Hollywood Secrets (37 page)

I looked down at my watch. 4:42. I had 18 minutes left.

I ran to my bug, revved the engine, and pulled into traffic down Wilshire while I simultaneously flipped my laptop open on the passenger seat beside me and powered it on. At the next red light, I opened my speech-to-type program.

“
A shadowy figure was seen outside Chester barker’s estate the night of his death, and we have an exclusive on his identity,” I said out loud, watching the words appear as type on my screen.

The light changed, and I surged forward, continuing to dictate what I’d learned at Fernando’s as I crossed town.

Exactly sixteen minutes later, I screeched into the lot of the
Informer,
grabbed my laptop, and flew out of my car, not even bothering to beep it locked behind me.

I shoved through the building’s front doors, stabbing the up button on the elevator. I waited a two count. Too long! I took the stairs two at a time in my heels, hit the second floor, and ran into the newsroom, weaving through the cubes toward Felix’s office. 4:59. Thirty seconds left. I didn’t bother knocking, shoving my shoulder into Felix’s door and pushing my way in. Felix was behind his desk, Tina hovering just to his right, a piece of paper in hand. No doubt, her take on Barker’s shadowy figure. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping for once my informers trumped hers.

“
Stop the presses!” I yelled. I dropped my computer down on Felix’s desk with a thud.

He looked down at my laptop. Then up at me as I panted like an Olympic sprinter. (The Stairmaster at the gym was one thing, but have you ever tried to run up metal fire stairs in three inch heels and a mini skirt? I think I deserved at least the silver for that.) Felix raised an eyebrow at the wax and glitter covering my entire person (and, incidentally, now all of my car upholstery), but had the good sense not to mention it. Instead, he gestured to my laptop and asked, “What’s this?”

“
The Chester Barker story you’re running in tomorrow’s edition.”

He raised the other eyebrow, but reserved comment, looking down at the copy typed on the screen.

Tina, on the other hand, never reserved her comments.

“
What the hell! Barker is
my
story, New Girl.”

I hated it when she called me New Girl. I’d been here almost a year. And just because I was new didn’t mean I wasn’t good. New was fresh. New was hungry. And, I thought, not able to hide my smirk, new had just beat her to the headline.

“
Then I’m sure you know who the figure outside Chester’s house is,” I countered.

She opened her mouth to respond, did a couple guppy faces, then shut it. Clearly she did not.

“
I take it that you do?” Felix asked me, his eyes quickly scanning the copy.

I nodded triumphantly. “I do, indeed. Alec Davies.”

Felix glanced up at me. “The producer?”

“
Correct. And he was Chester Barker’s partner.”

“
How did you get this information?” Tina asked, dancing around Felix, trying to read my copy over his shoulder.

I shrugged. “I have my sources.”

“
What kind of sources?” Felix pressed. “This is a pretty big accusation to make blind.”

“
The hat,” I said. “The one with the snake on it that the figure was wearing in the photo? They gave them out to the cast and crew of
Lady Justice
. Davies worked on that show. He owns the hat.”

“
So must dozens of other people,” Tina jumped in. “If they gave them to everyone on the set, it’s hardly a one-of-a-kind.”

“
True,” I conceded. “But, it’s quite a coincidence. What are the chances anyone else on the set had that close of a connection to Barker?”

Felix paused a moment, taking in both of our arguments. Finally he said, “Well done, Allie.”

I felt my chest swell with pride. “So you’ll print it?”

Felix nodded slowly. “Let me read it over first, but if it’s solid, yes, it will lead tomorrow’s edition.”

Tina threw her hands up on the air. “Oh, come on! You gave
me
this story.”

“
Did you know about Davies?” Felix asked, turning on her.

“
Well, no, not exactly. But I have some very good feelers out there right now.”

“
Great. Let me know when those pan out. In the meantime, Allie, I want you to follow up with Davies tomorrow at the studio. Find out what he was doing there and what he knows about Barker’s death.”

“
Yes, sir!” I did a mock salute, glitter raining down onto his brown carpet.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe this shit. You’re giving my headline to the glitter queen.”

“
Tina,” Felix warned.

But she plowed ahead. “Though, why should I be surprised. It’s no secret she’s editor’s pet.”

“
Tina
…”

“
I mean, we all know the only reason you even hired her was because she waltzed in here with her shirt unbuttoned to her navel and her skirt hiked to her do-da.”

“
Bender!” Felix shouted. “That’s enough.”

Tina shut her mouth with a click.

“
If and when your leads get back to you, type it up,” Felix barked. “Until then, Allie is lead on Barker. Do I make myself clear?”

Tina shot me a look that could freeze Mt. Saint Helens. “Crystal,” she spit out.

“
Good. Dismissed, Bender.”

Tina turned and stalked out of the office, clomping her boots all the way back to her cube.

I watched her go, feeling my satisfaction at besting her slowly slip down a notch.

Felix almost never raised his voice. In fact, I’d only heard him do it a handful of times. He was forceful, yes. Commanding, yes. But, in true Brit fashion, he was almost always in control of his emotions. So, the fact that Tina had rattled him meant she must have hit a nerve.

I paused in the doorway. I knew I should just take my story and go. But instead I turned to my boss.

“
Um, Felix?”

“
What?” he asked. His eyes were still dark, flashes of navy shooting through them as his chest rose and fell faster than normal.

I bit my lip. “I have to ask… you gave me the story because I’m a good journalist, right?”

He gave me a blank look.

“
What I mean is… what Tina said has no merit, right? When you hired me, it was totally because you knew what a great writer I was and that I would deliver copy and sell papers for you. And not…” I trailed off, feeling my cheeks tinge pink, really wishing I’d just left it at “I was awesome and Tina was not.”

Felix’s eyes met mine, his sandy eyebrows still hovering menacingly over his blue eyes. “And not what, Allie? Spit it out.”

I took a deep breath. And spit.

“
And not because we slept together?”

HOLLYWOOD CONFESSIONS

Buy now for Amazon Kindle!

* * * * *

SNEAK PEEK

of the brand new

Anna Smith-Nick Dade Thriller

by Gemma Halliday:

PLAY NICE

Prologue

“
Take it off.”

Anya looked across the over-furnished room at the man who’d issued the command. General Fedorov. Fifties, salt and pepper hair, eyes as dark as two bottomless pits. He took a deceptively casual position, leaning back in a plush, velvet armchair, one leg crossed over the other. But Anya wasn’t fooled. She could see the tension still present in his limbs, as if he were ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. He held a lit cigar in one hand, the cloyingly sweet scent tickling her nostrils as she complied, slipping the strap of her dress down her right shoulder, then the left. She shimmed her hips until it fell to the floor, leaving her bare beneath his gaze but for the red, patent leather heels on her feet.

“
Like this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Fedorov nodded, looked her up and down. A flicker of appreciation crossed his sharp features. He took another long drag from the cigar, as if dragging in the sight of her, then slowly blew it up toward the ceiling.

“
Come closer.”

Her stomach clenched. But she did. Her long legs crossing the distance between them until she was standing directly in front of him, so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“
And now?” she asked.

“
Kneel down.”

Again, Anya did as she was told, her bare knees hitting the cool marble floor. She swallowed a shot of apprehension, noticing the growing bulge beneath his tailored slacks.

You’ve done this a thousand times before. You can do it again.

One last time.

“
And now?” she asked. Even though she knew full well what “and now” would be. They’d been watching him for weeks. They knew his habits, his mannerisms, what kind of soap he washed with in the morning and what color socks he wore at night. What kind of cigars he smoked and what kind of recreation he indulged in. Blondes. Expensive ones. If they were lucky, he let them leave in the morning. Others became just another casualty of war.

Fedorov reached out, trailing a finger down Anya’s cheek. His hands were rough, calloused, like him. She shivered but leaned into his touch all the same, doing a kitten-like mew deep in her throat. He gave an answering groan, telling her she’d done her research well. He liked.

His hand left her face, and Anya could swear she felt her skin sigh in relief. Fedorov moved to set his cigar down, his free hand reaching for his zipper.

“
No. Let me,” Anya purred, sliding her hands up the expensive wool fabric that covered his thighs. “Please,” she begged.

A smirk crossed his features before he picked up his cigar again.

He liked it when they begged.

She smiled up at him, holding his eyes as she slowly lowered his zipper. She did another feminine coo, letting her eyes flicker to him as she licked her lips.

He chuckled, leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes in anticipation.

Anya’s heart pounded in her chest, her hands shook. No matter how many times she did this, nerves always hit her. She supposed some small part of her was glad. At least it was a sign she was still human, still had some notion of right and wrong. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

Then quickly thrust the zipper back upward, jamming Fedorov’s scrotum in the sharp teeth.

He howled, hands going to his crotch as he jumped to his feet.

But not quickly enough. Anya’s right hand shot out and grabbed the double action revolver he always kept strapped to his right ankle. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, didn’t feel.

Just aimed and pulled the trigger.

The first shot took out his right knee, sending him to the ground just long enough for Anya to put some distance between them. She backed up, quickly firing off another to his temple. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, and the room was plunged into eerie silence.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Anya’s heart pounded in her ears, her hands steady now as they held the revolver straight-armed in front of her. Mission accomplished. It was done.

And done well.

She could almost hear the praise of her handler’s voice echoing in her head.

Perfect shot, my
dragi,
my darling. Now get out.

Three seconds. She knew in three seconds his bodyguards would be at the door. A quiet syringe to the neck would have made escape easier, but in the skimpy dress Fedorov had wanted her to wear there’d been nowhere to hide it. She’d had to work with what she had on hand. Noisy as it was.

Two seconds.

Anya grabbed her dress, slipping it back over her head as she dove for the pair of French doors leading onto the balcony. She quickly pushed one open. But instead of jumping toward freedom she slipped behind the heavy, velvet curtain at its side, holding her breath.

She heard the doors to the general’s bedroom burst open, a cacophony of shouting voices drowning each other out as bodyguards swarmed the room. Anya closed her eyes, trying to make out how many. Three. Maybe four? Heavy footsteps hit the polished floor, running to the body, down the hall, toward the French doors. She was sure her heart was pounding loudly enough to match the stomping rhythm of their boots.

The scent of cheap cologne warned her one of the Russians was approaching her hiding spot. She closed her eyes, letting her knuckles go white as they tightened around the revolver.

He shouted something to his pals, so close that his voice made her jump. He’d noticed the open door. More footsteps, leading out onto the balcony. More shouting. A thin line of sweat trickled down Anya’s back as she clutched the gun to her thigh. If they found her, she was done. She was good, but three to one were odds no one could escape from. Especially when the three were trained killers.