Purview of Flashbulbs (Alexis Parker Book 15)

by G. K. Parks

  “Martin,” I tried again, but he was lost in his memories, “you were just a kid. You didn’t know what you know now.”

  “I was twenty-two years old, Alex. I should have known something.” He scowled. “At the time, Dinah warned me there were whispers someone wanted to buy the label, but I dismissed it. I should have listened. When she told me that, she was on her way to Europe. I figured it was just gossip, and then we lost touch. My time and attention were spent on school and mom and eventually Francesca. Shit happened. More shit happened, and my life went to hell. By the time I got my bearings, everything had been resold. I couldn’t track it or find it. I figured it ended up trashed or in someone’s private collection, but I always had people keeping their ears to the ground for it. When Dinah hit it big, news of her humble beginnings surfaced, and details started to emerge.”

  “This is why you’ve been keeping secrets.” I watched him fondle the edges of the paper. “Why did Dinah feel the need for secrecy?”

  “It’s complicated, but suffice it to say, Dinah influenced a lot of Christian Nykle’s early designs based on some of the work she’d done with my mom. Nykle’s fame came from my mother’s work. His reputation would be destroyed if this came out. The NDA was to protect them both.”

  “Your lawyer wants you to sue.”

  “The law doesn’t recognize fashion as a valid form of art, which makes establishing intellectual property rights difficult. It’s why knockoffs can get away with only making minor changes. I don’t blame Christian or Dinah. I just wanted to have something of my mom’s.” He tore his eyes away and looked at me. “But never at the cost of jeopardizing your safety or our relationship. These sketches are cursed. They showed my father’s true colors and tainted my view of the man I had always thought of as my hero. And the way you’ve been looking at me this week, I hate to think what kind of irreparable harm I’ve done. Maybe it wasn’t worth it.”

  I kissed him. “It’s over now, Captain Ahab. You finally got your white whale. We’ll be okay. Give it a day or two for the sting to wear off.” I got up from the couch. “I’ll let you have some time alone, but just for my own sake, do you still need that phone number?”

  “No. The deal’s done. The matter is never to be discussed, but I wanted you to know the truth. I should have told you the first time you asked. I was just scared it would come out, and I would lose this again.”

  “That’s why we’re working on rebuilding trust, right?”

  Thirty-eight

  “What are you doing here?” Cross asked.

  “Working,” I retorted. “We’re still missing something.”

  His annoyed eye roll was practically audible. “What’s the problem now?”

  Your attitude, I almost said. I sifted through the reports. Lance was expected to make a full recovery. Production was halted, except for a few film crews shooting B-roll of several city locations. Elodie was in the ICU. Her condition remained touch and go, and Mr. Almeada was fielding questions from the police and doing his best to shield me from visiting the inside of an interrogation room. I should have been happy to let it go, but I wasn’t.

  “Lance practically confessed to vehicular homicide. Who’s the victim?”

  Cross laughed. “The blood and hair on the front of Mr. Trevino’s SUV were canine.”

  “He hit a dog?”

  “It appears so.”

  “Then why did he freak out over the possibility he mowed down Chaz Relper?”

  “If you recall, Mr. Smoke has been known to drive while under the influence. That vial you found in the bathroom had trace amounts of his saliva. He was probably high when he took the car, hit something, freaked, and abandoned the SUV. He probably convinced himself it was a bad trip or a dream, but that resolve was shaky.”

  “Okay,” I said, even though I felt as though Cross was seeing the world through rose-tinted goggles. “So why the flowers?”

  “Actually, the printed receipts you found and Smoke’s credit card were covered in Elodie’s fingerprints. Jett admitted to letting her hang out with him in the trailer when they were hiding from their respective celebutantes. She might have swiped the card, made the purchases, planted the evidence against Lance, and replaced the card. According to Jett, Lance had one apology bouquet sent to the hotel but changed his mind and had it brought to set. Jett mentioned it to Elodie who probably decided it would be easy to use Lance as a scapegoat.”

  “Sure, that wraps up nice and neat.”

  Cross cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

  “Your job is to protect Broadway Films. Lance is a considerable asset.”

  “I don’t protect murderers or stalkers,” his stern conviction was enough to convince me, “and I don’t cover up violent crimes.” He blew out a measured breath. “We should have realized Elodie was responsible sooner, but Scaratilli insisted Dinah’s team was clean. She had no prior record. No history of violence or instability. And she could have struck out at Dinah at any point but never did.”

  “She freaked when Dinah switched hotels and didn’t tell her.”

  Cross agreed that’s why she made the desperate call in the middle of the night and probably why she set the fire when she realized she couldn’t get to Dinah without the security team being present. “The police searched Elodie’s hotel room. They found a voice modulator and the memory cards from Chaz Relper’s drone and camera. He had caught her bringing the first flower delivery to Dinah’s hotel, and he caught her looking none too happy with Dinah inside the club. I believe the police called it murderous rage.”

  “No wonder she killed him. He saw her for who she really was. Do we know what set her off?”

  “The weekend of the break-in at Dinah’s house, Elodie’s sister died, but because of Dinah’s sex scandal, Elodie wasn’t at the hospital or the service.”

  “She stayed at work to take care of Dinah.” I thought back to what I knew. “The roses must have been significant. That’s the first time Dinah received them.”

  “Actually, the police and I did some digging. Elodie’s credit card activity showed a purchase of red roses and a get well balloon for her sister. She bought them three days before Dinah returned from Maui. By then, the sex tape hit the internet, and it was all hands on deck. Her sister died from unforeseen complications, and the flowers did too. So she left them at Dinah’s house. The black, dying roses became significant in her mind, but since she can’t exactly buy dying flowers, she found a replacement.”

  “Damn, we missed a lot.”

  He studied me for a long moment. “I’ll leave you to conduct your own investigations in the future. Perhaps this was a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. But you figured it out in the nick of time.”

  “The police did.”

  He picked up his phone and scrolled through the photos, stopping on the image I forwarded to him that the police had sent to me. “I know what Elodie looks like. So do the men in our tech department. And this image is entirely indecipherable. You saw what you already knew.”

  He held out the photo, and I stared at the white and black blur drizzled in a swirl of neon from the club’s sign. It looked nothing like the photo I saw inside the prop room. Confused, I reached for my own phone and looked at the same image.

  “The police based everything I said and Elodie’s guilt on this. If it’s meaningless, why would they do that?”

  “Because it wasn’t meaningless to you.” He smiled. “Good job, Alex.”

  * * *

  Four days later, production resumed. The actual events that transpired remained a secret, but news of Elodie’s condition had spread. Hospital security and the police were working overtime to keep the paparazzi away. Her condition had improved to the point that she was no longer in intensive care, but she had yet to wake up. If she did, she’d find herself under arrest.

  Dinah felt slightly responsible for Elodie’s mental break, and in the event she survived and wasn’t imprisoned, Dinah would see to it that her assista
nt received the psychiatric help she needed. It was a kind and forgiving gesture, but the cynical part of me wondered how much optics played a part in that decision.

  Speaking of optics, I tugged on the hem of my dress, cringing when my bandage got stuck to the fabric and pulled at my stitches. “I’m not going.”

  Martin came into the room and gave me a look. “I thought Cross specifically asked you to.”

  “I don’t care.” I pulled the zipper down and carefully stepped out of my dress. “I haven’t been wearing crop tops all week because I was hoping to revive fashion from the early nineties.”

  “I thought it was your way of teasing me with flashes of excess skin.” He moved to the closet and slowly flipped through the hangers.

  “Explain to me again why you were invited.”

  “Dinah asked me to go, and after she went through the trouble of brokering the deal for my mom’s sketches, I can’t say no.” He held out a blue dress with cutouts. “Try this. It shouldn’t pull at your bandage or stitches.”

  “But everyone’s going to see the bandage.”

  “So?”

  Grumbling, I put on the dress, holding my hair up, so he could zipper it. “I’m leaving as soon as possible. I don’t even know why they are throwing a party after what happened.”

  “For the press,” Martin said, clearly knowing a lot more about this situation than I did. “She and Lance are going public on their relationship. The party is supposed to be a celebration of his recovery and continuing production, but really, it’s so the media will get wind of their union. It’s to shift focus from the hospitalized assistant and the electrocuted leading man.”

  “Damn, I miss a lot when I avoid the office.” The day after the shooting, Cross barred me from the office for the following seventy-two hours. He had called late last night to tell me Dinah expected me at this party, and he said we’d both be there.

  Martin straightened his tie and tugged on his cuffs to make sure his jacket sleeves fell perfectly. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I guess.”

  Arriving at the hotel, I stayed in the car while Martin stepped out. Even though we rode together, I didn’t want anyone to see us show up together. Martin wasn’t concerned, but this was work. I wanted to maintain some distance.

  Marcal circled around a couple of times before dropping me off. I stepped out and entered the lobby. The celebration was being held in Lance’s penthouse suite. He had the entire upper floor at his disposal, along with a rooftop pool and bar. The hotel provided catering, and I walked in to find Cross in a corner speaking to Scar. Martin was in the center of the room speaking to Dinah, Lance, and a group of film executives.

  “I’m here,” I said, nodding at Scar.

  Cross shook hands with Scar and led me outside to the bar. “Relax, Alex. This isn’t an assignment. This is a party. Dinah requested your presence.”

  “Actually,” Lance came up behind us, wearing an untucked white shirt, opened at the throat, “I wanted to thank you.” He held out his hand, waiting for me to give him mine. When I did, someone took a photo. He looked back at the photographer who was consulting the view screen. He nodded, and Lance thanked him. “Positive publicity, in case details emerge.” He glanced at Cross. “Don’t worry. We’re not planning on using those unless necessary.”

  “Noted,” Cross said.

  Lance narrowed his eyes at me, and I realized the thanks was faked. “Enjoy the party.” Without another word, he wandered off, plastering another phony smile on his face as he schmoozed with some entertainment reporters.

  I felt Martin’s eyes on me. He was inside the suite, looking polite but bored. Dinah had left him with a couple of models or movie extras. Cross gestured to the bartender and ordered a drink.

  “Alex,” Dinah bounded over and hugged me, “it’s so good to see you.” Her gaze shifted around. “Thank you.” She looked at the white gauze against the backdrop of my blue dress. “You look stunning.” She lowered her voice and slipped onto the stool. “Is that where you were shot?”

  “Yep.”

  Cross took his drink and stepped away, making sure no reporters were close enough to overhear our conversation.

  “I’m so sorry this happened. I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. No one could have seen this coming, but Lucien told me what you did, how you must have figured it out without even realizing it. That’s crazy, but I absolutely love it. I’ve talked the writers into putting something like that into the script. It’ll be great.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  She didn’t mention Elodie’s name, and neither did I. Someone called to her, and she looked up. “Just one second.” She lowered her voice again. “Lance and I called this party so we can do an interview. It’ll be good for the movie and good for me. It will keep the truth from coming out. It’s so twisted. I feel responsible. Maybe once I have time to process, I’ll come forward and work on the narrative.”

  “You mean the book deal?” I inquired, feeling jaded and annoyed.

  “Maybe.”

  Lance called to her this time, and she hopped off the stool. “I don’t expect you to come by set after what happened, but let’s get together before I go back to California. I’d like to properly thank you.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  She gave me a look. “Yes, it is. I’ll be in touch.” She fluffed her hair and put on that sexy, shy smile of hers and headed for Lance, looping her arm around his waist while a photographer took some photos before they started talking to the interviewer.

  I watched the two of them talk while guests mingled about. I spotted Clay and Gemma working another section of the crowd, but my eyes kept drifting back to Martin who was in full business networking mode. He knew how to work parties like this.

  Cross retook his seat beside me. He scooted closer and boxed me in. “What are you doing?” I asked, swiveling to face him.

  “Testing a theory.”

  “Does it involve getting slapped for invading my personal space?”

  He chuckled. “James Martin’s here.”

  “I noticed.”

  “He and Dinah are old friends. I did my research. They knew each other before either of them was anybody. His mom gave Dinah her start.”

  “Is that why you assigned me to be Dinah’s technical consultant?” I asked.

  Cross didn’t answer my question. Instead, he looked down and brushed a finger against my bandage. “If you’d like, I’ll schedule an appointment for you with my tattoo artist. She does wonders covering scars and injuries with elaborate inkwork.”

  “Is that the reason for the tattoo on your back?”

  “Tales for another time.” He grinned. “Looks like my theory is about to be proven correct.”

  “You still haven’t told me what it is.”

  Cross had a sly grin. “James is surrounded by attractive women, models and actresses, stuff of men’s fantasies, but he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you. He’s been clocking your movements since the moment you stepped through the door.”

  “It’s pretty easy when I haven’t moved from the bar. He probably just wants a drink, and I happen to be in the way.”

  “We’re about to find out,” Cross whispered. Martin came up on my other side, asking the bartender for a scotch. “Make that two,” Cross said.

  Martin turned. “Lucien. Alex. I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you both?”

  I hid my smile, turning away from Cross. Martin might not care if the world knew of our relationship, but he still did a good job of covering it up.

  “We were just discussing Alex’s recent injury.” Cross took a sip of scotch. Martin asked what happened, and Cross gave a vague explanation. “I hate that my people are often in danger. Alex could have been killed.”

  “I thought it was no big deal,” I muttered, wondering what Cross was doing.

  “What are you doing to protect her? Them?” Martin asked, correcting himself.

  “A
ctually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Cross climbed off his stool. “I heard you were doing some R&D with biotextiles. The research shows a lot of promise in strength and ballistic protection. I was hoping we could discuss some things.” He led Martin to an empty area near the end of the pool, and I blew out a breath. Everything Lucien Cross did, including hiring me, had something to do with Martin. I just wasn’t entirely sure why.

  Twenty minutes later, I ducked out of the party, wishing Scar a good night. I sent a text to Cross, telling him I was leaving, went downstairs, and took a cab home. An hour later, Martin joined me.

  “What did Lucien want?”

  “Honestly, I think he wants us to go into the fashion business together.”

  “What?”

  Martin snorted. “He was hoping my research could be used to mass produce bulletproof attire using biotextiles. The problem, which I tried to explain to him, is it isn’t possible to harvest the amount of materials needed for an endeavor like that. Needless to say, I had to agree to put a meeting on the books for next month just so I could duck out of there.” He began taking off his suit. “That asshole made me miss my favorite part.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Peeling your dress off.” He grinned licentiously and crawled up the bed and kissed me. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good, hoping you’ll get me to great.”

  “I’ll get you to fantastic.” He kissed me again. “I love you.” He pulled my ponytail free and studied my face. “What’s wrong? You look like you want to say something.”

  “It can wait.”

  “We’ve been doing enough of that lately.”

  “Okay, but I warned you.” I swallowed, hoping it wouldn’t ruin the mood. “Given what I now know about your parents’ relationship, why on earth would you ever want to get married?”

  “They weren’t always like that. And I’m not my father. I know whenever we’re ready, it won’t be anything like that. You’re my everything. Not Martin Tech or Cross’s silkworm vests or whatever the future might bring.”