The Sweet Life #2: Lies and Omissions
Page 7
“Robin had been living in Sherman Oaks,” Gavin continued. “But I talked to her neighbor, who said she just moved to a house in Sweet Valley. The neighbor didn’t know the address, but I found it. That’s where I took this picture.”
Gavin tapped the photo to show Bruce. In the background, he could just make out the address on the mailbox.
“Did you find anything about why she would do this to me?”
Gavin shrugged. “Still digging. Don’t worry, we’ll find something.”
“I have to believe that. And thanks for finding this girl so quickly. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“It wasn’t—the police made sure she was well hidden—but being a private eye for twenty-five years gives you some advantage. And then a few well-placed bucks doubles it.”
“I can only assume the police were protecting her from me. No wonder Elizabeth couldn’t find her.” Still, he couldn’t help thinking she’d been working this case for more than a week. How could she have missed finding the girl no matter how they hid her? She was a good reporter. Scratch that—great reporter.
Something wasn’t right. He’d been feeling it since this whole thing started. First Elizabeth was with him one hundred percent, but then she seemed uncertain. Okay, he understood. Even if it wasn’t true, it was horrendous to have the guy you’ve been living with for three years accused of attempted rape. But he couldn’t understand how it was possible after all these years of friendship and of loving each other, of planning to spend their lives together, that she could have any doubts about him.
She did love him, didn’t she?
God, he didn’t know what he believed anymore.
Gavin stood to go. “I’ll find out whose name is on that lease tomorrow.”
Bruce waved a hand to show he had Gavin’s drink covered. The private eye flipped on a dark baseball cap and then hesitated by the bar stool, eyeing the fresh scotch on the rocks the bartender slid in front of Bruce.
“Do you want me to call you a cab? Make sure you get home okay?”
Bruce waved away the offer. “No. I’m going to stay here awhile.” He downed half of his drink in one big slug. He motioned for the bartender to bring him another.
Gavin felt a little uncomfortable about leaving him in this condition, but he was Bruce Patman, not a guy you could tell what to do.
“See ya,” he said, deciding to leave him.
“Thanks, Gavin,” Bruce said.
Bruce didn’t know how long he’d stayed at the bar downing scotch, but it was long enough to push Elizabeth into the background and give full concentration to Robin Platt as he stared at the picture Gavin had given him. Who the hell was she anyway? And why was she doing this to him?
He had to find out, and there was only one way. His anger cut through the foggy blur of alcohol, and he began to think about what Jessica had said about Robin being an opportunist—someone just out for fame and money. He looked at the picture again and saw the address on the house showed up clearly. After a couple of clumsy minutes, he managed to pull up the GPS on his phone. Her house was less than five minutes away.
He stared at the picture and at the map, and the fury inside him began to boil over. How dare she do this to him? He was Bruce Patman. Yes, he was worth millions, maybe billions, but he always thought of himself as a good guy. Someone who cared about people, someone who wanted to protect the environment, someone who would never come on to a strange girl at a bar. She was in trouble and all he had wanted to do was help her.
How could she smear his name and alienate the woman he loved? In his mind, this Robin person owed him an explanation. And he was damned well going to get it.
He slid off the bar stool and stumbled out to his car in the parking lot. For a bleary second, he couldn’t see it, but the remote on his key chain lit the parking lights and made his two-seater beep. He slunk into the driver’s side and put the key in the ignition. He had no idea how many drinks he’d had, but the road wasn’t spinning, so he thought he was okay to drive.
He swerved out of the parking lot and followed the blinking blue arrow on his phone down the map to Robin’s new house.
He made it there in three minutes. It was late, and the house was dark. She was probably sleeping. Not that he cared. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since this whole thing started. Why should she get to sleep?
He stumbled out of his car and slammed the door.
“Robin!” he shouted, his words coming out a tad bit slurred. “Robin Platt! You have things to say about me? Well, I’m here. Why don’t you come say them to my face?”
The house remained dark. Bruce shouted louder.
“You afraid, Robin? You should be!”
Down the street, a dog barked. Next door to Robin’s house, a light came on.
“I tried to help you, Robin. You asked me for help, and I gave it to you!”
Now a light came on in Robin’s house. Bruce staggered down the front porch to her door and tugged at it. The knob wouldn’t turn. He banged on the door hard.
“Robin Platt!” He banged on the door some more. After a minute, he left the door and climbed into the shrubs to look in the window. Inside, he saw a living room filled with boxes. He smacked the window so hard it cracked.
Down the street, a siren wailed.
“I’ve called the police!” shouted a scared voice from inside. Robin’s, he assumed.
“Good! Let them come. Then you can tell them what a little liar you are! Is this how you feel good about yourself? By making up lies?”
Bruce banged at the window again and the small square of window broke. He heard a scream from inside. Numbly, he looked down at his hand and saw a trickle of blood where a shard of broken glass had sliced his hand. He knew he should feel some kind of pain, but he didn’t feel anything. The alcohol, he guessed.
As he was studying his wounded hand, a black-and-white police car screeched to a halt in front of Robin’s house, half in and half out of the driveway. Two uniformed officers jumped out, drawing their guns.
“Step away from the house!” one of them cried.
“Put your hands up where we can see them,” demanded the other.
Bruce turned around, blinking against the white searchlight the officers had turned on him and the house, blood dripping from one hand. He was temporarily blinded. One of the officers moved slowly toward him.
“Wha…? I’m not the criminal!” he bellowed at them. “She’s the one…she’s the one who’s destroying my life!”
He swung his arms wide to make his point, showing off his wounded hand. The officers took one look at his bleeding palm and at the broken window behind him and had nearly all the evidence they needed. This case? Open and shut.
One officer signaled to the other, who began moving slowly around to Bruce’s blind side.
“Look, sir, we just want to talk, so come over here, hands up, and we can talk.”
“That’s just what I want to do! I want to talk. That’s why I came here!” Bruce waved his arm around furiously. He desperately wanted to make them understand.
But before he could, something big and heavy came down on him. The officer closest to him had lunged and tackled him. His face hit the concrete sidewalk hard, and he tasted blood in his mouth.
“Do yourself a favor and don’t struggle,” the officer said as he wrenched Bruce’s arms behind his back and clicked cold, metal cuffs on his wrists.
For a second, Bruce really didn’t understand what was happening. His brain moved in slow motion. Why was he wearing handcuffs?
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be held against you in a court of law…”
“I’m not a criminal!” Bruce shouted, but he only got a knee in the back for his trouble. The officer’s knee knocked the breath out of him for a second, and he gasped to recover. Bruce couldn’t remember a time when anyone had put their hands on him like this. He commanded hundreds of people at his company and foundation and elsewhere. Nobody treated him
like this. As he squirmed under the officer, he glanced up and saw Robin’s door open a little. A blond head stared out at him with frightened eyes.
Another officer walked up the stoop and began to ask her questions. Nobody put handcuffs on her. Why was nobody arresting her? She was the one who deserved it. The unfairness of it all just shot through Bruce like white-hot lightning.
“There she is! The lying little bitch! I swear…I’ll…” Bruce sputtered.
“That’s enough!” the officer on top of him said. He grabbed Bruce by the arms and yanked him to his feet. The officer pushed him roughly toward the police car. In seconds, he’d been dumped in the backseat. The officer slammed the door, and Bruce was left alone, sitting on his handcuffed hands. Both officers were now talking to Robin, who was crying and looking every inch the victim.
As the anger slowly drained out of him, Bruce glanced down the street and saw neighbors standing on stoops and porches in bathrobes and pajamas, whispering and pointing. One even had a camera phone out, and snapped a picture of Bruce in the squad car.
Even through the fog of alcohol, he realized how bad this looked. He’d been arrested on Robin Platt’s lawn at two in the morning. His first thought was Elizabeth. How would he ever explain this to her?
Panic rose up in his throat.
Oh, God, he thought. What have I done?
Also by Francine Pascal
Sweet Valley Confidential: Ten Years Later
SERIES
Sweet Valley High
Sweet Valley Twins
Sweet Valley Kids
Sweet Valley University
Fearless
YOUNG ADULT NOVELS
Hangin’ Out with Cici (My Mother Was Never a Kid)
My First Love and Other Disasters
Love and Betrayal
Hand-Me-Down Kid
The Ruling Class
ADULT NOVELS
Save Johanna
If Wishes Were Horses…(La Villa)
Little Crew of Butchers
NONFICTION
The Strange Case of Patty Hearst (with John Pascal)
THEATER
George M! (with Michael Stewart and John Pascal)
About the Author
© Ben Asen Photography, 2010
Francine Pascal is the creator of Sweet Valley and is one of the most popular fiction writers of all time. As a theater lover and Tony voter, Ms. Pascal is on the Advisory Board of the American Theatre Wing. Her favorite sport is a monthly poker game. She lives in New York City and France.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE SWEET LIFE #2: LIES AND OMISSIONS. Copyright © 2012 by Francine Pascal. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Sweet Valley® is a registered trademark of Francine Pascal.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover photographs: woman © Andresr/Shutterstock.com; man © ZAM-Photography/Getty Images
e-ISBN: 9781429958349
First Edition: July 2012
Everyone wants a taste of
THE SWEET LIFE
New this summer from FRANCINE PASCAL, get ready for the exciting SIX-PART e-serial, THE SWEET LIFE, publishing every week!
Follow the continuing drama of Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield, the beautiful, blonde twins from Sweet Valley in this new adult series…
Three years after the events of the New York Times bestseller SWEET VALLEY CONFIDENTIAL families have been made, hearts have been broken, and a scandal of epic proportions will rock Jessica and Elizabeth’s perfect world.
Don’t miss a moment of this brand new chapter of Sweet Valley—to sign up for email reminders and to get the insider scoop visit: WWW.THESWEETLIFESERIES.COM
On Sale Summer 2012
This time the secrets are
MORE SCANDALOUS THAN EVER!
Will Bruce and Elizabeth’s love survive the scandal that could ruin his life?
Will Jessica’s mistakes end her chances of reuniting with Todd forever?
Find out in TOO MANY DOUBTS
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