by Quinn Avery
“Date?” she repeated. Dean snagged an unopened bottle of champagne and guided her away from the tent. The heat of his fingers against her bare spine made her body feel all floaty. It was more likely she’d caught a buzz from countless glasses of champagne. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. That’s not at all what this is, Dean.”
She assumed he only pretended not to hear her when he said, “The way everyone greeted me in there was so plastic.” Then his hand wound around hers, and he led her toward a cluster of colorful Adirondack chairs arranged around a fire pit. “Let’s hang out here for a while. I need a break from all the bullshit.”
Despite the warning pinging against Bexley’s skull, she allowed him to pull her along. The whole scene had been a little overwhelming, and she could use a break as well. Still, she wished the two of them didn’t have to be completely alone and isolated from the party. When he finally released her hand to plop down in one of the teak chairs, relief flooded her. She sat beside him, removed her strappy shoes and dug her freshly manicured toes into the cool sand.
“When I was a kid, we never saw live fireworks on New Year’s Eve,” he said while working the cork from the bottle. “No one wants to stand outside and watch them in subzero temperatures. We’d watch the ball drop on TV instead.” The cork released with a loud pop.
“The military loves putting on a stellar fireworks show.” Bexley smiled with the distant memories of snuggling in her mom’s lap in the grass as colors burst through the sky above them. “We hit every one on base until my sister got older, and we realized she was secretly terrified of them. I argued with my father for years after when he thought it would toughen her up to go. Once he realized I wasn’t going to back down, he finally gave up. By then she decided they weren’t so bad, so I started sneaking her out to the show in Papaya Springs after our parents left for base.”
She’d been suspicious that Cineste was only pretending as a way to escape the pressure of acting like the perfect family around their father’s colleagues. Things were so much worse after their mom’s passing. If either of the sisters dared to speak out of turn, or forgot to brush their hair, or wore a wrinkled sweater, the Captain’s wrath was enough to make them cry themselves to sleep after.
Dean hummed thoughtfully while taking a swig from the bottle. “Sounds like you were a protective big sister.”
The threat of tears stung her eyes as Bexley nodded. “She went through a lot growing up. I love her more than anything.”
“You should tell her that to her face. Sometimes a person just needs to hear that kind of thing to be reminded of the importance of family.”
“I would if I had any idea where to find her.”
“So that’s what you meant when you told me it wasn’t a spat between you?” Dean’s warm hand covered her thigh. “Does she at least take your calls?”
“Her voicemail’s full.”
“Any friends in the area that might’ve taken her in?”
“Doubtful.” She blinked the emotion from her eyes. “Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s okay. She’s a tough girl.”
Jaw hard, he removed his hand from her leg and took another drink. “Sometimes I wish I could run away…just get away from it all. Go back to being a nobody in a small town.”
“Not that I know the first thing about being rich or famous, but I can see that. I have to say, you’re not as cocky in real life as they try to make you on social media.”
“That’s all my agent’s doing. She tried like hell to tarnish my reputation after I took the role of a badass biker. It’s another reason the relationship with Temperance seemed a smart idea at the time.” He turned to her. “You ever stay with someone who was totally wrong for you?”
“I actually married someone like that.”
His eyes widened. “You’re married?”
“Years ago. It only lasted a week.” She swiped the bottle from his hands and took a long, refreshing gulp. She was desperate for a change of subject. “So who’s behind all this? Jason Momoa? No wait…too flashy for him. I know, it has to be Jason Sudeikis! He seems like he’d be a wild and crazy kind of guy. Are you planning to introduce me to whatever Jason’s in charge?”
With a shake of his head, Dean chuckled. “It’s not one of the Jasons. And I don’t think an introduction would be in your best interests. I ran into him entertaining two topless women earlier. He can be a bit of a jackass.”
“Ah, now it’s all coming together. You must be talking about Shane Fellows.” While reading up on Dean, she’d come across several articles that included his best friend, the sole remaining heir to a grandfather who made billions in the publishing industry. According to the internet, Shane didn’t have a career aside from being known as Dean’s insolent sidekick. Rumor had it, Dean procured several minor roles for Shane in the past, but wasn’t given another chance after getting caught fooling around with the star of a movie on an active set. “Is your friendship with him another one of your agent’s suggestions to help with the bad-boy image?”
“That’s all on me. We met when our brothers were both in the hospital. He got a little messed up after Logan died from Leukemia—started acting like the world owes him a favor. Shane has it in him to be one of the good guys, I swear. He just has to work a little harder at it than the rest of us.”
A thought occurred to Bexley. “Any chance he was there when you were called to the police station for questioning?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Detective Rivers mentioned someone in your camp was acting like a total jerk.”
“That’s ironic coming from that guy.”
It was starting to feel like she was a double agent instead of a journalist. While she didn’t think it’d be wise to disclose her friendship with Grayson, she felt compelled to defend his honor. “He may’ve just been under a lot of pressure to pin the murder on someone.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. My lawyer said PD stopped pursuing it because they couldn’t identify the victim. That’s around the time I decided I needed to find someone else to solve this mess before my career ended.”
Would the police normally share that kind of information with the public? It seemed unlikely, although some lawyers held a special kind of relationship with law enforcement, and often spoke to each other off the record. Time for another change of subject. “Does anyone know that you hired me to look into the murder?”
“Just my agent. Why?”
“I think someone might be watching me. I saw this man…on the beach with binoculars…and a few times while driving I swear I was being followed. It may all be my imagination, but there’s a chance it’s not.”
Dean’s back stiffened. “That detective knows you’re looking into the murder. If you ask me, he acted shady during questioning, like it was some kind of personal vendetta. Wouldn’t surprise me if he killed that woman himself, and was trying to find someone to pin it on.”
Bexley’s stomach lurched with his accusation. Hadn’t she suspected it was Grayson’s car parked across from her apartment? But the idea he could be involved in the murder was ridiculous. He claimed his lieutenant told him to drop the case. Still, that could’ve been a lie. Maybe he only agreed to work with her so he could keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t get in too deep.
The idea that Grayson had murdered the woman was ludicrous. Or was it? She’d discovered a new angry side of him, and he might have been sneaking around with a prostitute. It seemed likely the victim was also a prostitute if she'd been with multiple men and showed little indication of a struggle aside from the gun shot in her head and slight bruising around her neck.
Irritated at Dean’s insinuations, she guzzled more champagne. “I’ve considered applying for a concealed weapon license.”
Dean nodded. “You should. I’ll buy you a reliable handgun to go along with it.”
“I would need to spend some time at a shooting range. I haven’t held a gun since my father made me learn how to shoot in high school.
”
“I can arrange for that, too.” Once again, his fingers slipped through hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Relieved the darkness hid the flush blossoming up her neck, Bexley sighed. She had to admit to herself that it was a thrill hearing the hottest actor in Hollywood promise to keep her safe.
Voices off in the distance chanted loudly in unison. She startled when loud, brass fireworks shot from the barges, exploding through the sky over their heads in an awe-inspiring burst of assorted colors. “Guess it’s midnight,” she said, taking deep breaths to slow her racing heart.
Dean watched her with rapt attention. “You should see how beautiful you are right now.”
In a flash, his lips were on hers, his hand tangled in her hair. Bexley missed the touch of a man more than she realized, and found herself answering the kiss with an awakened hunger. The guy was an excellent kisser. She guessed his talent didn’t end there when his hands began to wander.
She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so…wanted. She wondered if the urgent, delightful strokes behind his lips and tongue were a skill he’d learned on set. At first she wasn’t fully aware of his hand on her neck, stroking up and down with tenderness, until it stopped and his thumb began to apply pressure against her windpipe. The sudden need to push him away scorched through her bones.
“Dean-o, you sexy bastard!” a male voice bellowed from somewhere nearby. “I throw the party of the century, and you’re way the hell out here getting lucky?”
“I’m sorry,” Bexley whispered, jerking back. Her face burned with mortification. “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”
“Shane,” Dean called out to the man emerging from the darkness. “As always, your timing is shit.”
Bexley supposed the muscular blonde standing before them in a pair of low-slung satiny pants in the same material as the fire eaters’ costumes would be considered attractive, were it not for the distasteful collection of lipstick marks covering his chest, or the douchey “you’re welcome” script tattooed above his waistband. “Can’t believe this hottie is the reporter you hired. Little Nancy Drew’s got some serious game.”
Heart seizing, she spun back to Dean. “You said you hadn’t told anyone other than your agent.”
Dean regarded his friend with a scowl. “He figured it out on his own once he spotted you earlier.”
Throwing Bexley a smile, Shane tapped his temple. “I’m not as dumb as I look. You might want to remember that.”
Her gut roiled. It felt like a threat. “Do your friend a favor and keep my involvement on the down-low,” she snapped, shooting up to her feet. “Thank you, Shane, for your hospitality.” She glanced over her shoulder at Dean, shame spreading through her gut like wildfire. “I have that interview with Temperance early in the morning, so I think I’m going to head out.”
Dean stood and wrapped his fingers around her elbow. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”
She stepped away and grabbed her shoes. “I can manage.”
“Drive safely!” Shane called to her back.
She couldn’t help noticing the sentiment felt laced with malice. Worried that one of the men might decide to follow her, she broke into a brisk run on her way back to her car. Crippled by indignity after being interrupted by Dean’s deplorable friend, she didn’t even want to guess how many ethical violations she’d been close to committing. It was time to regroup, and get her head back in the game.
9
From the moment she stepped foot on the reality star’s property, Bexley already sensed she was in for the treat of a lifetime. The 3-story dwelling stretched into the air like a fortress made in the realm of knights and dragons, complete with a thirty foot fountain in the horseshoe driveway of a topless mermaid fashioned out of shimmering gold. Bexley couldn’t come up with any rational reason why a fleet of luxury cars were diagonally parked along one side, other than for bragging rights. She was beginning to fully understand the extent of what Papaya Springs had become with the influx of new money. She missed New York more than ever.
Before she could knock, the double doors swung open to a tall, spindly man with graying hair and wild eyes. “Please, come in.”
A snow-white ball of fur with sparkles flashing around its neck came charging at her. Though the dog was large, Bexley had grown up around even larger breeds, and on instinct reached out to pet it. The dog had other ideas. It sniffed her ballet flats before yipping like they were covered in explosive residue. Bexley suspected it was the million dollar dog she’d read about, and wondered if its collar was encrusted with real diamonds.
“Cenicienta, no no!” a female voice scolded. The dog scampered away as a woman floated down one of the split stairways. On first glance, the woman took Bexley’s breath away. Bronzed skin, round face, bee-stung lips, sharp cheekbones, strong nose, dark hair piled high on her head, she was exotic—beyond comparison to any supermodel in the industry. She wore a beautiful blue silk kimono robe that seemed two sizes too small for augmented breasts that Bexley swore she could faintly hear crying for help.
“Welcome to my home, darling. I’m sorry you caught me while I’m coming down from the jet lag. I must look dreadful.” She frantically waved her hands through the air. “Come in! Come in! Please, I will fetch you a delicious bebida!”
The contents of the ostentatious home featured twenty foot ceilings, rich mahogany furniture, intricate columns carved from ivory, and whimsical illustrations stretched along the walls. Bexley had all she could do not to break into hysterics with the visual of Dean spending time there as she followed in the floral perfumed footsteps of his ex.
In an ornate backyard suited for a gathering of mystical fairy-book creatures, they were met with the high tinkling of a bell. Seconds later a young woman who looked like a sprite materialized with bubbling drinks in a pair of crystal flutes. She handed one to the hostess and her guest before she disappeared.
The two women perched side-by-side on a bench hanging from ropes that overlooked a bubbling brook and stone cabanas facing the blue ocean. Temperance took a delicate sip of her drink and hummed dreamily with her eyes closed. Bexley couldn’t decide if she was in the company of a girl who’d never quite grown up, or a deranged adult who might actually believe in otherworldly creatures, and thought herself to be a princess. Perhaps it explained why millions of viewers were hooked on her reality show.
Her eyelids fluttered back open. “My Dean says you have something importante to ask of me. No?”
My Dean? She lost a few points with the ridiculous pet name, Bexley thought. Assuming the heavy glass cost more than Dean’s payment would cover, she carefully placed it on the stone table beside her before digging in her bag for the pictures. She set them in the woman’s hands. “Dean told me he borrowed these from Iman for you to wear a few months ago. Where do you remember last seeing them?”
“Dios mío, Iman’s masterpiece! They were the second love of my life! Have they been found?”
“There’s reason to believe they were involved in a crime. Do you have any idea what happened to them after you wore them to the fundraiser?”
“Santa mierda, no. My Dean says he could not find them. I say I didn’t take them from the house. My assistant checked to be sure they didn’t get taken by accident.”
“Is there anyone on Dean’s payroll who you think may have some kind of motive to steal them? Money? Prestige?” A fool’s desire to become a vlog sensation?
“No. Those employed by Dean have the strong ethic. They work hard.” The woman’s pink nails tapped on her glass as she studied Bexley. “Why do you ask me this?”
“I’m a journalist. Dean hired me to clear his reputation after being questioned on the murder of that woman. He’s worried he’ll never work in Hollywood again unless this case is put to rest.”
With a wistful look, Temperance nodded. “You must understand…my Dean was good to me. He showered me with lavish gifts and trips around the world. If I was sad, he’d mak
e sweet love to me. He treated me like I was the only woman worthy of his love. I cherished him more than any man before. I wanted to give him all the babies. You ask me if I think he could’ve killed this woman? The answer is no. Would I care to see him put behind bars for hurting me? Maybe.”
The oversharing of information on their love life had Bexley wriggling in her seat. But the fact that this woman held a grudge against Dean was interesting. “How did he hurt you?”
“He told me that if you truly loved someone rare and beautiful beyond your wildest dreams, you set them free. I do not understand this American way of thinking!” She waved a hand through the air as she spoke. “If you love someone, you adore them like una rare joya! You give them all you have, your paychecks and orgasms!”
Bexley found the sentiment weird, but oddly sweet. Then she remembered Dean saying he could never settle down with someone as privileged as his ex, and she had all she could do not to roll her eyes. “So you’re saying he never hurt you in the physical way, like in violent outbursts?”
“Are you asking if he hit me? No. He was always gentle, kind. That one has a heart of gold.” She sighed wistfully and touched her chest. “You should see him with the children. My Dean was born to be a papá.”
Bexley rose to her feet. “If you remember anything that might help us track the path of the shoes, or anything someone on his staff may have said that triggers a warning, please give me a call. I’ll leave my number with your…uh…door-opening guy.”
Temperance crossed her arms with her glass held out. “You should interrogate that ese idiota that’s always hanging around my Dean. No one goes in and out of that property more than Shane.”
That’s interesting, Bexley thought. His name had been omitted from those who knew the security code for the beach house. From her short interaction with Shane, it didn’t seem out of character to think he would steal a pair of shoes to impress a woman. Had Dean left his name off the list on purpose? That’s the kind of thing a best friend would do.
