Heartthrob (Hollywood Hearts, #1)

by Belinda Williams

  “I told you, I don’t like it. Why is he here?” I’d never heard Lena take such a harsh tone with Jay before.

  Jay appeared almost apologetic. “You know he’s the best.”

  “No, you’re the best,” Lean shot back firmly. “That’s why I hired you.”

  “I’m security, not investigation. This requires investigation.”

  “Then why do they call him a security specialist?” I saw Lena’s shoulders move up and down in a sigh. “It’s not like this is the first stalker I’ve had—”

  “What?”

  Everyone, including several of the police officers, turned to look at me. Faced flushed, I waved to them all and flashed a quick smile. I rushed to Lena’s side, Jake following behind.

  “What do you mean this isn’t the first stalker you’ve had?” I whispered through a fake smile.

  Lena didn’t meet my eyes. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Didn’t want me to worry?” My voice doubled in volume and I forced myself to speak quietly again. “Of course I’d worry. When?”

  “The first one was a few years ago—”

  “First? How many have there been?” I demanded, adding, “Not including this one.”

  Lena thought for a moment and finally met my gaze. “Four before this.”

  “Four!” I hissed between clenched teeth.

  “Yes, Ally, four. It’s alright.”

  “No, it’s not alright! Where are they now?”

  Lena shrugged. “One’s in jail, the rest were charged and haven’t bothered me since.”

  “Because of Marc Romero,” Jay interrupted.

  A muscle in Lena’s jaw appeared to twitch. “Yes, fine, because of Marc Romero.”

  “Who is Marc Romero?” I asked.

  I felt Jake brush my elbow and glanced at him. He nodded in the direction over my shoulder. “That’s Marc Romero.”

  I turned and closed my mouth, or else it would have ended up on the floor.

  The man who strode purposefully toward us could not be Marc Romero. Security specialists didn’t look like that. Or maybe in Hollywood they did. This guy looked like he was the leading man in a crime drama.

  ‘Like that’ was some sort of hot, Spaniard model. He was tall like Jake but nowhere near as built. Although I’d bet most women wouldn’t be disappointed. He moved gracefully, a long overcoat flowing behind him like a cape. But I wasn’t sure if he was the good guy or not.

  Judging by the expression on his dark features, he wasn’t convinced he was either.

  Brooding, that was the best way to describe him. Where Jake was relaxed and good-humored, this guy exuded ‘eau de pissed off.’ Somehow it suited him. Olive-skinned, he wore his dark brown hair cropped short. It seemed like he’d given up worrying about his five o’clock shadow and let it grow into a neatly trimmed beard.

  I glanced over at Lena and discovered a steely hostility in her eyes.

  Marc stopped in front of her, not even sparing Jake and me a glance.

  “I see you’ve got another one,” he announced.

  “Possibly.”

  “Don’t delude yourself, princess. You’re hot property.”

  I saw Lena’s hands ball into fists like she was trying to control herself. “I don’t care if I’m the Queen of fucking Hollywood, Romero, they’ve broken into my home.”

  I reached back and grasped Jake’s hand. I had no idea what was going on here, but it took a lot to crack Lena’s grace. Somehow this guy had achieved it with just a few words.

  His lip curled in something between amusement and a sneer. “You’ve had a stalker on the grounds before.”

  “What?”

  Oh, right. That was me.

  He finally looked at me and I found myself gripping Jake’s hand tighter. If Jake sounded like whiskey, this man had eyes like the amber-colored liquid.

  “And you are?”

  “Ally, Lena’s friend.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Allegra Valenti.”

  “Yes.” Fine, he’d done his homework.

  He nodded and turned back to Lena. “And you wore her design for the first time tonight?”

  “That’s right,” replied Lena.

  “And you had no onsite security tonight.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I was out! You know where I was. There’s a security system for when no one is here.”

  The derisive look in his eyes told us what he thought of the security system. “I’ve told you before you need staff here twenty-four hours.”

  “So you can prove I really am a princess?”

  Jake and I shot each other a questioning look. The vibes the two of them were giving out were seriously mixed up. It was clear neither of them liked each other, but there was a dangerous sort of undercurrent I couldn’t put my finger on.

  He let Lena’s comment pass. “From today you’ll have staff here permanently. Jay’s already agreed to it.”

  Lena crossed her arms in front of her body. “Has he?”

  “I have,” said Jay firmly from beside us.

  Lena’s expression softened. “Thank you, Jay. Let me know what you need.”

  “I’m on it.” With that he walked away, leaving the rest us of standing in front of the investigator.

  Marc studied us. I had the strange feeling he could see everything, including the time I’d put a dead mouse in Nancy Turner’s backpack when we were in third grade. She’d totally deserved it for calling me chumpy chops.

  “I need to talk to each of you. Separately.”

  We all nodded obediently. I fought the urge to ask him where his offsider was. Surely there had to be a good cop around here to take the edge off his bad-cop routine.

  “Fine. Start with me,” Lena said, pointing down the hall.

  Marc nodded and they walked away together.

  “He’s the best,” Jake said again when they were gone.

  “Everyone keeps saying that . . . ”

  “No, he is. He worked for the FBI.”

  “And now he looks after celebrities? No wonder he looks pissed off.”

  “His parents are in the industry. His dad’s a producer and his mom’s a set designer.”

  Suddenly the name ‘Romero’ made sense. “As in Adrian Romero?” He’d only produced one of the biggest sci-fi box office successes in recent years.

  “That’s the one.”

  I sighed. “This is a strange town. And I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” I was bone-deep tired. It was past four in the morning, but I wasn’t going to get any sleep until after I’d spoken to Marc and the police had gone.

  Jake grinned for the first time since we’d arrived at Lena’s and I felt my spirits lift. “Something tells me I’m going to be.”

  *

  By the time Marc and Lena found us, Jake and I were eating pancakes. Marc watched us in disbelief as Lena joined us, putting two big pancakes on her plate and drizzling them with maple syrup.

  “Good girl,” I told her, glad to see she had an appetite after the night’s events. I nodded at Marc. “Pancake?”

  He ignored me. “I need to speak to you.”

  “Sure.” I stood up and grabbed a fresh plate, putting a couple of pancakes on it, along with a generous drizzle of maple syrup. I walked over to him. “Here.”

  He just looked at me.

  “For you.” I pushed the plate gently into his stomach so he was forced to take it.

  I walked past him and headed to the dining room, leaving him staring after me. I was a little less in shock now and, after observing Lena’s earlier reaction to him, I’d decided I wasn’t quite so scared of Marc Romero anymore.

  I sat down in the plush dining chair and looked out the window. It was dawn and a light sheet of moisture had settled on the manicured grass.

  I tried not to jump as the plate clattered heavily onto the table beside me. Marc sat down opposite me. He opened his mouth to speak but I put up a hand. I pushed the plate toward him. “Try some.”

  He didn’t bl
ink, didn’t even move.

  I sighed and reached over for the plate. I cut a piece of the pancake and held the fork out to him.

  He continued to stare at me like a mannequin.

  “I’m not answering any questions until you eat some. You look like you could do with some sugar.”

  More silence and no movement.

  “You think I’m joking? You saw Lena. She was willingly eating pancakes.”

  After another beat of silence he narrowed his eyes at me. I tapped the fingers of my free hand on the table impatiently and waited. With a grimace, he reached out and took the fork. I watched while he put the pancake in his mouth, chewing slowly like it pained him to eat. Then the inevitable realization set in and his eyes widened. He had pretty eyes when they weren’t scowling.

  “Jesus,” he said through the mouthful.

  I pushed the plate at him. “I’m guessing we woke you up?”

  He hesitated for only a second before spearing more of the pancake with the fork. “It’s not the first time.”

  “I didn’t know about Lena’s other stalkers.”

  “I thought you were best friends?” he asked, still eating, but I wasn’t an idiot. This was an interrogation.

  “We are,” I replied. “But she’s a very private person. You have to give her space and time, neither of which come naturally by the way. I’m Italian, but I’m guessing you knew that already.”

  “Yes. Run me through the events of yesterday and this morning.” No ‘please,’ not even a question, but there was a certain directness about him that I liked.

  I talked him through the day before: our preparations for the awards, watching the ceremony on television while talking to my cousin, then joining Lena at the after party.

  “What time did you and Lena separate?” he asked.

  I frowned. The ridiculousness of the situation hit me. “Am I a suspect?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I left Lena around eleven pm.”

  “And then?”

  “I went to Jake’s house to walk his dog.” I swallowed a smile as his eyebrows rose.

  “You walked his dog?”

  “On Malibu Beach. I’d never been. You can ask Chris, Jake’s bodyguard. He was there.”

  “What’s his dog’s name?”

  I smiled at him this time. I couldn't help it. “Stella. She’s a golden retriever.”

  “And then what?”

  Well, if he was asking for details of my love life, he wasn’t going to get any. “Then Jake drove me home. He walked me to the door and noticed it was ajar.” I gave him a quick description of how we’d discovered the vandalism, leaving out the part where I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “Any idea why someone would want to do this?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. I know Lena’s famous, but I guess until I moved here I was so far removed from it all, I’d never even considered she’d had stalkers.”

  “What makes you think it’s another stalker?”

  I hesitated. “But you said it was a stalker.”

  “Why a stalker?” he repeated.

  “I . . . I don’t know,” I stammered, and I really didn’t. “Where I come from, this is beyond fucked up, so I’m having a hard time processing it all. That someone would sabotage my designs to get to Lena just sucks.”

  “Who said they wanted to get to Lena?”

  His rapid-fire questions were disorientating me. “Well, didn’t they? Get to Lena? It’s freaked us all out that they got into the house.”

  “They got to you, too.”

  His words settled on me reluctantly, and by the time they did I was already shaking my head. “No. Wait, what? You can’t possibly think this is about me? I’m a nobody. This is about Lena. Not me.”

  “Is it? They destroyed your designs. All your work. It’s lying in shreds upstairs.”

  I recoiled in my seat, the chair scraping on the marble tiles. Like I’d needed that spelled out. “I don’t know anyone in Hollywood!” I protested. “Like I said, I’m a nobody. Two months ago I was living in Providence running my parents’ restaurant.” Saying that part out loud acted as a reminder of who I was and where I came from.

  “But you do know people here, don’t you? You hosted Lena’s Christmas party with her. You’ve been seen out in LA. With her. With Jake,” he said pointedly. “You have an active social media profile. You were in the news for your relationship with Jake.”

  “We don’t have a relationship!” I practically sobbed.

  The glare he gave me could freeze water.

  “Then,” I corrected, “we didn’t have a relationship then. We might now, but the way things are going I may not be hanging around town to find out because this is so many shades of fucked up!”

  Marc sat back in his seat, a barely visible smile haunting his lips. “You’re not going anywhere, Allegra. Not until we figure this out. If this is about Lena, she’ll need a friend. If this is about you, it will become obvious with time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If this was about making you leave town, and you don’t, then we’ll see.”

  “We’ll see?” I gaped. “Is that private investigator code for ‘I’ll use you as bait’? Or am I still a suspect?”

  Marc’s eyes narrowed again, which I was beginning to recognize was his habit when he was assessing something or someone. “No. Not bait,” he replied, deftly ignoring my question about whether I was a suspect. “We stand our ground and we find the bastard who did this. Or don’t you want that?”

  “Of course I want that.” I was just having a hard time believing it had something to do with me.

  “Good.” Marc stood up, indicating our discussion was over. “Send Jake in.”

  I nodded and went to grab the plate, but he moved it out of my grasp. “Leave those.”

  Despite myself, I smiled, but it wasn’t easy. I turned to go.

  “Allegra.”

  I turned back to him reluctantly.

  “Your designs are good. Don’t give up. I’ll sort it out.”

  I nodded again, now close to tears. I wasn’t sure what did it. His unexpected compliment? The certainty that he’d catch whoever had done this? The fact that Lena’s house had been broken into and my designs had been destroyed? Or that I’d considered leaving town altogether when Lena needed me and Jake was interested in me?

  Deep down, I knew it wasn’t any of those things.

  It was the realization that I could have a stalker.

  Chapter 22

  This time, cooking didn’t cut it. Cooking always cut it. When Nancy Turner teased me in grade school, I’d baked cupcakes. When the mean girls in senior high made my life hell, I’d learned how to cook Nonna’s lasagna. When Papa had fallen ill? That had ended up being a banquet.

  This was the first time in my life the act of preparing food was unable to distract me. Then again, it was the first time in my life I’d potentially had my life threatened. Unconfirmed, of course. There was no evidence—yet—that either my life or Lena’s was in danger, but finding my work in shreds wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  Sleep had been a brief reprieve. It was six in the morning by the time the police left. Lena had insisted Jake stay because he’d be too tired to drive home, and he’d ended up in my room with me. That sounded way more exciting than it was. I’d passed out fully clothed on the bed before he could make it out of the bathroom. Being stalked really took it out of a girl. I’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep and had woken six hours later, around lunchtime. The sight of Jake face-down on the bed beside me sent an initial surge of longing through me, before I realized why he was there in the first place. Leaving him to sleep, I made my way downstairs and discovered I wasn’t remotely hungry.

  So I ran. I ran and ran and ran, and got nowhere, but I felt a lot better.

  “How long has she been on there?” I heard Jake say to Lena from the doorway of Lena’s gymnasium.

  “At least thirty minutes.” />
  I ignored them, finding solace in the steady rhythm of my feet pounding on the treadmill. Unlike everything else, my body was something I could control. Air in, air out, foot up, foot down. Suddenly endorphins felt like the best thing ever, not that I was telling that to Jake.

  “Ally?” Lena asked.

  “Yeah?” I puffed.

  “You ever getting off?”

  “Not yet.” I wiped some sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and thought nothing of it. “Soon.”

  “Alright. We’ll be waiting in the kitchen. OK?”

  “OK.”

  I heard them retreat down the hall. Poor Lena was probably in shock, and not just about the break-in. For as long as she’d known me she’d never seen me want to exercise. Not that exercising was what I was doing right now. I was running away. I was afraid if I stepped off without exhausting myself I’d run all the way home to Providence. That’s what the adrenaline pumping through my body was urging me to do. Turned out I was more of a flight-response girl in stressful situations.

  The running was helping me to think, too. To think about all the people who might want to harm Lena or myself and why. I’d even gone so far as to refer to Google when the others were still sleeping, and discovered there were many types of stalking.

  I’d quickly dismissed the category of rejected stalkers. It was Duncan who had rejected Lena, not the other way around. It wasn’t like I had a long line of men nursing rejections. Although I had occasionally been double-booked for babysitting—but I didn’t think anyone was holding a grudge.

  Intimacy seekers didn’t seem likely either. This sort of stalker aims to forge an intimate relationship with their victim and is often of the belief their victim is their soul mate. While I didn’t doubt Lena had some experience with this after last night’s revelations, trashing my workroom didn’t seem like the way to go about starting an intimate relationship.

  Incompetent suitors sounded funny but were actually rather scary. This was where the stalker developed a fixation on the victim, but think nerdy-guy-with-poor-social-skills sort of fixation. This sort of person didn’t have a hope of attracting his love interest’s attention due to aforementioned poorly developed social skills. The victim probably had no idea the stalker was even alive. Destroying my workroom also seemed an unlikely way to ‘court’ me or Lena, but I’d have to ask Lena if she had any experience with it (I hoped not).