Celebrity Spin Doctor

by Celia Mulder

  Michel glared at him for a few more moments and then relented. “Where do you suggest we go?”

  “You have a private jet, don’t you? That seems like a good start.”

  “What about Sylvia?”

  Simon sighed. “With all the racket you made coming here, do you really think her kidnappers stuck around to be found out? They’re gone.”

  Brett cleared his throat. “Um, so the lobby is full of cops and the hotel surrounded. Just how do you think we’re going to get to said private jet?”

  Lucille’s brain had been working while they argued. There was an emergency stair exit she’d noted at the end of the hall. No doubt it led up as well as down. There had to be roof access and, given the luxury of the resort, a helicopter landing pad.

  “Michel, does this island have a hospital?” she asked.

  “No. Everyone is flown to New Zealand for medical treatment,” Michel replied, frowning at her.

  Lucille nodded.

  Simon turned to her, his eyes gleaming with the same idea she had. “That would work.”

  “I know.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “The end of the hall, last left. You take Michel and have him call on the way. I’ll take Brett,” she said.

  “Don’t get caught,” Simon said with a grin.

  Lucille grinned back. The two men were watching them with confused, uncertain expressions.

  “Do we still need the ransom money?” Michel asked.

  “You brought the twenty million?” Simon said. His surprise was there and gone in an instant, so quick Lucille was sure Brett and Michel missed it. He shrugged. “Might was well grab it since you brought it all this way.”

  Something, besides the kidnapping, explosion, and murder attempts, was going on. Simon knew about it, and as soon as they were safely on the jet, Lucille was getting some answers.

  Simon sprang into action, grabbing Michel by his muscular bicep and leading him out into the hall. Lucille grabbed Brett’s hand and dragged him toward the elevators.

  “What are we doing? Aren’t we supposed to be running away from the police?”

  The elevator dinged. The doors opened. Lucille pushed Brett inside. “I’m so sorry about this,” she whispered. Then she kissed him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brett didn’t know what the hell she was sorry about, but he didn’t mind the kissing. Her mouth was firm and sweet, her body hot against his, the little dress an inconsequential barrier. Her hands slid over him, pushing on his chest, gently forcing him against the back wall of the elevator. He wrapped his good arm around her, trying to pull her in, to feel all of her against him, but she put up a hand between them. Which was good and right for some reasons he couldn’t remember. Maybe it had something to do with being in an elevator. No, that was okay. He was going to live in this elevator with Lucille forever, his hand on the small of her back, his mouth crushed against hers, the heat between them overpowering.

  Their new elevator home dinged to announce a floor. Lucille pulled back as a pain shot through Brett’s injured arm. He shouted, unable to help himself, and looked down at it. Somehow, without him noticing, no doubt because of all the kissing, she’d unbuckled the sling and then pushed hard on his newly relocated shoulder, popping it out again. His vision blurred.

  Brett felt her arm around his waist, holding him up, walking him out of the elevator. In the hall, she let him slide to the floor. Her face appeared above his, a little blurry, but he thought she looked contrite. Served her right. People couldn’t go around re-dislocating other people’s shoulders, especially while making out with that other person.

  Lucille leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and this time he knew what it was for.

  Brett’s thoughts were a jumbled mess. What if that apology wasn’t for the shoulder? What if she was going to, he didn’t know, pop out his other arm? Was she giving him a kiss for each injury she inflicted on him? If so, how come the first kiss was so great and this one so lame? He deserved another full make-out if she was, in fact, going to further mutilate him.

  A man came into view, wearing a suit jacket and the name of the hotel. It wasn’t the guy from before. He leaned in so close Brett thought the man was going to kiss him too. Instead, he asked Brett incomprehensible questions and then told him something about a helicopter and a hospital. Brett needed a hospital. He wasn’t sure how the helicopter played into it, but if it led to a hospital, fine by him.

  Then he was being lifted by more men and laid on a cot. Either they were taking him to get help or wheeling him to a corner to die. He didn’t care which at the moment, as long as the pain stopped.

  The cot moved, back onto the elevator. As they were sliding it through the doors, one of the men slipped and the cot careened into the wall, knocking Brett’s arm against the metal. He yelled as the arm twisted and pain seared through his shoulder. He heard a barrage of apologies, but the whole place was already going dark.

  ***

  There wasn’t room on the elevator for her. Lucille hadn’t counted on that. She’d found a staff member who wasn’t the manager and didn’t know Brett already had the injured arm. She’d made a big fit about him slipping on the lip of the elevator because it wasn’t even with the floor. She’d made sure they knew she was prepared to sue if Brett didn’t get flown to the nearest hospital for emergency care at once. And she’d done it all quietly enough on the second floor of the hotel that the policemen in the lobby hadn’t shown up. But she hadn’t realized there wouldn’t be enough room for her on the elevator. She wasn’t an architect and she had no sense of spatial dimensions, or how big a gurney was, or that they’d have four people to lift him onto it and wheel him, or that the man who’d come to help would want to personally escort the guest to the medical helicopter on the roof.

  She hit the up button a few more times for good measure. The other elevator went down past her to the lobby and then came back up. The doors opened and Matt stepped out of them.

  “Lucy.” He looked genuinely surprised to see her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same.” Her heart sank, then pounded with anxious adrenaline. She needed to get off this island and far, far away from the man in front of her. The elevator left without her.

  “I heard there was a disturbance on this floor and came to see if it might be related to the earlier incident. But no, just a hotel guest tripping and threatening to sue. Did you see anything?”

  Lucille shook her head. “No. I walked up just as you arrived.”

  Lying to Matt used to be difficult for her. She found it much easier now that she hated him.

  “That’s unfortunate. You’d be a good witness.” He didn’t look like he was joking. His eyes were dark and his face solemn. “I don’t suppose you were here earlier when the bomb went off?”

  “I was here. I mean, not here here. I was by the pool, but I heard it. Did anyone get hurt?”

  “No. Are you here with Michel Polce?”

  “Of course I’m here with Michel. Think I’d be hanging around on a resort island halfway around the world if I wasn’t?”

  “Then you heard Miss Stanton was reportedly here.”

  Lucille spoke without a trace of sarcasm. “No, we decided to take a break from all that, do a little sun-tanning.”

  Matt’s mouth thinned. “Cut the bullshit, Lucille.”

  “I’m not the one asking dumb questions,” she said. She was getting more annoyed with each passing second. The helicopter would be there by now and they’d be waiting on her. Or they’d already left.

  “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I mean, I’m not sorry about finding you again, but I am sorry for the things I said. I can’t do this anymore. You, me, always fighting.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay.”

  “We could give it all up, you know. Leave all these lies and secrets and betrayals behind. We could start fresh somewhere and be open and honest with
each other. What do you say?” His voice cracked on the last part. His body language pleaded sincerity. It would take a cold, heartless bitch to walk away from a man like that, a man offering her the world.

  But it wasn’t the world she wanted, and right now she was more concerned about the man whose shoulder she’d dislocated hating her than the one in front of her. She hit the “up” button. The doors opened. “I have to go.” It was all she could think to say.

  As the doors closed, Matt gave her the saddest, most lovesick puppy face she’d ever seen in her life and said, “When you stop running, Lucille, I’ll be there. And I’ll still love you.”

  Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God, she thought as the elevator climbed to the roof. Oh God. Also, what the shit? What was she supposed to do with that? Drop all her life’s work and run away to be Mrs. Matt Adams in a cute little house somewhere in a safe neighborhood where people only saw celebrities on TV? Things change, Matt. Things change and people change, not always for the better.

  She didn’t know what Matt was playing at, but it wasn’t going to work. She wasn’t little bad-girl Lucy anymore. She was something entirely new. A woman with a heart of ice and the sex drive of a bitch in heat.

  Speaking of which, the slowest elevator in the universe finally arrived at its destination, and she rushed to make sure her would-be fuck buddy was still good to go.

  The helicopter idled on the roof. There was, luckily, room for all of them. Simon and Michel were already on board and pretending to be Brett’s distant but concerned cousins. Lucille jumped on as Brett’s wife, and the whole crew took off from the top of the hotel, heading across the short gap of ocean to where Michel’s private jet waited to take them home.

  The ride back was surprisingly uncomplicated, considering the cast of characters and the modes of transportation. Brett woke up when they got to New Zealand and was more miffed than the helicopter pilot when they told him they weren’t actually taking him to a hospital but were flying back to the States on Michel’s jet. Michel offered to set his shoulder again and, since they definitely couldn’t see a real doctor with a fugitive in tow, Lucille had no choice but to let him, much to Brett’s consternation. Luckily, Brett passed out again when Michel jerked his bone back into place, which stopped him from yelling about kidnapping and needing medical care. Michel paid off everyone at the airport and threatened the ones who continued to argue. They got on the plane, Brett lying back in his chair in a drug-induced daze, and turned their attention to Simon.

  “Talk,” Michel snapped. Throughout the trip, he’d been glaring at Simon, giving him threatening gestures when he thought Lucille wasn’t looking.

  She didn’t care. Her uncle probably deserved it and much worse, especially if he knew where Sylvia Stanton was hiding and didn’t tell them.

  “Why were you in my fiancée’s room?”

  Lucille sipped her martini, letting the liquor burn down her throat. When all this is over, I’m going to sleep for three days. Fucking psychopathic celebrities.

  Simon met Michel’s glare, his face calm. “I was having a perfectly relaxing exile on the island when her associates approached me and asked for my help.”

  Michel frowned. So did Lucille. The more things unraveled, the less sense it all made.

  “Why did she need your help?”

  Simon took a long drink of his martini and answered solemnly. “To escape. She’d gotten away from her kidnappers and had hired some of the local men to be her bodyguards. She was terrified the kidnappers were onto her and needed to get off the island as quickly as possible. I had a sort of, uh, reputation around the place as being someone who’s handy in tight situations. So I agreed, of course. One doesn’t say no to a Stanton.”

  Michel’s frown eased. He looked pained. “She was in trouble? But didn’t she know I was coming? Why didn’t she wait for me?”

  Simon reached out and patted Michel’s leg. They were seated at the bar, Lucille on the other side of Michel, where he couldn’t see her face. Her frown only deepened, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “My dear Michel, she wanted to wait for you, believe me, she did. She was sobbing, poor thing, about how she thought she’d never see you again. But when she was captured, she overheard the kidnappers say they’d only wanted the ransom as a ploy to get you there. They were going to kill you on sight.”

  Michel’s whole face drained of color. His shoulders slumped, and Lucille held out a hand in case he was inclined to faint off his stool. The last thing they needed was another unconscious celebrity. Brett was work enough.

  “She was protecting me,” Michel whispered. “All this time I thought she was trying to murder me, she was protecting me from the people who were.”

  Simon’s hand went from patting to rubbing Michel’s muscular thigh. “She was. She’s been your faithful lover this entire time. She wouldn’t let any harm come to you.”

  “But...who wants me dead?” Michel looked up. He glanced back at Lucille, who quickly rearranged her face to an expression of contrite concern.

  “Do you have any enemies, Michel? Anyone who’s been jealous of your fame or your career? Perhaps an ex-girlfriend who you wronged or who went crazy when you broke it off?” Simon was in his element, playing therapist and detective to the stars.

  Michel shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anyone. I mean, I had lovers before Sylvia, but I always treated them well. I know people are jealous of me, but last I knew all my stalkers had been arrested.”

  “Hmm,” Simon said, his brow furrowed. Not too deeply. As he’d always told his niece, even fake frowns cause permanent lines. “We will have to get to the bottom of this. But you see why I can’t take you to Sylvia, right? Not until we know who’s behind all this and have had them apprehended?”

  Michel nodded. “Is she safe, though?”

  “Of course, perfectly safe. Which she won’t be if you go after her. Now, why don’t you get some sleep? It’s a long trip, and we’ll have a lot of work to do when we get back.”

  Michel nodded again and then looked up to meet Simon’s eyes. “You’ll help?”

  “Of course. Lucy and I will do everything in our power to keep you and Miss Stanton safe.”

  Michel turned on his bar stool so he could take both of their hands. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such loyal friends.” Then he slumped back to his seat and was asleep in minutes, hiccupping pathetically.

  Lucille slid to Michel’s empty seat and hissed at her uncle, who’d gone, unflustered, back to his drink. “There are so many holes in that shitty story, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  Her uncle looked at her over his glass, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t frown, Lucy, it creates lines.”

  She scowled. “Don’t treat me like a kid. I’ve been doing your job since you left. I know your tricks. About ten percent of that bullshit you just fed him was true. So why were you really in Sylvia Stanton’s room that night?”

  Simon stared at her for a long time, but she didn’t look away, not like she would have when she was younger. He sighed. “Sylvia Stanton’s henchmen threatened me when I was having a lovely day by the pool with this hot young guy, minding my own business. Don’t even ask who he is, I won’t tell you.”

  “I don’t care who—”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you. He’s the CEO of a well-known tech company. Quiet, nerdy, skilled with the sunblock, and gay as a rainbow.”

  She didn’t have a response. Except to deepen her glare. It was his favorite tactic, distraction. “Get on with it.”

  “Whatever, don’t listen to the interesting parts. Anyway, I had to meet Sylvia in her room later that night or else she’d have me outed and arrested there on the spot. So, I went to her room.”

  “And?”

  Simon took a sip of his martini, swishing it annoyingly around his mouth before swallowing. “She wasn’t kidnapped.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Did she do it for the ransom money?”
/>   He nodded.

  “Because her father cut her off.”

  Simon nodded again. “She wasn’t big on the details, but that’s what I picked up. Anyway, she wanted me to blow up the hotel room of the supposed policeman who was coming with Michel. I was supposed to blow up your hotel room too, but I refused.”

  Lucille took the news of her attempted murder rather well. With all of the “accidents” going around, it seemed like only a matter of time before she was the victim of one herself. “Sylvia thought I was a cop?”

  “No, she knows who you are, just like she knew exactly who I was. We have a mole.”

  Lucille almost laughed out loud but stopped herself before she did and risked waking up the sleeping travelers. “We have a two-person operation. If we had a mole, it would have to be one of us.”

  “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. Honestly, Lucy, how could you get so sloppy?”

  Lucille set her glass down hard on the bar. “Excuse me? I’ve been sloppy? I’m not the one who got fucking arrested.”

  “That was...” Simon shook his head. “Let’s put all that on the back burner for now. Our top priority right now is to figure out where Sylvia Stanton is and how we’re going to stop her from killing Michel Polce.”

  Lucille clenched her jaw. She stood up from the bar. “No. What we really need to do is get some sleep. I am exhausted. I have been dealing with deranged fiancées, ex-boyfriends, and you for the past forty-eight hours. I am going to sleep until I cannot sleep anymore, and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll help.”

  Simon took another sip. “I didn’t take you for a quitter, Lucy.”

  “No, no, no,” she said. “You don’t get to put that on me. I was hired to keep this whole thing out of the press, and that is what I intend to do. If you want to get more involved, that’s fine. But I’m out.”

  Simon nodded. “You know there’s a good chance I could be arrested on sight the moment I set foot in the country.”