Finding Forever (9 page)

“Seriously, tell me right now. Please! This is so not okay. Where's my phone?”

The nurse placed her warm hand on Taylor's forehead and pressed firmly enough to guide her back down to the pillow. “Now, now . . .”

Taylor feared the woman was going to stick her with one of the needles resting on top of the cart. But a needle prick never came.

Instead the door clicked, unlocked. Pulling it ajar, the nurse added, “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you're in rehab.”

And that news stung even more than a needle.

“So,” Brooklyn said, “the cops crash the birthday party and then you—and basically everyone else except for Taylor—bolt?”

“It went down exactly like that,” Simone said. “The cops came with their guns out and everything. And since almost everyone was under twenty-one, we all bailed. Out of instinct. I thought Taylor would talk her way out of it like she always does. But do I feel guilty for leaving her? Yes.”

“I'm sorry, but I really don't get it. Why would the police have their guns out if they were just breaking up some teenager's party? Seems a little excessive to me. Plus, if it were a big enough deal for flashing guns, why would they just let everyone leave?”

“I don't know, but it must've been a raid or something.”

“Exactly!” Brooklyn said.

“Exactly what?”

“A raid. Maybe the cops were tipped off about drugs and were looking for a particular person.”

Simone shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Was anyone doing drugs?”

“I don't know. Probably. Why's that matter?”

“Because, as everyone knows, cops love busting celebs. They like to make an example of them so that normal, everyday people will be afraid it could happen to them. So were they LAPD or, like, county sheriffs or some sort of security?”

“LAPD, I guess?”

“But you don't know for sure?”

“No, I really don't. Sorry.”

“That's okay,” Brooklyn said. “It's just that if they were some sort of private security, there wouldn't be a public record of
their activity. But if they were cops, there should be a record of the raid that we can request. If it was FBI, which is possible, maybe I will file a FOIA.”

“Foya?”

“Freedom of Information Act. It's a law that lets you access any federal records—like an FBI report—unless there is some national security reason for them to deny it. California, luckily, has a similar law for state agencies. We might be able to get the police reports if there are any.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Simone asked.

“My mom says that I have the equivalent of a PhD in investigative journalism. Self-taught, mostly. It's my passion.”

“That's so funny.”

“Funny how?”

“It's funny because Taylor always says if she ever goes to college she'll study journalism.”

The revelation that Taylor fantasized about being a
journalist
qualified as major breaking news, the kind of story Brooklyn would normally turn into a splashy headline—EXCLUSIVE: TAYLOR PRINCE'S COLLEGE DREAM REVEALED!
—
which would definitely yield more than 100,000 page views, thus, generating more advertising revenue that she could tuck away into her college savings account. But today she realized she was chasing down much bigger, more important news that could put her on the journalism map so that Columbia and USC would be begging
her
to attend.

“So you didn't know these guys?” Brooklyn asked. “They weren't her security or something?”

“They acted—and looked—like cops,” Simone said. “But I guess they could be FBI. They had on uniforms and stuff.”

“Describe them.”

“Definitely black pants. And black T-shirts.”

“And how many guys were there?”

“Oh, umm. At least two. Yeah, two.”

“And you're sure they wore black.”

“Definitely,” Simone answered. “I'm really good with clothes. I can forget people's names the second I meet them, but when it comes to fashion, I have a photographic memory.”

“Well, if they wore black, they weren't County Sheriffs because they wear khaki shirts and green pants. And they weren't LAPD because they have blue, traditional uniforms. Plus cops don't usually wear T-shirts. And exactly where were
you
when they stormed into the backyard?”

“By the pool, across from Taylor. That part is all a little bit foggy, to be honest.”