Revenge, Page 2

  “Yes, I’m sure, Ria.”

  “And if the hospital calls—”

  “You have my numbers.”

  chapter 4

  KRISTIN COULDN’T STOP shivering. She was naked and alone, locked in some funky little beach house where she’d been held captive all night.

  She was not afraid. She refused to be afraid. This was another one of Mister X’s sick sex games, and now that it was light outside, she was confident he would soon come back to release her.

  Last night she’d met him at the end of the Santa Monica Pier, as arranged. As usual he was dressed as a chauffeur—all in black with a baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead, and oblique wraparound shades hiding his eyes.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, as he gripped her arm and led her back to his car—a limo.

  “You’ll know when we get there,” he said.

  Mister X was a man of mystery, and for her sins she was getting used to his odd ways.

  Kristin had climbed into the back of the limo, thinking that however bad her life was, at least she was luckier than her sister, Cherie, who was lying in a coma in a private nursing home because she’d chosen the wrong guy to get engaged to. Howie Powers—a no-good playboy with too much of his daddy’s money.

  “Put on the blindfold,” Mister X commanded.

  She’d done as he asked, covering her eyes with the soft velvet mask that was lying on the backseat. As she did it, she told herself, I’m a paid whore, I deserve everything I get.

  Mister X had then driven along the Pacific Coast Highway at great speed for about twenty minutes, turning off at what felt like a bumpy dirt road. When the car had finally come to a halt he’d thrown open the rear door and almost dragged her out.

  She could hear the roar of the sea and smell the cold night air, and for a moment she’d felt fear. “Can I take off the blindfold?”

  “No,” he replied, roughly gripping her arm and proceeding to take her on a trip down perilous steps to what she assumed was a house. Several times she nearly fell, but he yanked her up. Finally they entered the house, which smelled musty and damp. He led her to a bed, pushed her onto it and said, “Strip.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  This was her worst experience with him yet. The man was a true pervert—getting his kicks from frightening people.

  “First I want my money,” she said, berating herself for not asking earlier.

  “Spoken like a true whore,” he said, shoving an envelope stuffed with cash at her. She felt the stack of bills with her hands and was instantly reassured. This much money would pay her sister’s nursing home bills for months.

  “Strip,” he repeated in a flat monotone. “Slowly.”

  She stood up and did as he asked. Hating him. Hating herself.

  Standing there naked, she felt vulnerable and exposed. This man who had asked her to do a variety of perverted deeds had never once touched her sexually. Was he finally going to make love to her?

  Suddenly she heard the door slam, followed by the click of a heavy lock. Next she heard wild laughter from outside. Then silence.

  She waited a few minutes before ripping off the blindfold. The room was pitch black—she couldn’t see a thing, there was no light coming in at all.

  It was then she realized she was totally alone.

  She didn’t panic. This was only another way Mister X had of getting his sick kicks.

  After a while she began groping around for her clothes, only to discover the perverted freak had taken them.

  She edged her way slowly around the small room, feeling ahead of her with her hands. First she tried the door; it was firmly locked. Next to it was a window, which on examination appeared to be boarded up. No getting out of there until he chose to come back, so she settled on the narrow bed, covered herself with the one thin sheet and attempted to sleep.

  Now it was morning, light was creeping through the small gaps in the sturdy boards covering the window, and soon Mister X would be back to release her.

  No matter how much money he offered in the future, this encounter was definitely the final one. She would never do business with him again.

  chapter 5

  ANGELA MUSCONNI, HOT young actress, knew she was doing the wrong thing, but then Angie had not gotten where she was today by doing the right thing. So against her better judgment, she bailed out her old boyfriend, Eddie Stoner, who might or might not be a suspect in the violent murder of his ex-wife, Salli T. Turner.

  Eddie had gotten himself arrested for unpaid parking tickets and his lawyer had vanished on him—so he’d called Angie and asked her to put up his bail. She threw down the appropriate money, and had him out of there in no time.

  Eddie was delighted to see her, and so he should be. It had been three years since he’d left her, and in those three years she’d become a bankable movie star.

  Obviously Angie still harbored feelings for Eddie—even though she lived with Kevin Page, another hot young movie star—otherwise she never would have agreed to bail him out.

  “You look amazin’, Angelina,” Eddie said, seated in her Ferrari as she drove him to his apartment.

  “I should look great,” she boasted, thinking that he didn’t look as hot as she remembered. “Like I’m a big movie star now.”

  “Glad it happened for one of us,” he said, scratching his stubbled chin.

  “It could still happen for you,” she said, driving recklessly. “You’re not too old. What are you— twenty-nine?”

  “Thirty,” he said grimly. “Thirty and fucked.”

  “Can’t be all bad,” she said lightly.

  “Get this shit,” he said, outraged. “Those filthy pigs dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night an’ threw me in jail. They freakin’ think I did it.”

  “Did what?” she asked innocently.

  “Killed Salli.”

  “Did you?” she asked, throwing him a sly sideways glance.

  “No freakin’ way,” he said vehemently. “How could you even think I’d do somethin’ like that?”

  “You used to beat the shit out of us, Eddie,” she reminded him. “Me and Salli. You can’t deny it.”

  “So once in a while I got a little carried away,” he said with a careless shrug.

  Angie remembered him getting more than a little carried away. Eddie in a rage with his eyes bulging was not a pretty sight. Before Salli had stolen him from her, he’d been a violent bastard, prone to beating her up whenever he felt like it.

  “Did you get carried away with Salli on Saturday night?” she asked boldly, secure that now she was famous he wouldn’t dare touch her.

  “What’re you?” he said, scowling. “A freakin’ cop?”

  “Just askin’. No need to go nuts.”

  “I’m gonna tell you who did it,” Eddie said, nodding his head. “Her moron husband, Bobby, that’s who.”

  “How do you know?” Angie questioned. “It was probably some crazy stalker. I’ve got a ton of ’em. I’m sure Salli did, too.”

  “It was Bobby,” Eddie repeated. “He’s a stoned psycho—I’ve seen him in action.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Anythin’ he can,” Eddie said ominously. “Drive faster,” he added. “I wanna get to the TV, see what’s goin’ on. The cops told me she was hacked to death. What else are they sayin’?”

  “Not a lot.”

  When they reached his apartment one thing led to another, and before she knew it, Angie found herself back in his bed. Sex with Eddie was everything she remembered—and more. Eddie might not be a star on the screen, but he was certainly an above-the-line performer between the sheets. A sexual box-office hit.

  When they were finished, she knew she should dress and go home to Kevin—who was in bed waiting for her, expecting her to bring food. But Eddie was back in her life, and Eddie was her addiction—an addiction she’d thought she was over. Apparently not.

  “Why’d you dump me and marry Salli?�
�� she asked, leaning on one elbow and staring at him accusingly as they lay in bed. “I was only a baby. You treated me like I was nothin’.”

  “You’re still a baby,” Eddie said, grinning, because he was well aware he was the greatest cocks-man that ever lived. Women were so damn easy, give ’em head for ten minutes and they were his forever. “An’ rich, too, I bet.”

  “You got that right,” she said, giggling.

  “What’re you doin’ with all your loot?” he asked, reaching for a cigarette on the bedside table.

  “Whatever I want,” she answered cheekily.

  “You goin’ with anybody?” he asked, keeping his tone deliberately casual.

  “Don’t you read the fan magazines?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said sarcastically. “Like I’m freak-in’ glued to the fan magazines.”

  “I’m living with Kevin Page.”

  “Kevin Page?” he snorted. “That fairy.”

  “He’s not a fairy,” she said defensively.

  “Get a life, sweetheart,” Eddie said, blowing smoke in her face. “He’s gay as a two-cent piece.”

  “Kevin is not gay.”

  “Yeah?” he said, tweaking her left breast. “I bet he doesn’t do it to you like I do.”

  This was true. Kevin might be on the cover of every teenage girl’s fan magazine, but as a lover, he had a lot to learn. “You’re sooo conceited,” she said with a sigh, longing for his hands all over her, not to mention his tongue where it would do her the most good.

  Eddie laughed confidently. “So what else is new?”

  chapter 6

  “WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT a hospital?” Madison asked, as she settled next to Freddie Leon in the passenger seat of his gleaming maroon Rolls-Royce.

  “Off the record?” he said briskly.

  “Of course.”

  “My partner was shot last night.”

  “Max Steele?”

  “You know him?”

  “Yes, we went jogging together a couple of days ago.”

  “You get around.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “It hasn’t hit the news yet,” Freddie said, gazing straight ahead as he drove along Santa Monica Boulevard. “Right now he’s in intensive care. My wife is sitting vigil at his bedside.”

  “This is terrible news.”

  “It’s the reason I agreed to get out of the office today, couldn’t concentrate. You see, as of last week . . . well, Max and I were not exactly on good terms.”

  “God! I hope he’ll be okay.”

  “So do I,” Freddie said dryly. “Because if Max dies, everyone will say I put a hit on him. That would go nicely with my reputation. Right?”

  “How can you be so cynical?” she said, wondering why he would even say such a thing.

  “Let’s make a deal, Madison. Unless I signal that you can put your tape on, anything I say is completely off the record. Agreed?”

  “I’ll go with that.”

  “Excellent decision.”

  She shook her head. “This is a very violent town.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “New York.”

  “And I suppose New York isn’t violent?”

  “I’ve been here three days, and already Salli T. Turner’s been murdered, and now Max Steele has been shot.”

  “Read the papers, something happens every day.”

  “Was he at home?”

  “No, the police say it was a robbery in a parking lot. Apparently somebody wanted his Rolex.” Freddie sighed. “Do you know how many times I’ve warned him not to walk around with a seventeen-thousand-dollar gold watch on his wrist?”

  Madison wanted to respond, “How about you in your two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car?” But she did the prudent thing and resisted. “Will you be able to keep it out of the news?” she asked.

  “I doubt it.”

  “And you say your wife is at the hospital with him?”

  “Diana took it badly. I never realized they were so close.”

  Hmm, Madison thought, there’s a telling remark.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” Freddie continued. “My head’s not in a good place right now. When I left the hospital last night I took a ride to the beach. We have a small house there which nobody ever uses. It’s the only place I can relax. I enjoy solitude.”

  “So do I.”

  “I’ll lend you the keys one day.”

  “I’ll take you up on that. I love the beach,” Madison said, thinking that Freddie Leon was not at all like his reputation. This titan of the big deal seemed lonely and almost vulnerable.

  They rode in silence for a while.

  “Y’know,” Madison said. “The last thing I want is to hassle you. So if this isn’t a good time, we don’t have to talk today—we could get together next week.”

  “I like you,” Freddie said, ignoring her offer. “I knew that the moment you walked into my office. Believe me—I don’t say that to many people.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Madison—interesting name.”

  “My parents met on Madison Avenue,” she said lightly. “My mother was shopping, and I guess my father was looking.”

  “Your parents still alive?”

  “They live in Connecticut, moved out of the city last year.”

  “Smart. That’s exactly what I plan on doing eventually—buy myself an old farmhouse in France and give all this up.”

  “You’d relinquish all your power and leave L.A.?”

  “In a moment,” he said, making a sharp turn onto Melrose.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, peering out the window.

  “My secret place,” he said. “Only it’s not so secret with the tourists. It’s somewhere I don’t have other agents and producers begging for favors. Also, they serve the best Danish in the city.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Farmer’s Market on Fairfax.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Farmer’s Market?”

  “You’ll love it,” he assured her.

  “I will?”

  “Yes, Madison, you will.”

  She settled back in the passenger seat. This meeting was turning out to be much more interesting than she’d expected.

  chapter 7

  DIANA SAT BESIDE MAX Steele’s hospital bed. He was still unconscious and in intensive care, but the doctors had told her he had a good chance of making it. She hoped and prayed it was true, because if he survived, she definitely had decided to tell Freddie she was leaving him.

  Of course, there was one small snag. When she and Max had met for breakfast, he’d revealed that he had just gotten engaged, and she—like a fool—had later shared the news with Freddie. When Freddie left the hospital last night, he’d instructed her to contact Max’s fiancée immediately.

  She had not done so. Why should she? It seemed unnecessary. She was perfectly happy sitting next to Max, watching over him. The last thing she needed was a stupid fiancée getting in her way. For a brief moment she’d considered calling Max’s secretary at home to get the girl’s number, but then it had seemed more sensible to wait until the next day.

  Now it was Monday morning and she finally realized she’d better call the girl or Freddie would throw a fit. He was a stickler for getting his own way. It irked her, but there seemed to be no other choice.

  She called Max’s secretary, Meg, who sounded completely devastated. “When can I come to the hospital?” Meg asked, choking back tears.

  “Not yet, dear,” Diana responded.

  “Everyone at the office is so concerned,” Meg continued. “Mr. Leon called a staff meeting this morning and told us all. Oh, Mrs. Leon, it’s such a shock. What can I do?”

  “I need the number of a friend of Mr. Steele’s,” Diana said crisply, unable to bring herself to say “fiancée.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Leon—who would that be?”

  “Her name’s Kristin something. I don’t have a last name.”

  “Hol
d on a moment, I’ll look in the book.”

  Diana held on impatiently. It was obvious Meg knew nothing about a fiancée. Good.

  Finally Meg returned. “I can’t seem to find a listing in the business book for a Kristin. However, his personal phone book is on his desk. Would you like me to take a look in that?”

  For a moment Diana was tempted to say no. If she was unable to get the girl’s number she couldn’t inform her. “Very well,” she said at last.

  Meg left her hanging again and returned a moment later. “Since we have no last name I’ll look under the K’s,” she said. “Ah yes, there is a Kristin listed. Kristin, and in brackets, Darlene, then there’s a number.”

  “Give it to me,” Diana said impatiently.

  “Yes, Mrs. Leon. Is there anything else I can do? Maybe bring some of his clothes to the hospital? Or drop by his house?”

  “Good idea, Meg. Go to his house and warn the housekeeper that if anyone comes to the door, not to say a word. We’re trying to keep this quiet.”

  “There’re spies in all the hospitals, Mrs. Leon,” Meg said. She was an avid reader of the tabloids.

  “I know, dear. Which is exactly why we’ve hired security.”

  Diana did not call immediately, but waited another half hour before reluctantly dialing the number Meg had given her.

  An uptight-sounding woman answered.

  “Is this Kristin?” Diana said, equally uptight.

  “Who is this?” the woman demanded, her voice shrill and angry.

  “Mrs. Freddie Leon,” Diana said haughtily.

  “There’s no Kristin here.”

  “Is this Darlene?”

  “Are you from the media?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t bother me at home again,” the woman shrieked. “Call my lawyer. I’m suing every one of you. You people make me sick.”

  And with that the woman slammed the phone down, leaving Diana stunned.

  chapter 8

  NOW THAT HIS FATHER WAS safely married for the fourth time, Jake Sica decided he’d done his duty by attending the wedding, and now it was time to start getting his life together. Since arriving in L. A. from his home base in Arizona barely a week ago, so much had happened, and he’d been so preoccupied that he’d done nothing about finding an apartment, let alone checking in with the magazine he was about to start taking pictures for. Which was kind of stupid, because until he let them know he was in L.A. and ready to work, there would be no weekly paycheck coming his way. And although he was an award-winning photographer, he was not exactly rolling in bucks. Which is one of the reasons he’d decided to take the highly paid magazine job in L.A.