Purview of Flashbulbs (Alexis Parker Book 15)

by G. K. Parks

  “You have interesting friends,” I said when Lucien’s assistant led me into his office. My boss looked up, and I held out the baggie. “I didn’t find much but thought we might want to run these for prints, just in case.”

  He looked at the items. “Where did you find these?”

  “Inside the ladies room at the club.”

  “Any particular reason you think this is useful?”

  “Not really.”

  His eyebrows raised in question, but he decided it was best not to inquire further. “What about the hotel?”

  I shook my head and walked across the room to the large windows. Cross had a nice view. “None of it makes much sense. The hotel allowed me to review the relevant camera footage, but no one exited the stairwell around the time of the alleged incident. According to Scaratilli and his team, they investigated but didn’t see anyone. I even asked a few guests if they heard or saw anything, but they didn’t.”

  “You think it’s bullshit.”

  “The dummy with the knife through its heart didn’t look like bullshit,” I turned away from the window, “but I think Dinah’s story about footsteps might be bullshit. She was drunk, probably high, and undoubtedly tired. Her imagination could have run away with her.”

  “But you believe there’s still a threat.”

  “Scar thinks so.”

  Cross pushed away from his desk. “He could be playing us too.”

  I’d only encountered Mr. Scaratilli three times, but he wouldn’t ask for help if he didn’t need it. He took himself and his job too seriously. He took Dinah’s safety seriously. “What do we know about him, aside from your alpha male profile?”

  “Parker, I prefer if you speak your mind. I don’t have time to figure out what you’re fishing for.”

  “Dinah said he’s been with her since her early days modeling, but when he came here, he only referred to her as Miss Allen.”

  “Professional courtesy.”

  “That’s what I thought, but when I spoke to him this morning outside Dinah’s trailer, he called her Dinah. Twice.”

  Cross let out a disgusted growl. “Quick, call the etiquette police.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “I know what you’re saying. He takes his job personally. I’ve done some digging. Scaratilli has a propensity for violence. Over the years, there have been a few police reports, but when the time came, charges weren’t filed. The victims recanted their statements.”

  “Someone got paid off.”

  Cross pointed a finger at me. “That’s what I like to see from my investigators,” he said sarcastically, and I glared at him. “Her chief of security is protective, but there’s no way of knowing if the situation warranted the aggressiveness of his actions.”

  “What about his private life?”

  “He isn’t married. From what I gather, his dating life is bleak. He lives and breathes Dinah Allen, just like the rest of her team. He’s dedicated to the job, and she’s the job. Make of that what you will.”

  “You have no fucking idea what to make of him either.”

  He snorted, coughing to hide his laugh. “None.” Moving the stack of files to the coffee table, Cross dropped into one of the leather chairs.

  “Can you ask Lancaster to find out where Lance Smoke went last night after the club and what time he went back to the hotel?”

  Cross didn’t bother to glance in my direction. “You think someone worth eight figures, who is bankrolling the movie, and can have just about anyone he wants is stalking his costar? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

  “He wants her back, at least as far as the public is aware. It stands to reason if this movie is a success, he’ll make far more as a producer than an actor, and a relationship might be the ticket to that type of success and a guarantee this one-shot deal turns into the next blockbuster franchise. If she’s scared of the bogeyman, she might just latch onto him to feel safe.”

  “I’ll have Lancaster do his best, but pitting ourselves against Smoke is asking for trouble. Broadway Films hired us, but if Lance wants us gone, they’ll defer to him in the end. I don’t want to be blackballed from the entertainment industry on nothing but some conjecture and a hunch. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  Cross put down the folder he was reading and reached for another one. “While you were on your little field trip,” he said in a demeaning tone, “I finished going through Dinah’s phone records.” He removed several pages and held them out to me. “The techs are running the unfamiliar numbers and building profiles. Mr. Scaratilli’s list proved to be a bust. For someone to get on the set, get inside Dinah’s trailer, and possibly get to her inside the hotel, he must be close. I’d guess it’s someone she confides in and speaks to regularly. He either belongs in her life, or it’s someone whom she trusts enough to share personal details.”

  “Like her bodyguards?”

  Cross turned. “Ooh, wouldn’t that be interesting?” He took a moment to assess me. “Is that where you were going with your questions about Scaratilli?”

  “He is responsible for her well-being, which one might confuse with love, which could then be confused with obsession.”

  “Then, by all means, dig deeper. In the meantime, take a look at these.” I took the pages, unsure what Cross wanted me to do with them. “Do you recognize any of those numbers?” he asked.

  I scrolled quickly through the sheets. Why would I recognize any of the numbers from her call log? Stopping, I felt the pit in my stomach grow exponentially. Cross knew the number. Hell, he knew both of the numbers, and he knew I did too. When I lifted my gaze from the page, his eyes found mine.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said.

  “I thought you might say that.” He went back to what he was doing, and I headed for the door.

  Halfway there, I stopped and turned on my heel. “Do you have copies of her text messages?”

  “She wouldn’t grant us access, claiming that would violate her privacy. I can get around it if necessary but thought it prudent to start with these first. Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Not for me.”

  “Good. Let me know what you find.”

  Seventeen

  I knocked on the door and waited. The doorman told me he was here. Actually, the concierge at the front desk told me he was here when I phoned, but the doorman verified it when I asked two minutes ago. The fight was stupid. Whatever this was about was Martin’s business, except somehow Cross had me sticking my nose into it. I was so screwed and not in the fun way.

  Martin opened the door. “Did you forget your keys?” he asked, the accusation apparent in the hurt look in his eyes.

  “I left them on the counter,” I said, hoping to avoid further explanation. It wasn’t a lie. I wouldn’t lie to him. Not again. I just wasn’t sure why he might be lying to me. “I’m sorry about the other morning.”

  “This isn’t on you, Alex.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just glad you came home. When I saw your keys, I thought you were done. We were done.”

  “You want me gone, all you have to do is say it, and I’ll go. But I’m not walking. Not again. Not from you. No matter what.”

  He smiled and brushed his thumb against my cheek. “Good.”

  I returned his smile and reached for his hand, brushing my lips against his fingers before letting go. “However, it’s nice to hear, for once, I’m not responsible for our fight.”

  “That wasn’t a fight. We are far better at fighting.”

  Before the night was through, it would probably be a knockdown, drag-out brawl. He stepped closer, kissed me properly, and went into the kitchenette where dinner from two nights ago was finally being cooked. Too bad I didn’t have an appetite. He filled two glasses with wine, pushed one across the counter toward me, and took a sip from his.

  We remained in silence, which was rather uncommon, and I studied him. His posture, his movements, everything. He turned around and asked
a question about salad. I asked about his day and let my brain analyze and interpret as he spoke. After two minutes, he stopped speaking and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Don’t do that,” he warned. “I’m not some perp locked in an interrogation room.” He blew out a breath. “You know I hate it when you do that. Whatever it is, just ask.” He worked his jaw, as if waiting to be tortured.

  Steeling myself for the worst, I said, “Why have you been calling Dinah Allen?”

  His green irises flashed disbelief, betrayal, and anger. “You pulled my phone records?”

  “No.”

  “Then how the hell do you know I’ve been speaking to Dinah?” His eyes went to the folders I brought home. “God, Alex, did you get copies of my text messages and hack my voicemail too?”

  “I didn’t pull your records. I pulled hers. Or rather Cross did. And just so you know, I have never once looked into you. Even when I worked for you, Mark did the dirty work, not me, because I didn’t want to know the things you didn’t want me to.” Even if, at this moment, I was reconsidering that stance based on his reaction.

  “Jesus.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “How in god’s name did Cross get access to her phone records? She’s a fucking movie star.”

  “She gave them to us.” I stared at him. “This morning, Dinah Allen hired me.”

  He pressed his palms into his eyes. “You’re joking.”

  I hated being behind on things. I waited for an elaboration, but Martin practically shut down. He went silent, his gaze shifting every few seconds from the files across the room to the food he was preparing, and not once did he look at me. “Why is your private number listed a dozen times in the last week alone? And the Martin Technologies number is listed another four on top of that. Martin, what is going on?”

  He stopped what he was doing and gripped the edge of the counter. “I can’t tell you.”

  “You better fucking tell me. If you don’t tell me, Cross will have you investigated next.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  Deciding that asking questions wasn’t getting me anywhere, I answered his. “Dinah’s being stalked. We aren’t sure how serious it is. One of the threats seemed blatantly obvious, but the more we dig, the murkier everything becomes.” I eyed him. “Are you stalking her?”

  He laughed, as if that was the most ridiculous notion in the world. Granted, he could get a little obsessed, but that involved projects and work, not people. My eyes narrowed, and I tried to figure out if there was any possible overlap between Dinah and his work. Could his top-secret project be related to her?

  “Are you serious?” he finally asked.

  “Sixteen calls and I don’t even know how many text messages. Let me share with you a basic rule of thumb. You call once, it’s normal. Twice, you’re concerned. Three times, you’re obsessed. Why don’t you tell me what sixteen means?”

  “It wasn’t in one day. That was over the course of the week. Check the call duration. It was phone tag.” He searched my face for some sign that I believed he wasn’t stalking the movie star. “Tell me you don’t think I’m responsible.”

  “Honestly, if you were, I’d cover it up and do everything I could to protect you, but I believe you. I know you wouldn’t hurt her or anyone else unless provoked.” My thoughts materialized into a pattern that didn’t make a lot of sense. “She made you sign an NDA. God, she hands those things out like candy on Halloween.”

  He blinked, the surprise hidden, but I knew his tells. Depending on the terms, he might not be able to confirm. What the hell did he get involved in this time?

  “It’s me, Martin. I’m not going to say anything.”

  “I know, but your boss wants answers. Ask me something I can answer.”

  He always took his business agreements seriously. This time, a bit too seriously, but his response was enough of a confirmation. If I went about this the right way, I could get answers without him breaching their agreement. I just wasn’t sure if I’d be able to maneuver around this minefield without getting in trouble or accidentally throwing Martin under the bus in the process.

  “How do you know her?” I asked.

  He put the bowls on the counter, drained his glass, and refilled it. “When she was in college, she interned for my mom. The fashion design school Dinah attended had some sort of program. We worked together. We were friends.”

  “With benefits?”

  He cocked his head to the side and took another sip. Well, that answered one question. “It was a lifetime ago.”

  My fears from a few nights ago resurfaced. “Is there anyone on this planet you haven’t slept with?”

  “A couple of people here and there.” He gave me a cocky smile. “Until you swooped in and stole my heart. Now I can’t imagine being with anyone except you for the rest of my life.”

  I swallowed. Too much. Way too much. And it was damn distracting, which had probably been his goal — scare me into silence. But it wouldn’t work. “Have you been in touch this entire time?”

  “God, no. It’s probably been fifteen or sixteen years since we last spoke.” The notion irritated him. He nodded at the paperwork. “You can see when we got back in touch. Prior to that first phone call, we hadn’t spoken since she left for Europe.”

  “Are you sleeping with her?”

  He put the glass down, all of his energy focused on me. “Alex, come on. You know me better than that. You are the love of my life. I wouldn’t do that to you.” This time, the words weren’t said to intimidate me. He meant every single one. “What’s wrong? Are we okay?”

  “Cross will want to know. This way, I can say I asked.”

  He reached across and squeezed my hand. “Talk to me.”

  “The perfume, the makeup on your sleeve and collar, the way you came home the other night,” I let out a shaky exhale, “it was uncharacteristic. Something happened. I know it did, and while I know you aren’t a cheater, I’m not wired to just turn a blind eye. What if I’m wrong to put so much faith in you? What if I’m just being naïve and stupid?”

  “You aren’t.” He reached across and caressed my cheek. “It’s my fault. You notice everything. You deserve answers, and I,” he looked like he was fighting with himself, “am not in a position to tell you what you need to hear.” He dropped his hand and let out a resounding sigh. “Maybe we should go back to therapy.”

  “Why? Are you going to be able to talk about it then?”

  “No.” He sounded defeated.

  I snorted, finding this oddly amusing. “You really want to punish me just because I asked a question for my boss?” I teased, hoping to ignore the bomb we were skirting around.

  “Lucien knows everything there is to know about everybody. He must know we’re together. Does he get some kind of perverse pleasure in screwing with us? Is this payback because I didn’t sign with his company years ago?”

  “I’m not sure he knows. We were always careful.”

  “But we own property together. This apartment. There’s a paper trail now. We have a paper trail,” he declared proudly, as if it were a grand feat, and given what we’d been through, it kind of was. No wonder fate sent Dinah Allen into our path like a cyclone.

  “The paperwork was probably filed around the same time Cross hired me. If he looked then, he might have missed it.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “You’re trying to change the subject. I believe you’ve been faithful, but what’s the deal with you and Dinah?”

  “You have really pretty eyes.”

  “Martin.”

  “And a gorgeous smile. And the way you move,” he smiled devilishly, “just thinking about it makes me hard.”

  I jerked my hand out of his grip and glared at him. “Be serious.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  “Enough. We’re talking about Dinah.” I narrowed my eyes. “Is she the reason you came home ready to play the other night?”

  His green eyes bore into mine as he tried to figure out what I actually knew and
what I was guessing. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d been thinking about you the entire day. Even when I was in her company, my mind was focused on coming home to you. That’s why I wanted to play. It had nothing to do with her. Being in close proximity to her does nothing for me.”

  “It did once.”

  Realizing being cute wasn’t going to get me to change the subject, he let out an unhappy groan and went back to cooking. Now that he was annoyed, he was ready to play with fire. “It was more than once.”

  “See, now we’re getting somewhere,” I said sarcastically.

  “In my defense, that was before you. Actually, even if I knew you then, it would have been illegal for us to be together because you would have been underage. That’s how long ago this was.”

  “Can we stop talking about you and Dinah?”

  “Sure, sweetheart, we can drop the subject.” He turned off the oven and took out our food, using a wooden spatula to divide it up onto two plates. He put one in front of me. “How was your day?”

  “It was fine until I came home and murdered my boyfriend.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Anyone new and exciting lined up to take his place? Maybe one of Hollywood’s hottest hunks?” He took a seat next to me, scooting closer until our thighs touched.

  “They are a bunch of douchebags,” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, “kind of like my dead ex. Maybe I will give one of them a call.”

  He held up his hands before putting a napkin on his lap. “You’re right. I don’t like this game either.”

  “You started it.” I took a bite and washed it down with some wine. “Is there anything you can tell me that might help identify her stalker?”

  “It isn’t me.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t see how anyone could get to her. She’s surrounded by her team at all times.”