“Daddy’s not in a good mood,” Maddie tells me. “He’s talking to yucky Kayla.”
Just the mention of her name bunches up my stomach, adding to my angst. My ears tune into his conversation.
“Kayla, tell Sheldon he can’t have the nude. No matter how much he wants to pay for it.”
Sheldon Greenberg wants the painting of me? His tone sharp, Finn continues.
“It’s not for sale. Period. And Kayla, no, I can’t pick you up right now and take you to the gallery. I have to supervise the movers, who are bringing over the last few canvases.”
Finn’s jaw tightens as he listens to her reply. “The same to you.”
Have a nice day. Or. Fuck you. The way he abruptly ends the call, it’s likely the latter. Despite my anxiety, I can’t help a smug smile. Shoving his phone into a pocket, the man I love catches sight of me. His face relaxes a bit.
“Hi, baby. I’m sorry. Just some last minute bullshit.”
Maddie giggles. “Daddy, you just said a bad word.”
Finn slaps his forehead. “Snap! I didn’t mean to.” He turns to our housekeeper. “Rosita, would you please get Maddie dressed and then take her for a walk on the beach?”
“Sí, señor. No hay problema.” A gleeful Maddie jumps off the stool and pirouettes out of the room, Rosita trailing her.
Once they’re gone, Finn and I gather at the island, seated catty-corner to one another. Lifting his fork, he stabs at his cold, soggy pancakes.
“I’ll make you some eggs,” I say softly, my fingertips brushing across the top of his hand.
“Don’t bother. I’m not really hungry.”
The tension etched on his face eats at me. “You’re worried about tonight?”
“A little bit.” He takes a sip of his coffee, which is probably cold too, then sets the mug down. “I’m more worried about you. Did you reach Nicole?”
Shaking my head, I relay my conversation with her agent’s assistant. Guarded optimism, but with each passing minute, I’m losing hope. For all I know, she may be out of the country. Inaccessible. Just as I’m about to share my growing despair, my phone pings. A text. My heart thudding, I glance down at the screen. It’s from her! Nicole Farrell!
I share the good news with Finn. “She wants to meet with me at noon.”
“Let me come with you.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got to do this alone. At least this first step. Besides, you’ve got to focus on your show.”
“Fucking timing.” He huffs out a breath. “Then we should call the police.”
“Please, Finn, not yet. It’s too soon.”
CHAPTER 55
Noon. Parking my Jeep on Beverly Glen, I hop out with my backpack in tow. Slung over my shoulders, it feels weighty with my notebook, laptop, and phone, which now has a recording app. Briskly, I head into the park, wondering why a celebrity of this magnitude has chosen such a public place to meet.
Passing elderly men and women, elegantly clad in all white and engaged in a leisurely game of lawn bowling, I make my way to the other side of the leafy oasis. Swings and slides come into view. Squealing toddlers and youngsters occupy them, with parents and caretakers close by. With the low-seventies sunny weather, it’s a perfect fall day to spend here, and for a moment, I wish my Maddie was here with me. How fun it would be to push her on a swing or catch her in my arms after gliding down a slide.
Shoving these maternal thoughts to the back of my mind, I search for the sandbox and find it quickly. I scurry toward it, my eyes scouring the surrounding park benches in search of Nicole. A few feet away from the toddler-filled sandbox, I spot her, seated all alone. A smile warms her exquisite face, easily recognizable though she’s trying to be incognito, wearing oversized dark sunglasses and a big floppy hat to hide her signature red hair. Faded jeans, combat boots, and a baggy sweater complete her ensemble, mine almost the same except for my baseball cap.
“Nicole?” Though I’m certain it’s her, my tone is more of a question than a statement as I approach her.
Averting her sight from the sandbox, she glances up at me. “Scarlet?”
Taking off my shades, I inhale a deep breath. “No.”
She cocks her head, her expression puzzled. My gaze doesn’t stray from her.
“My name is Skye. Skye Collins.”
As she clasps a hand to her mouth, I sit down beside her.
It doesn’t take me long to tell Nicole my story after she gets over her initial shock. She listens intently, hanging on to every word, her eyes occasionally darting to the sandbox and then back to me. Her dark glasses mask her emotions, but they can’t hide the tears that trickle down her cheekbones. I tell her about my lengthy and painful rehabilitation, then about my subsequent entry into the Witness Protection Program, and finally about how fate brought me back to my husband and daughter.
She takes my hand, her lips quivering, the tears falling. “I-I’m so sorry. I almost cost you your life. It’s all my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Nicole, that’s why I’m here. I don’t remember the accident or anything leading up to it.”
“Oh my God.”
“Nicole, I need you to help me remember. To help me find the person who did this to me and then put them away.”
“I knew your accident had something to do with me,” she splutters. “I should have gone to the police.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She hangs her head in shame. “I was too afraid. Soon after your tragic accident, I got married and adopted a child.”
Her gaze shifts again to the sandbox. A darling little boy in overalls, who looks to be the same age as Maddie, waves at her. My companion forces a smile and waves back.
“That’s my little boy . . . Skyler.”
“Skyler?”
“Yes. I named him after you. I believed you died for me. I wanted to keep your memory and bravery alive with my son. I went to your memorial service.”
My heart swells with emotion. “Thank you,” I say softly with a squeeze of her hand.
The little boy goes back to building his sandcastle. A short stretch of silence ensues before I break it.
“Why were you afraid?”
“I was afraid he would come after me . . . ”
He. The pronoun spins in my head as Nicole continues.
“And hurt me. Just like he did to you. He’s very powerful.” She brushes away a tear. “He hurt me once and I swore I’d never let him do it again . . . to anyone.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t even remember us meeting a few weeks before your accident?”
I shake my head. “I have no recollection.”
“We met for coffee. I told you what he did to me. I wanted the world to know.”
My need to know grips me like a vise and stifles any other thought.
“Nicole, tell me again. What did he do to you?”
The color in her face drains. A painful memory has stolen it. Her lips tremble, her hand grows cold and clammy. I give it another reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay, Nicole. I’m here for you. You can tell me.” You must tell me.
For a quick second, she checks on her son and then faces me. My blood roars in my ears, draining out the laughter and chatter of the children around us.
Nicole bites down on her bottom lip, taking in a shuddering breath. Then, her lips part. The words tumble out one by one. “He. Raped. Me.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“And there’s something I didn’t tell you the first time we met. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t submit and sign his non-disclosure agreement.”
“Who did this to you?” Every muscle in my body quakes as I await her response. My heart slams against my chest, every beat faster.
When his name spills out, I gasp so loud it hurts. It’s my turn to clasp a hand to my mouth, not because I’m shocked, but because I may vomit.
My hear
t almost stops.
I flash back a dozen years.
Oh my God!
It’s the monster that assaulted me!
My husband’s backer.
Sheldon Greenberg!
CHAPTER 56
I pace my studio, my head bowed and two fingers pressed deep into my throbbing temples.
“Skye, are you fucking kidding me? Sheldon Greenberg?”
I still can’t get over the news that my biggest collector, who’s hosting my first major one-man show, may be linked to my wife’s attempted murder.
“Are you sure?”
“Finn, look at me.” Her voice is firm and commanding.
I stop in my tracks. Dropping my hands to my sides, I make eye contact.
“Yes, I’m sure. One hundred percent positive. It had to be Nicole Farrell’s story I was pursuing. That night—and the ones before it—when I was all dolled up and not wearing my wedding band—I likely went undercover to meet him. He must have somehow uncovered my true identity and gone after me.”
Rage floods every vein of my body. The thought of the fat pig touching my wife anywhere makes my blood simmer, bringing it to the boiling point. At the thought of him putting his sick dick anywhere near her, I explode.
“The fucking son of a bitch! What did he do to you?”
“Baby, I don’t remember. That night’s still a total blank.”
My imagination goes wild. In my mind’s eye, I see the motherfucker pinning her down, slobbering all over her, and forcing her to have sex with him. Pummeling her with his one-eyed monster, my wife crying, trying to break free of him.
“Fuck!” Standing next to the metal drafting table, I bang it with my fist. My knuckles sting, but the pain is nothing compared to the anguish—the wrath—that’s eating me alive. The goddamn bastard! Skye’s voice cuts into my fury.
“Finn, there’s something else you need to know.” She pauses, our eyes still connected. “That night at Christie’s when we met . . . ”
“What about it?’
“He was the one who assaulted me.”
“What!?” It takes me several long moments to process this revelation as I flash back to that night. I never got a good look at the bastard’s face and we never talked about it again. But now, in the back of my mind, I remember Skye telling me the story was personal to her. A tidal wave of anger and remorse surges inside me. I should have killed the motherfucker that night. Bashed his face so badly he couldn’t take another bloody breath. Then broken every bone in his body just like he did to Skye. It’s not too late.
Skye halts my murderous thoughts. “So it makes sense I would pursue Nicole’s story. Attempt to bring Sheldon Greenberg down.”
There’s no reasoning. I lose it. All rationality goes by the wayside. White-hot rage consumes me. One by one, I start tossing my canvases across the concrete floor. Storming through my studio like a cyclone.
“Finn, what are you doing?” Skye cries out. “Stop it!” The rapid thud of her footsteps sounds behind me and then I feel her hands clutch my shoulders, trying to hold me back. I shrug her off. Nothing can stop my rampage.
“Goddamn fucking bastard. I want to kill the motherfucker for what he did to you. For what he did to us. And to Maddie.” I rip off another painting from an easel and hurl it. Skye tries harder to stop me, gripping my elbows. Her voice grows louder, more desperate.
“Please, Finn, stop! You can’t destroy your paintings. Your career!”
“Fuck him. I’m canceling the show.”
“No. You can’t do that! Please, you’ve got to listen to me!”
My rage only escalates. I’m about to blindly fling another painting, when she steps in front of it, spreading her arms across the canvas. It’s her portrait. The nude. She picks up a nearby palette knife.
“Get of my way!” I yell.
“No! If you want to toss this painting, then you’re going to have to get rid of me first. Toss me out the window like I’m a worthless piece of junk.” She glares at me. “Or slash me with this knife.”
She throws the knife at me and I catch it by its handle. Her eyes stay fierce as they fill with tears.
“Do it, Finn! Do it! And you’ll be a monster just like him!”
Her words pierce my heart like a thousand knives. I could never hurt my wife! Ever! Unclenching my fists, I drop the knife and fall to my knees. Skye joins me on the floor. Facing me, she tenderly tips up my head and then cradles it between her hands. The rage inside me subsides.
“I’m sorry, baby.” My voice is a hoarse, regretful rasp.
She caresses my jaw, her touch as light as a feather. “It’s okay, my love. I understand how angry you are. But I need you to be strong for me. To help me bring him down.”
I search her steadfast eyes. “Skye, what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to do your show tonight.”
I survey the dozen or so paintings strewn on the floor. A ten-car pile up, but not a carnage. They all look to be in good shape. I can get them there in time.
Lowering Skye’s hands, I clasp them, lacing my fingers with hers. “I want you to be there with me tonight.”
“Of course, my love.”
Relief laces her soft voice. Her eyes stay on mine, her voice growing stronger.
“Baby, do you still have that dress you bought me to wear that night?”
My mind jumps back to the day I bought it. How excited I was for her to wear it to celebrate her birthday and my good fortune to have landed an agent. That day I met Kayla and she introduced me to the bastard. The irony of it makes my blood freeze over, but maybe it’s all meant to be. After Skye’s alleged death, I gave away all her clothes to a women’s shelter, but I couldn’t part with that sexy red dress. I thought about returning it, but the image of her wearing it kept her alive in my mind. I tell her I still have it.
“I’m going to need it.” A fleeting smile, then her expression grows fierce. “To take the monster down.”
Then, she tells me her plan. Christ. I can’t let her go through with it. She’s out of her mind and I’ll be out of my mind if I do. It’s way too risky. Her life is at stake. Our lives, everything we’ve rebuilt. I try to talk her out of it, but there’s no stopping my kick-ass wife. My mind in a frenzy, an idea comes to me—there’s someone I need to call. Back at the house, I frantically search for his business card. Shit. Where the hell did I put it? Shoving open kitchen drawers like a madman, I finally find it hidden under one of Maddie’s paintings on the fridge. I grab my cell phone and dial the ten-digit number on the card, my forefinger gliding across the keypad like a speed skater. There’s no fucking way Skye is going through with this alone. I lost her once. I’m not going to lose her again.
The phone rings and rings and rings. I hear myself curse. C’mon. Pick up your goddamn phone.
Finally, just as I’m about to give up, a gruff voice with a heavy Jersey accent, spills into my ear.
“Detective Pete Billings here . . . ”
CHAPTER 57
Getting the remainder of his paintings to the gallery, Finn leaves the house a little after two p.m. to supervise their installation. The reception begins at six.
I have a couple of hours to get myself ready. He’s sending a car for me at four, allowing two hours to get to West Hollywood in the rush hour traffic.
Alone and on edge, I soak in his sunken bathtub, contemplating my plan. The hot bath does little to calm my nerves. Stepping out, I wrap myself in one of his fluffy terrycloth robes and proceed to put on my makeup. I’m going heavier than usual—smoky eyes, lots of mascara, and ruby red lips. And extra foundation to cover the faint scar by my eyebrow—a never-ending reminder of that near-fatal night. As I’m applying my lipstick, Maddie bops in. Minus Kangy, she gapes at me.
“Wow, Mommy! You look so different!”
I study myself in the mirror. She’s right.
“What do you think?” I ask after blotting my lips with a tissue.
“You look so beautiful!
Like a movie star!”
Magic words. That’s exactly the image I want to project. And it comes along with a well-rehearsed pitch for a show I want to write and star in. The story of my life.
I brush my long hair, which I washed in the morning while showering with Finn. It cascades over my shoulder.
“Sweetie, how do you think I should wear my hair?” Generally, I wear it in a high ponytail or braid; it’s just easy that way.
“Wear it down! It’s so pretty.”
“Okay.” I flash a small smile as I style it in place. Though I’m still not used to my new look, my little fashion guru embraces it. I take her hand.
“Come. Help me get dressed.” I need the company. My darling daughter will keep me grounded and collected. She’s seen my scars and I told her I was in a car crash. “Like my first mommy,” she said and I replied, “Just like your first mommy.” When she asked me more about it, I said I didn’t remember. But tonight, that’s going to change. I’m going to find out how the bastard almost killed me and then put him away.
I take a fortifying breath and follow my little girl as she waltzes into Finn’s adjacent bedroom. Our bedroom.
As I step inside, anxiety revisits me. My sexy red dress is laid out neatly on the bed. Beside it is a lacy black push-up bra and matching thong along with a brand new pair of shiny black stilettos and a small, dressy bag, which I had delivered from a trendy Country Mart boutique. The bag is just big enough to hold my cell phone, credit card, and lipstick.
Maddie studies the array. She focuses on the lace underwear.
“Mommy, you can get your tooshie into those teensy weensy panties?”
As on edge as I am, I can’t help but laugh.
Keeping my robe on, I reach for them and slip my legs into the openings. I slide them up my thighs until they’re sitting on my ass.
“Let’s see, Mommy.” The tone of my sassy daughter’s voice is demanding.
“Wait till I put my bra on.”
Before I can, she grabs it and holds it up against her chest. My inquisitive daughter glances down at the stiff, sculpted cups of the strapless undergarment.
Remember Me Page 25
