's bedroom. The one that was imprinted into his skin. I called Jenna and she's checking to make sure Chucky still had his pair. There are two other guys with the same cufflinks, but I'm sure you'll find they have theirs intact too."
"Sweet. I got the warrant for Armande's and I already know which editions their friend purchased. I'm sure this will match the receipt." Smith turned to her partner, instructing him to bag it as she crouched next to us. "I'm going to send you to hospital," she told Ben, "and you? Thank you, Shayne."
"You're welcome too." I grinned in reply, relieved she didn't mention obstruction of justice again. Not only that, but she saved my life and Ben's.
"Are you done with slapping each other on the back?" asked Richard.
"Almost," said Smith. "So shut up."
"I want my phone call and I want to go to the hospital too. You shot me," he whimpered. "All this for a cufflink? It's not even mine. Shayne planted it!"
"You can call your lawyer from the hospital."
"I want to call my agent!"
Smith shook her head as she pulled him, none too gently, onto his feet. "Hollywood really is something else. I'll be in touch, you two."
"Hollywood is terrible," I agreed, ruminating over how Richard seemed to think more about his publicity than the sentence he would surely receive after Detective Smith testified. "Can I quote you for my article?"
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