“I thought men preferred tall blonds,” she grumbled.
Harvey looked back at Layla. Tonight she opted for the long brunette wig and conservative black dress that covered all the good parts. She also wore glasses and a shit-eating grin that Harvey couldn’t help feeling good about. Tonight was the night he’d score. He’d snap his pictures, get his story and give Layla the boot. Tall blonds, hell. Broads like her weren’t worth the trouble.
“Hello, are you deaf? I’m talking here.”
Harvey signaled to the bartender. “Why don’t you have another drink and chill out for a while. After dinner is when we’ll make our move.”
“Why not now? How do I know I won’t be recognized?”
“You won’t be. Relax.”
She grabbed his arm and squeezed. “You know I thought you’d be a little better company, considering tonight’s the big payoff.”
“Which reminds me. When am I seeing my money?”
“After tonight, lover,” she cooed then licked her lips with a seductive wink. “Besides, I thought you were more interested in the benefits than the salary.”
He groaned, more out of frustration than lust. Once again, he’d let his small head dictate instead of his big one, and now he was getting screwed in a way he hadn’t bargained for. He glanced across the bar at Carrie Ann, smiling and laughing with a herd of guys gawking at her. Tonight, he’d get what he deserved one way or the other. This time he wasn’t walking away empty handed.
“Looks like it’s time for dinner,” Layla purred in his ear. “Perfect. Plotting makes me hungry.”
“I have a serious appetite myself,” he mumbled before tearing his gaze away from Carrie and making his way to the press dining room.
Chapter Seventeen
Carrie sat at the bar, sipping on ice water, her stomach bubbling in her throat. She struggled to eat at dinner, a fact that drew a few concerned eyes, including Ty’s, who hovered, pretending he wasn’t. Her sister and father just leered, a normal occurrence when it came to her appetite. She’d probably be drilled about it later by one or both of them. Biting down on an ice cube, she smiled. Now that was one conversation she wasn’t looking forward to.
“You okay?” her father asked, resting his hand on her shoulder. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m just tired, I guess.”
“You should be, holding up a front like this.” He brushed a hair away from her face, and nodded toward the crowd behind him. “Look at this debauchery. The drinking, the carousing. Watching that half-naked girl climb all over Ty is turning my stomach.”
Carrie sucked in an ice cube and took a bite. Of course, she noticed the way Ty and his date had carried on all night, especially in front of the invited press. If she was there as a favor, watching her jam her tongue down his throat didn’t do much to invoke her gratitude. “She's here as a screen, Daddy.”
“Who?”
“That girl.” She turned in her seat and nodded toward Ty’s entourage at the far end of the bar. “Her name is Stacey, I think. She and Ty are friends, but I think she’s here as more as a favor to me than anything else.”
Carrie watched the girl nuzzle Ty’s neck, and run her fingers down the lapel of his tux. He was smiling, but in a guarded way. The one he used when he was in front of the camera. “I know it’s hard to explain, but Earl probably arranged it to get the spotlight off me. Studios in old Hollywood used to arrange dates all the time for press’s sake.”
She could tell by the snarl on her father’s face that he wasn’t buying it. She probably wouldn’t either, if she were him. But right now staying on her father’s good side wasn’t a top concern. There were other things to worry about. Like keeping down the few bites of prime rib that she forced down at dinner.
“Daddy, I think the band is starting up again, and Lizzie told me how she looked forward to dancing. How about you go find her?”
“Are you sure?”
Over his shoulder, Carrie saw a man hovering. He had been all night, in a creepy kind of way, that in any other situation where the security wasn’t so tight, she’d avoid him. But he wore a press identification tag, and given what the event was for, she was obligated to talk to him. Tonight was a business engagement plain and simple, and she had a job to do. “Go ahead and dance.” Carrie urged her father. “Lizzie will love it. I should talk to a few people, anyway.”
“Fine, one song.” He kissed her on the cheek, and disappeared in the crowd. She mentally cringed when the seedy man sauntered up, and slid onto the bar stool next to her. “Excuse me, Carrie Ann Langley?” He set his scotch down on the bar, and extended his hand. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for an opportunity like this.”
“Good to meet you, Mr.-.”
“Tills. Hank Tills. I’m a reporter for ‘It’ magazine.”
“Well,” she said, accepting his hand shake. “A pleasure to meet you.”
He smiled, his yellow teeth showing between his chapped lips. “No, believe me Miss. Langley, the pleasure is all mine.”
Carrie waited while he took a noisy slurp of his drink. He eyed her over his glass, and a shiver passed through her body. She knew the look. The lustful one, some men had at parties like these, where women were expected to be as fast as scene implied. Usually Ty was around to police a situation like this. She wasn’t used to fending for herself.
“So, your costar has a pretty hot date,” he said. “Why didn’t you come with one?”
“Oh, well I came with my family instead.”
“Really, what’s the problem? No boyfriend?”
Carrie thought that over. Saying ‘no’ would give him hope and a ‘yes’ would probably require proof, or at least an explanation. At that moment she didn’t have the mind or the stomach to summon her improvisation skills, so she opted for the generic, “no comment” angle. “Maybe we should talk about the show,” she said sweetly. “That’s what we’re here for anyway, right?”
“That dress is sexy as hell on you,” he said with a voice too low for her comfort. “And man, do I love redheads. You’re staying here at the Ritz, Miss Langley?”
She resisted her urge to gag. “What?”
“How about you answer that after we share a drink.” He winked and patted her knee, before signaling a bartender at the far end of the bar.
“Who’s the jerk-off with Carrie?” Ty grumbled, craning his head over the crowd. “He’s had her cornered at the bar for,” he checked his watch, “thirteen minutes.”
“Her father was just with her a second ago,” Manny said. “How much trouble can she get into with that guy standing guard?”
From where Ty stood at the opposite end of the bar, he could see the Deacon with Lizzie on the dance floor. Figured. Langley hadn’t left Carrie alone all night, and he chose now to do a cha cha with her sister. “I’ve got a bad feeling,” Ty said. “I’m going to talk to Carrie.”
“No!” Manny pulled him back by the arm. “Look man, you’ve avoided a scene this long, don’t mess it up now. If you want to talk to her, you can do it later. Catch her on the way out, or something.”
“Is everything okay?’ Stacey wrapped her arm around Ty’s neck. “You guys look a little tense.”
“Nothing to worry about, honey.” Ty kissed her quickly for show and looked back at Carrie. The jerk was admiring her earrings. Ty ground his teeth, when he saw his fingers brush her skin. The guy sported a press tag, but there was nothing business about his smile. Horny. Like the only thing holding him back was a room full of people, and even that didn’t seem like much of a deterrent.
Ty’s fingers constricted around his tumbler as if choking the guy’s neck. The glass shattered in a million pieces, sticking to his clammy hand. “Damn it!” He shook the shards to the floor. His palm stung with blood. Snagging his handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it around the wound.
“Are you okay?” Stacey asked.
“He’s fine,” Manny said more to the concerned onlookers than to her. “Go t
o the bathroom and take care of that before the press reports a near fatal injury.”
With his eyes still fixed on the two at the bar, Ty pushed through the crowd to the hallway. He turned the corner to the restrooms, when a hand snaked around his arm.
“Need a little help, baby?”
The voice almost knocked him from his feet. He spied the red nails gripping his sleeve, before his gaze slowly lifted to hers. The long brown hair was unfamiliar, but the narrow eyes were unmistakable. “Layla, how the hell did you get in here?”
“Wasn’t hard,” she cooed. “You’d be surprised how many people out there sympathize for a woman scorned.” She kissed his cheek and took a step back, leaning low to flash him her cleavage. “The bathroom is empty by the way if you have a minute.”
“What happened? Marcy drive you straight?”
She smiled. “Go ahead and take your cheap shots. But I’m the one who’ll have the last laugh.”
Ty’s stomach churned, and his hands fisted at his sides. “So you did set us up, huh? You had us followed, dug up dirt, spread rumors.” His heart pounded in his chest. “Why, Layla? What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
Ty stole a glance at the bar, before Layla gripped his chin and dragged his eyes back to her. “You know, I didn’t want things to go this far. But Harvey can be very persuasive.”
“Harvey, huh?” Ty chuckled. “Who’s Harvey?”
“He’s a big fan of “Undercover Heat”, well of Carrie’s anyway. That’s how we met. Through a fan site.” She shook her head and frowned. “It’s shocking, they let sex offenders chat on line, especially to make plans to do something a lot like what got them tossed in jail in the first place.”
“So what are you telling me? That you hooked up with some pervert and decided to come after Carrie and me for kicks? Is that it?”
She shrugged. “I admit I have my own agenda and he has his.”
Ty took a deep breath to steady himself, before jamming his fisted hands in his pockets. “If you think you can get away with hurting her...”
“Not me, Ty. Harvey. And if you have a bone to pick, he’s right over there.”
He followed Layla’s blood red finger to Carrie, and the seedy man still chatting at the bar.
The bartender delivered a round of drinks, and they lifted their glasses in toast. In the instant they knocked glasses, Ty realized where he had seen the guy before. He was the creep that was hanging around that day in New York.
And he was the guy who took the picture of him and Layla.
Ty pulled free from Layla’s grasp, and pushed his way through the crowd. He had them in his sights, when he saw the guy lean over, dumping a hint of white powder in her drink.
***
“Son of a bitch!”
Carrie almost fell from her stool when she heard Ty’s voice. She turned just in time to see him pounce on the man beside her, and wedge his head against the bar.
“Carrie, put the glass down!”
“What are you doing?”
“Put it down!” Ty knocked it from her hand and smashed it against the bar. Flying shards drove Carrie’s head around, and when she turned back, Ty held the jagged neck to Harvey’s jugular. “Answer me you fucking bastard! What the hell kind of game are you playing?”
“Jesus, what’s going on over here?” Manny yelled over Ty’s shoulder.
“This guy just slipped something into her drink.”
“What?” Carrie wiped the moistness from her lips.
“We were just talking!” Harvey said, with his hands in the air. “I’m a reporter for Christ sake.”
“You’re a thug and you work for my ex-wife!” Ty yelled. “Your name’s Harvey and Layla’s paying you with my money, isn’t she?”
“Hey wait a minute!” Earl pushed through the crowd of people, and ripped off his glasses “You’re him! You’re the reporter for ‘It Magazine’! The one who interviewed me! The guy who doesn’t exist.”
“You son of a bitch!” Again Ty rammed Harvey’s head against the bar just as security swarmed. Two burly guards wrestled the man out of Ty’s grasp, and held him by the arms.
“Carrie Ann, you didn’t drink any of that did you.” Ty asked.
“No!”
“Are you sure? Not even a drop?”
Now wasn’t the time to inform him of the real reason she wasn’t drinking wine. So she left it at that. “I said, no!”
“What’s going on over here?” Deacon Langley demanded. “Honey, are you all right?”
“This asshole just tried to slip something in her drink.” Ty took her by the hand and pulled her off her stool. “Come on, Carrie Ann. I want you out of here.”
“No one is going anywhere, until we all set a few things straight!”
Carrie gulped when she heard the familiar feminine voice. When she turned around, two hundred sets of eyes settled along with hers on the long-haired brunette, striking a pose at the top of the stairs. “Surprise!” she said, with a bottle of champagne held high in a toast. “Happy gala, everyone. Consider yourself crashed!”
She pulled off her wig and tossed it like a Frisbee. It hit a waiter in the face, sending him to the floor with his tray full of brandies. “First of all, I’m not one that usually does this kind of thing. I don’t have to. I’m Layla Hollister after all.” She nodded in Ty’s direction. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail. Right, sweetheart?”
She took a gulp from the bottle then descended the three steps to the landing, in front of the bar. The crowd scurried out of her way, as if making room for a street fight until all that occupied the ring was Ty, Carrie, and her.
“I’ve never hit a woman,” Ty seethed, “but for you I might make an exception.”
“Ty leave her alone,” Manny said. “Let security take care of her.”
“You’d love that wouldn’t you, Ty,” Layla taunted. “Let security sweep me under the rug, so you all could have your little party. Well, you can’t just cast me aside like a broken toy. The crash and burn way you live your life has consequences, and I deserve some consideration.” Her narrowed eyes locked on Carrie’s, and she smiled. “And now I’m here to collect.”
Security pushed through the onlookers and grabbed Layla by the arms. She kicked and bit until one took aim with pepper spray. Carrie gasped and stepped in between them. “Wait!” she heard herself say. “Let her talk. I want to hear what she has to say.”
“Carrie, are you crazy?” Her father grabbed her by the shoulder. “Let security take care of this.”
“No, if she has a problem with me, I want to hear it, here and now. I’m beginning to see that your issue with Ty has more to do with me than anything else anyway,” Carrie said, taking a step toward her adversary. “So, no more tabloids, and no more paparazzi. How about we settle this once and for all?”
Layla towered over her in her three-inch heels, and the over abundance of designer perfume did nothing to hide the liquor on her breath. Carrie must have winced when the woman exhaled in her face, because it drew a few “oos” and “ahhs” from the crowd.
“You know, Carrie Ann. I used to be an admirer of yours. But then I realized how much happier I’d be if you never existed.”
“Believe me, I can relate to your sentiments.”
Ty held his hand in front of her. “Carrie, come on. You’re done here.”
“No, I say let her stay.” Layla handed her champagne bottle to a stunned waiter beside her and took a step to Carrie. “Well, here you are. The object of everyone’s affection. You look wonderful by the way. Starving your unborn child to death must have taught you a lesson.”
Carrie blinked. She wouldn’t let Layla’s low blow do more than graze her. Not in front of all these people. “Funny you say that. I was just thinking it’s about time someone taught you one.”
“Now wait just a damn minute!” Deacon Langley jumped to Carrie’s side. “How dare you sling mud at my daughter?”
“Oh and
this must be Daddy, the Jesus freak!” Layla giggled and made the sign of the cross. “You must be shitting in your pants right now, huh, Deacon. I mean, that would probably be pretty bad if the Archbishop caught wind about how your good little girl almost killed herself, because she was so freaked out that the world might catch wind that her co-star had knocked her up.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Ty screamed. ‘Shut it, or I’ll shut it for you.”
“Tell me, Deacon,” Layla said. “Has the Catholic Church changed its policy on murder, because you don’t look much like a rule breaker to me?”
“How dare you?” The Deacon seethed. “How dare you?”
A group of security guards descended the stairs behind her, so she scrambled to the bar and hopped up on the counter. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Carrie Ann? The trips to buy prenatal vitamins, and shopping sprees and New York baby boutiques. You want everyone including me to be stupid enough to believe your love affair was over long ago? Well it isn’t, and now I’m the one breaking the story.”
“Get off the bar,” Ty demanded.
“Carrie Ann Langley is pregnant, folks. And my dear husband, Ty Hollister is the father.”
Stunned mumbles hummed around them, and Carrie swallowed hard when Ty grasped her shoulder. A flashbulb blinked beside them. Harvey, still book ended with a guard on each arm, lowered his camera from his face. “Do you guys think you could push together? I only got one more picture and don’t want to waste it.’
“You son of a bitch!” Ty roared and pounced on him, leveling him with a fury-filled right hook, sending him to the floor in a lifeless heap.
The room spun around Carrie. She had never seen Ty loose his cool in a crisis. It was usually her that unraveled, and he was the one left to clean up the mess. It suddenly occurred to her, that if there was ever a time to return the favor, this would be it.
“Tyler, stop!” She slipped herself under his arm, while he held Harvey by the collar. “It’s not worth it.”
“Carrie step away from them,” her father ordered. “You’re going to get hurt.”
She tightened her grip on Ty’s shirt then calmly tried again. “Tyler listen to me, I want you to let it go.”
Undercover Heat Page 23
