Purview of Flashbulbs (Alexis Parker Book 15)

by G. K. Parks

  She shook her head. We’d already discussed our meal options on the way back to my place. She wanted sashimi. She’d circled the items she wanted on a takeout menu she found in my glove box.

  I closed the bathroom door behind me and went into the kitchen. Picking up the phone, I called in our order, opened the fridge, and stared at the emptiness. My cupboards were just as bare. I had a water pitcher and some salad dressing. It would suffice. She was an actress. They weren’t supposed to eat, so she shouldn’t complain.

  I put my pillows on one end of the couch, kicked off my shoes, and put my gun on the end table. It’s only for the night, I said to myself. Her phone rang, and I turned toward the sound. It was in my bedroom. I debated checking to see who was calling, but before I could grab it, the delivery guy knocked on my door.

  After paying him and taking the bags inside, I put the fish in the fridge and pulled out some plates and flatware. I didn’t want Dinah to think I was a barbarian. The phone rang again, and this time, I went to see who it was. According to the display, it was Scaratilli. However, the device was fingerprint encrypted. I went back to the living room and flipped on the TV. Lance was supposed to be giving one of the programs a set exclusive, but I couldn’t find it. Perhaps it wasn’t scheduled to air yet, or he rescheduled.

  The hairdryer turned on, and I raised the volume a little and put on the local news. None of the stories were about the hotel, the drone, or the movie being shot. Granted, movies were filmed here all the time, so it wasn’t newsworthy. But with the way things were going, I couldn’t rule out the possibility someone might leak something to the press.

  Dinah emerged twenty minutes later. She looked completely different. Her hair was stick straight. Her face was devoid of makeup. Her lips were pale and unimpressive without the bright red lipstick I’d grown accustomed to seeing, and she was dressed in my lounge clothes.

  “Did I hear the phone?” she asked.

  “It rang a couple of times. I’m guessing Scar is checking up on you.”

  It occurred to me someone with Scar’s abilities could ping her phone and determine her location, but we ruled Scar out as a threat. And Cross said Dinah’s security team was clean. Belatedly, I wondered if her stalker had her number or the foresight to trace her phone.

  She called him back, promising she was safe and wasn’t going anywhere and would see him first thing in the morning at the lot. After she hung up, she took a seat at my dining room table, and I took the food from the fridge and placed it in front of her. She opened the container, expertly maneuvering it out of the plastic and onto the plate. She daintily placed a napkin, even though it was paper, on her lap and reached for a set of chopsticks.

  “This is your place, isn’t it?”

  “What gave it away?” I asked.

  She tugged on the front of the t-shirt. “The clothing.” She looked around again. “It’s cozy.” She ate a few bites and put the chopsticks down. “How did you know I’d end up here?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Right, so I’m supposed to believe you just happened to clear out your knickknacks and photos on the same day I end up in desperate need of someplace to hide out.”

  “This is it.” I looked around. “I’m a minimalist.”

  Deciding this might be another key to understanding the psyche of a federal agent, she dug deeper. “Do your former colleagues at the Bureau live in a similar fashion? Is it a security thing? Or maybe protocol?”

  “Despite the regulation attire and hideous shoes, we aren’t a cult. We each have our own lives and live them as we see fit. No two people fit into the same mold.”

  “May I ask why you live like a nomad?”

  I told her about long-term assignments and undercover work. I told her about unplanned trips and the need to be ready at a moment’s notice, and I mentioned it wasn’t a bad idea to have a go-bag. She agreed.

  Afterward, the conversation turned back to the hotel and her stalker, but it was basically just rehashing everything we’d already gone over. After another look out the fire escape and a glance at my front door to make sure it was locked, she went to bed.

  I tidied up and went to work behind the computer. I had no choice but to believe the things she said. Whoever stalked her in Los Angeles must be the same person who followed her here. I needed official police reports, news and tabloid stories, and accounts from her people. Luckily, the time difference was on my side.

  Twenty- two

  My phone rang for the sixth time in the last thirty minutes, and I glanced at the display before hitting answer. “Dammit.” I cringed, realizing my mistake a little too late.

  “Are you okay? Where are you?” Martin asked. His voice came out rushed and clipped, which meant he was worried I was lying in some ditch, bleeding out.

  “I’m okay. Something came up at work.”

  He let out an involuntary breath. “No problem. When do you think you’ll get home?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Alex,” the worry was replaced with annoyance, “I thought we were past this. Honestly, you have no reason to be mad.”

  “I’m not.” I got up from behind my desk and peered into the hallway that led to my bedroom. The door was closed, and I figured Dinah must be asleep since she was expected on set in a few hours. “I’m babysitting. Right now, your other girlfriend is in my bed.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t doing that.”

  “Things change. It was beyond my control. It’s just one night. Think of it this way, it’s my turn to see how much fun she can be.”

  “Normally, I’d say I have no desire to share you, but if this is something you need to do so we’ll be even, I guess I can accept it. Though, I wouldn’t mind watching,” he teased.

  “Is that really what you want to say to me?”

  “No. Why is she there? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s fine. We’re having a sleepover, so we can stay up late and talk about boys. Apparently, you used to be a terrible lay. I really should thank her for teaching you a few things.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “You better hope so.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. Look, if you want me to answer your questions, fuck it, I’ll do it.”

  “No. I don’t need to jeopardize whatever it is you’re doing. I just hate this. I hate it when we can’t talk to each other.”

  “Me too.” Silence filled the space between us. “Is she okay?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, I’m filling in for her security team until they get their shit together.” Martin knew being a bodyguard was the last thing I wanted to do, so he didn’t waste his breath asking any more questions. My phone beeped, telling me I had an incoming call. “I have to go. The sooner I figure out what’s what, the sooner she’ll go back to her hotel and I can come back to you.”

  “Be careful. I love you.”

  “I know.”

  The incoming call was from the lead detective on Dinah’s stalking case. He gave me the official story, which was the same thing I’d already heard several times. However, he remembered the scene in vivid detail. It wasn’t his first stalking case. He’d worked several, usually in instances of minor local celebrities, but this was different. And he wanted to do it right.

  No one suspicious ever appeared on the security feed. The few packages and other deliveries that came to Dinah’s estate were left at the front gate where a guard was stationed. The perimeter was under surveillance, and there were no obvious signs of a break-in. None of the windows were broken. The alarm wasn’t triggered, but the house didn’t look right. The inside was off. The detective remembered seeing indentions in the carpet from where furniture had recently been moved.

  “The weirdest thing was this flower vase. It was right in the middle of the table, but there was a smaller centerpiece shoved off to the side. It didn’t make any sense, and the flowers were fucking hideous. They were these half-dead, dark purple things that stunk to high heaven. I don’t know what
kind of flower they were, but no one in their right mind would put those in their kitchen.”

  I thought back to the flowers that had been delivered. They’d been dark in color too, but I was never close enough to smell them. A thought nagged at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.

  “Allen said there was a note.” He opened and closed a squeaky drawer, the squeal practically making me deaf. “Whoever wrote it fancies himself a poet.”

  “What did it say?” I asked.

  “You’re mine. I’m yours. What we share is beyond love. That’s it. Nothing particularly threatening, but I don’t think this guy needs to write for a greeting card company either.”

  “Ever come up with any suspects?”

  He chuckled. “You realize this was solved. It was a publicity stunt. Her agent and manager concocted it.”

  “Before they came forward, did you have any leads?”

  “It read like an inside job. I assumed the stalker was someone she knew and trusted like a friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, or someone who works for her. Whoever it was knew how to get inside and how to dodge the security system.”

  “Like her manager and agent?”

  “Yep.” I could hear him smile. “Case closed.”

  “Do you think they disabled her security system?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it, but I can’t be certain. You could call them and ask.”

  “Did you check alibis?”

  “Why would I?”

  Forcing myself not to say something snarky, I considered my next words carefully. “You said something seemed off. Maybe you started checking before the truth came out.”

  “Nah. We didn’t know exactly when the alleged break-in occurred. Nothing was on the security system. Miss Allen had been away. The flowers could have been left at any point. It’s hard to say. They were dying, but they were ugly to begin with. That might just be the way they always looked.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah.” He waited a beat. “Someone already asked about this. Am I going to get jammed up over something here?”

  “Nope. Just performing my due diligence.” The way he should have.

  “Sure, sure.” The detective disconnected, and I pushed away from the computer.

  Dinah was right. Whoever was stalking her in Los Angeles was here, and this time, they weren’t stopping at flowers.

  Sinking into the pillows, I grabbed the throw off the back of the couch and curled into a ball. Flowers, the prop dummy, the man in the stairwell, and now the drone through the window. It was escalation. The stalker was getting closer to his target. I sent a text to Cross with my expert opinion; Dinah’s stalker was real. Why would her staff take the hit and cover it up? That didn’t make any sense.

  I closed my eyes and hoped to get a couple hours of sleep, but I twisted and turned, trying to come up with a reason for the deception and some idea of who could be stalking Dinah. According to the detective, it was someone close to her. I whole-heartedly agreed.

  That left her costars, the crew, and the dozens of people she employed. Those were the only people who had access to her trailer and her hotel room. A chilling realization coursed through my bones. If Lance was responsible, would it even be addressed? Throwing off the blankets, I went back to my computer and searched for his contact information.

  It only took a few minutes to discover Lance was represented by the same agency as Dinah. I reached for the phone and left a lengthy voicemail for Cross. There was no way he missed this. Was my boss going along with some Hollywood conspiracy for a few bucks and to keep his reputation intact? I didn’t know Lucien well enough to be certain how he operated, but my friends in the police department warned me about him. And Mark Jablonsky had done the same. Maybe they were right. Good thing I didn’t give a rat’s ass about appearances or the company line. I just wanted the truth.

  The overhead light flipped on, and I jumped, automatically reaching for my nine millimeter. Dinah was ghost white. The phone was pressed to her ear, and she was trembling.

  “Please,” she begged.

  I didn’t know if she was speaking to me or the caller, but I eased the phone from her hand and hit the speaker button. A modulated robotic voice asked, “Why did you run away, Dinah dear? It isn’t safe to wander around. Something terrible could happen.”

  I snatched my phone and texted Cross with a 911. It was the only way I could guarantee he would respond. Trace the incoming call to Dinah’s phone. It’s the stalker.

  Keep him on the line, Cross sent back.

  “Dinah, where did you go?” the voice asked again. She shivered, and I led her to the couch and wrapped her in the blanket. “Answer me.”

  “Sorry, Dinah can’t come to the phone right now,” I replied, “but I’d be happy to take a message.” I met Dinah’s eyes and put a finger to my lips.

  “Ah, I see Dinah has a new bodyguard.”

  “Who said I was a bodyguard?”

  The caller laughed. The robotic interpretation came out more like a coughing bark. “You can’t hide forever. People like you can’t disappear into obscurity. You won’t leave the limelight.”

  “Once again, Dinah’s not here,” I repeated. “Is that the message you want relayed? Who should I say called? If you’d like a call back, I’ll need your number.”

  “Don’t play games,” the robot said. The monotone voice dampened the threat. I checked my phone, waiting for verification from Cross. “I know she’s there. Give her the phone.”

  “Do you love her?” I asked.

  “Of course. I take care of her and protect her, but I can’t do that when she runs and hides. Why didn’t she tell me where she was going? Why would she go with you? You’re a stranger.”

  “Did you send the flowers?” I asked. The voice hesitated, and I worried the caller might be getting wise to the delay tactics. “It was thoughtful. However, I don’t understand knifing a dummy dressed to look like Dinah. That was a little crazy, don’t you think?”

  “That was a warning. People who take pleasure from the flesh will hurt her in the end.” The call ended, and I double-checked the display before handing the device back to its owner.

  “Jesus,” Dinah whispered. She was shaking like a leaf.

  “Any idea who that might have been?” I visually checked the two deadbolts and security bar. No one was getting inside my apartment.

  She shook her head and swallowed.

  My phone buzzed with an incoming text, and I picked it up. The call originated from the hotel. No way to determine what room.

  “Dammit,” I swore.

  Dinah’s eyes shot up. “What is it?”

  “Your stalker is a fan of horror films of the ‘90s,” I said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” I went into the kitchen and poured some water into a pot to heat. Martin always tried to calm me down with tea, so perhaps it would work for Dinah. I found a dusty box of chamomile in the cabinet and pulled it out. “Has the caller made contact before?”

  “No.” She looked at the phone as if it betrayed her, which, in a way, it had. “I need to call Scar.”

  I couldn’t stop her. I wasn’t even sure it would be wise to encourage her to keep her security chief in the dark. She hit the speed dial and waited. And waited. Eventually, it went to voicemail, and her voice shook as she left a message for him to call her back immediately. She put the phone down and turned to face me.

  “He didn’t answer,” she said. “That’s never happened before. Never.”

  An uneasy feeling wormed its way through my body, and I grabbed a second mug from the cabinet and put a teabag in each of them. I poured water into the mugs and brought them to the coffee table. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She dipped the bag up and down. “How do you think that thing got my number?” Her gaze flicked to her phone.

  “While you were sleeping, I did some investigating. The responding officer to your home invasi
on believed whoever gained access was someone close to you, like a friend or someone who works for you. The stalker had to know about your security system and how to circumvent it. He probably has your number.”

  “No one broke in, remember?” she said bitterly. “That’s what everyone told me.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t believe that. And neither do I.” I watched her take a sip of the tea. “Why did your management team decide to take the blame?”

  “I don’t know. My publicist said it would be bad. Dealing with the PR would be a nightmare, and I didn’t want to be known for that. I didn’t want to be labeled a victim or the girl who cried wolf, or worse yet, some prima donna who freaks for no reason.”

  “I mean no disrespect, but you need a reality check. This is serious.”

  “I know,” she snapped.

  “Is it possible your management team had someone else’s best interests in mind? I did some digging, and Lance is represented by the same agency.”

  “So are a lot of celebrities. What’s your point? We were together when the break-in occurred. We just came back from Maui when I found the flowers in my house. It couldn’t have been him.”

  “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “I’m not sure of anything right now.” Dinah’s phone rang, and she reached for it. The display read Scar which she flashed in my direction before hitting answer. “Did you get my message?” He said something, and her eyebrows furrowed. “Hold on. When did that happen?” The shaking intensified, and she whispered, “Talk to Alex,” and thrust the phone at me.

  “Parker,” Scar sounded perturbed, “I just got a call. Untraceable number. Modulated voice. The caller said if I didn’t protect Dinah, something awful would happen.”

  “Anything specific?”

  “No, but the caller meant business. I want Dinah back at the hotel.”

  I prepared for an argument. “That’s a bad idea.”

  “Dinah’s to be brought back to the hotel immediately.” Scar said something to someone else that I didn’t entirely catch. “Whoever this shithead is, he’s going to make another move. I need to stop him.”