Finding Forever (31 page)

Cameras everywhere. Taylor had grown used to being watched. The paparazzi had become a daily reality she had accepted as yet another price of fame. But the fish-eye lenses stuck to the ceilings throughout Kensington felt more invasive than even the paps.

Taylor lay in bed listening to the dogs barking back at the howling desert coyotes. She had never believed what Peter and the staff claimed—that she was a danger to herself—but after a few days in treatment she felt like it could be true.

This would be a good place in which to lose one's mind, to drive someone to do something very self-destructive, to make them want to just tie that bed sheet around their neck . . .

Taylor slid out from the bed and walked barefoot over to the thick glass window, the palm trees holding watch like the guards outside her room and the dogs roaming the grounds.

Escape.
The thought of it consumed her. But she knew that the only way she would gain freedom was by accepting their rules . . . acting the role. Suddenly, her door swung open. She jerked back upon seeing Peter, in a dark-green bathrobe, standing in the doorway holding a stack of clothes in his hand.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked.

“A little.”

He handed her a robe, then a two-piece black bikini.

“Put these on. It's time for a bath.”

The phone. Distracted by her staring contest with the barrel of Pretty Boy's gun, Brooklyn had forgotten about the cell she had dropped. Until it rang.

Pretty Boy's eyes laser-locked on its location next to his feet. He picked it up and read the screen.

“Who's Tamara?” he asked.

“She's my ride,” Brooklyn said. “She dropped me off. She's waiting outside for me. She's probably wondering if I'm okay. And I bet she's gonna call the cops unless she hears from me soon.”

“Nah. She's heading home,” Pretty Boy smirked.

“She wouldn't just leave. No way.”

“She would if you told her to.” He tapped out a message on the phone and showed Brooklyn the text exchange. “I'm sorry, Brooklyn Brant. But no one is leaving here until we are all on the same page.”

He scrolled through more of her text messages. “And who's Holden?”

“That's my assistant I told you about.”

“Looks like you're more than co-workers.” He laughed. “He just texted that he loves you.”

“Well, yeah, but that's none of your business. What is your business is that he has your picture, is a whiz with computers, and he's about to find out who you are. Unless I tell him to stop.”

“He won't find anything, Red.”

“Oh yes, he will. Trust me, he's found people with a lot less—”

“No, he won't. Because I don't exist.”

Brooklyn laughed.

“Why did you come into this house anyway?” Pretty Boy asked.

“To meet with sleepyhead over here.” Brooklyn pointed to Simone, whose head still rested in Brooklyn's lap. “She said she found out who kidnapped Taylor Prince. And after seeing the video, it looks like you're the creep. So tell me: Where is she?”

“Looks can be deceiving, Red.”

“Yeah, like even a good-looking guy like you can be a total sociopath.”

“I'm just the delivery man. I mean, what if I was just told to go pick up a package and bring it to them? A delivery guy doesn't know what someone does when they drop it off or where it goes from the drop-off point.”

Brooklyn wished he weren't so attractive, because then it would be a lot easier to hate him. “You're obviously more than a delivery guy. You seem pretty tight with those mall cops in the security video.”

“Let's say for the sake of argument that I did know where she was. How much would that information be worth to you?”

“Even if I had the money, I don't pay my sources. That's just dirty and unethical.”

He laughed. “Then why would I tell anything to some kid with a blog who has no money? You get your story and I get nothing.”

“You'd get peace of mind,” she said.

“Peace is not possible for me until I'm free from him.”

“From your boss?”

“Yes.”