Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

by Lisa Renee Jones

  A long walk and an elevator ride later, we’re in an interview room, the three of us across from him, a camera in the corner. The drilling begins and with a bang. “How many times have you fucked the deceased, Ms. Knight, prior to him being deceased of course?”

  “Six times,” she says, without hesitation.

  Waller just blinks at her then says, “Not seven?”

  “Six,” she repeats.”

  “What about last night?”

  “He wanted to fuck,” she says, leaning back in her chair and flipping her hair. “I had to sleep, and that man didn’t sleep at all when we fucked. It was like all night long. I have a charity event tonight. I couldn’t do that last night.”

  He starts drilling her about where they met, how they met. Where she was last night. When she saw him last. It’s all building up to some bombshell. I feel it. I know how these things roll out. “Did you ever do drugs with the deceased?” he finally asks.

  “I don’t do drugs, detective,” she says. “I’ve never done drugs.”

  “You were in rehab last year.”

  And there it is, bombshells starting to land. “For pain killers from an injury,” she says. “And it’s quite embarrassing.”

  “If this gets out,” I tell him, “we’ll sue the department.”

  He smirks. “Good luck proving that one.” In other words, he’s covered his bases.

  Tara sits forward. “You little—”

  Lori catches her arm. Tara inhales and sits back, never finishing her sentence.

  Waller smirks. “Did you know the deceased as a drug user?”

  “He smoked weed, if that counts,” she says. “I hate the skunk smell weed gives off and he kept it away from me. Even when he was writing his book, and he was all fucked up about revisiting the past, sex was his thing, not drugs.”

  Lori suddenly stands up and walks to my seat, leaning down to my ear, “I’ll be right back.” Her hand is on my shoulder and she squeezes, and I get it. She thinks she knows something. She needs to check it out.

  She exits the room and Waller leans toward us. “Have you ever given any drugs to the deceased?”

  I don’t like this question. “State his name,” I say. “This constant reference to ‘the deceased’ could mean anyone.”

  He grimaces and repeats the question. “Did you ever give David Curry drugs of any kind?”

  “Advil. Maybe Excedrin. Nothing more.”

  He reaches in his pocket and sets a bagged prescription bottle on the table. “We found this on his bedside table.”

  Holy fuck. I reach for it before she can, reading the Vicodin label dated a year ago. “I didn’t give this to him,” she says to me. “I swear to you, Cole.” She looks at Waller. “I didn’t give this to him and I wouldn’t have even given up my pills back then. I was addicted. I wanted every one for myself.”

  “We’ll let you get out of this,” he says. “We’ll make a deal. You give us your father, we’ll give you privacy and freedom.”

  I laugh. “You’re a piece of work. The man took it from her. Or she dropped it. Not to mention there is no cause of death or toxicology report.”

  “That’ll take weeks,” he reminds me, looking at Tara. “Weeks of bad PR, but a good amount of time for me to talk to your mother. She wouldn’t take down your father last year, but now, she’s protecting her daughter.”

  Tara leans forward. “Leave my mother out of this.”

  “Even if he has Vicodin in his system,” I say, “you’re going to have a hard time proving a year-old prescription was the source.”

  Lori walks back into the room and kneels beside me. She holds out her phone and is showing me the cover to David Curry’s book when Waller asks, “If you didn’t give him the pills, how did he get them?”

  Lori’s eyes go wide, and she says, “I know how.” She tabs through pages on her phone and then lets me read a section of the book. It takes two paragraphs for me to decide I’m really falling the fuck in love with this woman. “Read it to him,” I order.

  She stands up and starts to read:

  “It was a dark time in my life, like a cloud hovered just above me, waiting to rain down more and more despair. Everyone thought I was on top of the world but I was in hell.”

  “What does that have to do with the damn pill bottle?” Waller grumbles.

  “He was suicidal,” Lori says. “There’s every reason to believe he killed himself.”

  “He never said suicidal.”

  “He all but said it,” Lori argues. “A jury will see that.”

  “And yet the press hasn’t said a word about it. Not even they read that as suicidal.”

  “This book is two years old and it’s one paragraph,” Lori argues.

  “Exactly the point,” Waller counters. “But even if he did kill himself, your client gave him the drugs to do it.”

  “I didn’t give him those drugs,” Tara growls. “He had to have stolen them from me.”

  “Tell a jury,” Waller says.

  I stand up. “This interview is over.”

  “Wait!” Lori says. “just—give me a minute.” She holds up a finger. “His own words,” she says, and reads: “I even went so far as to hoard pills. I collected them. I knew that one day, I’d need them. One day it would all be too much.”

  She lowers her phone. “He took them from her.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Tara says. “Or not. Damn him. Damn all of this.” Tara gets up and says, “I need air,” and leaves the room.

  Waller smirks. “He didn’t say he took other people’s pills. That’s not enough to shut me down.”

  “In other words,” I say, “you plan to torment her through the press, and jeopardize her career, unless she makes up a fantasy about her father to end this.”

  He holds out his hands. “I just want her to tell the truth.”

  I press my hands on the table, and lean toward him. “I will sue you, your boss, the city, and everyone in between if you slander her or release her private medical history. No one else has it.”

  “I’m sure with TMZ and the random tabloids, someone is looking. Offer her the deal. Her for her father.” He looks at Lori. “Choose your sides wisely. It would not be smart to start your career on the wrong side of the law.” It’s a threat to go after her and he looks at me. Our eyes hold for several beats, and he adds, “If you don’t offer her the deal, you will look suspicious, like you aren’t protecting her interest over her father’s. If you do offer her the deal, and she takes it, you look like you represented a crook and took down police officers, all in the name of a criminal. If she doesn’t take the deal, and her world ruptures, you become part of the internal bleeding. Good luck.” He smirks and walks toward the door.

  “Waller,” I say.

  “Yes, Brooks?”

  I don’t even turn to look at him. “Your friends thought they beat me, too. They’re in jail.” Now I look at him. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

  He stares at me again for several hard beats. “I’m not them,” he says, and he leaves.

  Lori steps to my side. “Now what?”

  I glance over at her. “He threatened you,” I say. “In other words, he just ensured that I’m not done until he’s done.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Cole

  “Bring Tara into the room.”

  Lori stares at me, clearly ready to ask a million questions she knows she can’t ask right now. Not here, not while we’re being watched. She hesitates but tears her gaze from mine, exits the room and returns with Tara. “Now what?” she asks, shutting the door behind her.

  “This room is being filmed,” I warn. “You aren’t speaking to me but Detective Waller. You have two choices: Give up your father or take the heat, and potentially expose your rehab records to the studios, which could damage your career. Should you choose the latter option, I’m going to connect you with an attorney I know here locally that will
sue the fuck out of everyone we can sue and recover millions upon millions without you having to work.”

  “I couldn’t give up my father if I wanted to,” she says. “He’s an honest man. I know nothing negative to share with these people, and even if I did, I would not turn on him for a career that has a limited lifespan. So to choose an option, I say, sue the fuck out of them. Connect me to that attorney. Now. Today.”

  “Good choice,” I say. “I’ll make a phone call now.” I pull out my phone, setup a meeting for this afternoon despite this being a Sunday. Lori and I walk with Tara toward security, during which I send a text to Adam: Red alert.

  He’ll know that means trouble. He’ll know that means I’ll pay whatever it takes to find the dirt I know exists on Waller.

  He replies with: Message received. Still free of charge.

  I’m fortunate that Walker Security hates dirty cops as much as I do, and if Waller is with the ones we already took down, he’s a killer and a thief and I won’t let someone like that target Lori. I should never have brought her here.

  Once we’re at security, we coordinate with Tara’s guards, and part ways with the agreement that keeps us out of the press chaos. Lori and I are to walk four blocks down to a Starbucks where they will pick us up. We exit the police station and start walking, wordless and keeping a fast pace, both of us watching for press, moving quickly through the crunch of people swarming the walkways. It’s not until we reach the coffee shop, and the pickup location, that Lori steps in front of me, her green eyes alight with challenge. “Do not back down for me,” she says, stepping in front of me.

  “We aren’t backing down,” I say. “Thanks to you and that book excerpt, we’ve set the stage for a harassment case against the department should they take inappropriate actions. The right attorney is here in LA who specializes in these type of cases, and will fight that portion of this battle while we battle any criminal charges if they’re filed, which I doubt based on the facts.”

  “He threatened you, too.”

  “A day at the office,” I say.

  “Then it’s that to me as well. I can handle it.”

  “I have no doubt you can handle yourself,” I say, “but this one came at you because of me. He threatened you to get to me. This doesn’t end well for him and that is on me.”

  “What does that mean, Cole?”

  “It means he’s going down.”

  “The way you made those other officers go down?”

  “Damn skippy, sweetheart. Just like that.”

  “What exactly did you do to take down those officers?”

  I narrow my eyes on her. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I just—the way you’re responding to this—”

  “Careful who you admire,” I say. “You might choose wrong. Is that what this is? You chose wrong?”

  “No. Cole, I didn’t—”

  A car pulls up next to us and the back window rolls down. Tara pokes her head out. “Get in.”

  “Let’s go,” I order.

  “I didn’t mean that how it came across.”

  “You can explain later. When I’m done with my job, which includes protecting you.”

  “Now I’m a job.”

  “Was that ever a question?” I ask, knowing the inference I’ve made. That she was never more when she’s so fucking much more, but I’m pissed. I’m really fucking pissed right now. I step around her and head for the car, aware that she’s judging me by her father. Aware that I told her I could deal with her thinking the worst of me, but fuck. She thinks I’m a damn criminal? That’s a hard pill to swallow.

  ***

  Lori

  I spend the next few hours regretting my words to Cole, and doing exactly what he no longer thinks I’m capable of: Admiring him, watching him work the magic that makes him a master at what he does, that makes him deserve my admiration, not accusation. Thanks to him, Tara has, at his urging in the presence of her new legal team, called her mother, father, agent, manager, and apparently a studio head, and just confessed all her secrets. Control is hers and we finish the meeting just in time for her party. We ride back to the hotel with her between us. Her driver pulls into the hotel’s private parking garage and we all exit the car. “You two should come to the party tonight.” Tara looks at me. “I’ll send you a few dresses to try on.”

  I don’t want to go to this party. I want to talk to Cole. I want to kiss Cole. I want to apologize. I want him to stop being an asshole, even though I deserve it.

  “We have work to do on your case,” Coles says, “and we’ll be flying out in the morning.”

  Not tonight.

  The urgency to take me to his bed has clearly departed.

  Tara argues with him, but ultimately rushes off to get ready for her party. “Can we talk please?” I ask, as we step into an elevator.

  “Not now,” he says, staring forward, refusing to look at me. “Right now,” he adds, “we’re going back to the suite to help Adam and his team try to find dirt on Waller. We can talk when we’re on the plane tomorrow.”

  My stomach knots and I turn away from him, because he’s not looking at me anyway, and of course, there are cameras. I can say next to nothing, but I have to say something. “I’m sorry,” I say. “What I said came out all wrong and—”

  “Not here,” he orders.

  “Right,” I say. “On the plane tomorrow.”

  The elevator dings and the doors open. Cole motions me forward and I’m having all kinds of crazy thoughts. I’ll just stop and kiss him. I’ll never kiss him again because this was all a mistake. I’m back to I’ll just stop and kiss him when we arrive at the door and he scans the card. I’ll just kiss him inside. He shoves open the door and I find Adam and another man sitting on the living room couches with a big bottle of tequila in front of them.

  Cole joins me, and the second unknown man stands to a towering height of the Jolly Green Giant. Seriously, the man is like six-foot-four or five, not to mention he’s all muscle with a huge scar down his cheek. “Name’s Rick Savage,” he announces with a grin, and lifts a shot glass that he downs. “Because I’m a savage.”

  I laugh, because otherwise, I might cry. Cole looks at me. “You laughed at that?”

  “Now you look at me?” I challenge.

  “I’m funny, dude,” Savage says. “It was funny.”

  “What are we doing?” Cole asks, sounding far from amused at Savage or me.

  “We,” Adam says, downing a shot, “are doing our best work on finding Waller’s secrets. Tequila is our magic juice.”

  “Got an extra glass?” I ask.

  Cole looks at me again. “You don’t drink, remember?”

  “I drink,” I say. “Just not a lot.” I look at Savage. “Glass?”

  “Oh, oh, oh,” Savage says. “The lady wants some tequila. Come on over.” He sits down, pours me a shot, and I take a seat on the couch, a cushion between him and me, and accept the drink.

  Cole stares at me from where he’s still standing outside the line of the living room, his expression unreadable. “Fuck it,” he says, peeling off his jacket. “Pour me one, too.” He joins Adam which places him directly across from me, a table between us.

  I down the shot and I can’t stop the grimace. “Oh God. How do you drink this stuff?”

  Everyone laughs, except Cole. “Number two is easier,” Savage says refilling my glass.

  Cole downs his shot without so much as a blink. “Where are we on Waller?”

  One of three MacBooks sitting on the coffee table beeps. “That will be our latest update,” Adam says. “We have our two best hackers on the job. Blake and Asher.”

  “Hackers?” I ask.

  “That’s right,” Savage says, tapping my glass. “That’ll sound better with another drink down you, I promise.”

  Cole actually looks at me now and arches a brow. Asshole. I down the damn shot and ohhhh my how my head spins. I set the glass d
own. I’m done. That was one too many for nothing but croissants and bacon all day.

  “Asher hacked every camera around Waller’s apartment, and areas he frequents,” Adam announces. “He might have something. He’s noncommittal probably because he’s not drinking. I know that man. We were SEALs together. He’s a better hacker drunk.”

  Savage grabs his computer and checks for an update. “Blake says Waller has an Internal Affairs record. Bingo.”

  I frown. “How does he know that?”

  “Aside from all of our friends in high places,” Savage says, “if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” He motions to Cole. “And I’m pretty sure my Green Beret past won’t save me from him if that happens.” My eyes meet Cole’s for about two seconds before Cole refills his glass.

  Savage motions to a MacBook on the coffee table. “Grab that and look up a couple of names Blake is throwing at me.”

  I start helping the best I can while my head spins, and at some point I end up on the floor, jacket and shoes off, hair down, pizza in hand, and I think another drink. No. It’s a soda. The pizza helped the spinning room slow down. My head isn’t buzzing nearly as badly as it was at one point, but I just can’t slip out of the haze I’m in and yet my heart is hurting because through all of this, Cole and I have not spoken or touched. He just gives me heavy lidded stares that I imagine mean: You’re a bitch and I’m done with you, even though I warned him I was going to screw up like this.

  I stand up. “Where ya going, chick-a-dee?” Savage asks.

  I don’t know what language he is speaking. I also don’t know why but I walk right up to Cole and I say. “You’re being an asshole.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No,” I say, “that question pretty much seals the asshole label because even though I earned it first, you’ve succeeded in making it your own. Another win for you.”