Stealing Gold (The Logan Series Book 4) (12 page)

“We
have to talk to her.” Sean’s voice was urgent, agitated. He propelled himself
from the chair to stride around the conference room. “Every penny I have is invested
in this project. If Plaxtair pulls out, we’re screwed.” His hands clenched into
fists. “They’re being totally unreasonable—this whole disaster isn’t Stacy’s
fault. We need to get her in here and explain the situation. She has to make a
statement today.”

The
record label wanted her to come to a deal with Lester and make the scandal go
away. Plaxtair wanted the complete opposite, that she should expose him as a cheating
crook, and distance herself. She was putting on a brave face, appearing hard,
but that shell was brittle and he didn’t know how much she could take before
she cracked. Bringing her in here and delivering another ultimatum wouldn’t
happen if he had anything to do with it.

“She
will.” Placating Sean was step one. “Right now she’s working. I don’t want to
break the flow, she needs to put in the hours, even more once this drama blows
over. Tomorrow is soon enough to make a statement, we don’t want to rush into
this and botch it.”

He
forced a smile. “My butt is on the line just as much as yours. You know I
poured all my money into this movie too. It’ll get made. We need more
information about what’s going on back in the States—we’re out of the action
here. Stacy has been in touch with a couple of people, and they’ll be reporting
back this afternoon. I’ll talk to her and we’ll put together a plan.”

Sean
forced his hand through his hair, and tugged at the neck of his T-shirt. “Don’t
screw up.”

“I
won’t.”

Soon
after Sean left, Adam’s cell chimed, with Apollo’s name showing on the screen.

“Hey.”

“Hi.
I’ve been trying to call Stacy, but her cell is going to voice mail.”

“She
must have turned it off.” He glanced through the open door. The light shone red
over the studio door, warning people not to enter. “She’s recording in the
studio. What have you got for us?”

“Uh.”
Apollo groaned. “It’s about…uh…”

“Did
she contact you about the pictures of me cheating?”

“Yeah.”
Apollo exhaled so loudly Adam could hear it over the miles between them. “I don’t
know what to make of this.”

“It’s
made up. I never cheated on her.” The anger of explaining himself was absent,
replaced by a dull ache and a determination to find the source of the lie; an
explanation of how the scam had worked. “Lester faked the photos somehow.”

“Okay.”
Silence for a moment, then, “I dated Lester’s secretary, Anna, for a while, so
Stacy asked me to question her. Stacy said Lester kept the photos in his safe,
and Anna said no-one knows the combination but him, so she can’t get in there
to check.”

Damn.

“But
she checked through her diary, and a couple of weeks before Stacy filed for
divorce Lester asked Anna to arrange a private meeting with a photographer in
New York, a guy called Adrien Phillips in Body Shots Studios.”

Adam
scribbled down the details, and when Apollo recited the telephone number and
the website address, scrawled those too.

“What’s
the mood there? What are people saying?”

“Rumors
are flying around like poison tipped arrows. A few contractors have come out
and said Lester stiffed them, and some asshole has sold a story of Lester
losing a whole heap of money at the tables in Vegas. There’s another story
going around that Stacy fired him because he was sick and couldn’t do his job,
and that the shock of that led to him running to Bali.” He snorted. “Them
trying to paint Stacy as responsible for this shit drives me insane. I’ve been
doorstepped by reporters, but haven’t made any comment. I didn’t want to until
I’d spoken to her.”

“Avoid
them,” Adam said. “I’ll talk to her and get her to call you back.”

The
red light across the hall flicked off. It was time to bring the drama home.

*****

When
Stacy and Christine pushed open the door to the studio, Adam was there waiting.

Christine
took one look of his resolute face. “I’ll see you later.”

“Great.”
Stacy watched her tutor walk away, nerves jumping in her gut. For hours, she’d
managed to deflect thoughts of what was happening outside the studio, and
immerse herself in the work, but that wasn’t an option any more.

She
glanced over at Adam. Nope. He definitely wanted to talk.

“You
look like you have bad news.”

He
didn’t deny it, just took her elbow and walked her into the small kitchen. “I
asked someone to get us some sandwiches and stuff.” He took a brown paper bag
and a couple of bottles of water from the fridge. “Let’s eat in my office. I
don’t want to be disturbed.”

This
was bad. The way he avoided her eyes hinted this would be a difficult
conversation. Not for the first time, she wished she could just run out of the
front door, jump into a car and drive away.

Instead,
she followed where he led, and settled at the work table next to his desk. She selected
a tuna sandwich from the bag. Her favorite. He always knew just what she wanted.

“Apollo
was calling you.”

She
searched in her pocket for her cell and turned it on. Seven messages pinged
into her inbox.

“He’s
called three times, and left messages. Agent Black has called too. I better
listen to the messages.”

Adam
shook his head. “I spoke to Apollo. He told me you wanted him to try to find
the photographs in the safe.”

It
was ridiculous to feel as though she should apologize. As if she didn’t believe
what he’d said. Surely he understood that they needed to get those
pictures—they needed, or at least she needed to know how or if they’d been
faked.

“Lester’s
secretary doesn’t know the combination.”

Hope
that had been pushing out of blackness like a seedling seeking the sunlight,
curled up, in danger of dying.

“But
she did find the address of a photographer in New York that Lester met with a
few times. Maybe he’s the guy who took the pictures.” He shoved the pad of
paper across the desk to her. “There’s more.” Adam frowned and crossed his
arms. “Plaxtair wants you to make a statement saying you have nothing to do
with Lester. They say it’s the only way to separate you from his dirty
dealings.”

“And
Clint wants me to make up with him, and bury everything, which is the complete
opposite of what Plaxtair wants.”

Adam
just stared at her.

“I
need to listen to Agent Black’s messages. He’s left two.”

Black’s
first message poured bleach on the seedling, killing it stone dead. “I got your
email, Miss Gold. Unfortunately, we can’t access his safe at the moment. I’ve
been in touch with the hospital in Bali and Mr Jones is in critical condition,
it doesn’t look as though he’s going to make it. I’ll keep you posted.”

She
switched to the next voicemail.

“Call
me back, Miss Gold. We have a news blackout in place, but I don’t know how long
it will hold. Lester Jones died an hour ago.”

Chapter
Thirteen

“What
is it?”

All
the color had drained from Stacy’s face and she swayed as the hand holding the
phone dropped to her side. Adam grabbed the nearest chair and guided her onto
it. Agent Black’s message had shaken her, she was swallowing rapidly, her eyes
scanning from side to side in a panicked response.

“Lester’s
dead.” She gripped her hands together. “He’s dead.” She blinked away tears. “I
don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think.”

Adam
placed a chair opposite hers and sat, his knees bracketing hers. “Look at me.”

He
touched her chin, forcing her wide-eyed gaze to collide with his.

“I
should hate him. I can’t hate him.” Her eyes screwed shut. “He was the closest
thing to a father I ever had.” She made a noise closer to a wail than a groan. “Jesus.”

Adam
pulled her from the chair onto his lap. Wrapped his arms around her, and let
her sob into his shoulder.

She
cried as though her heart was broken. As though there was a storm raging
within. She’d been buffeted with a whole host of emotions since Lester’s
desertion: anger, shock, upset. But his death released the most powerful
emotion of them all. Grief. Despite everything, there’d been love between them
once, and she needed to get it out.

He
smoothed a hand over her shuddering back and just held her until the storm
quieted, until she eased away a fraction and stared at him with tear-ravaged
eyes.

“I
better return Agent Black’s call.”

“I’ll
tell Sean.” Adam speared his hands through her hair, bringing her face close
and kissed her gently. “We need to talk to Barney Meisner at Plaxtair too. I’ll
be back soon.”

He
went in search of Sean.

“This
changes everything,” Sean agreed, once he’d been brought up to date. “Plaxtair
can’t stick to that ridiculous deadline under these circumstances. Let’s call
him.”

He
placed the call, and before long they were staring at Barry’s face on the
screen again.

“Lester
Jones is dead.” There was no point in sugar coating it. “Stacy’s devastated and
in no condition to make a statement.”

Meisner
grimaced. “If she speaks now, she’ll be trash talking a dead man, that won’t
work. Okay, new plan. He’ll get quietly buried in Bali, and she can decline all
interviews. The story should blow over in a couple of days.”

“We
need to keep Stacy on board. The work she’s already done is great, she’s really
brought the character to life,” Sean said.

Meisner
shuffled papers. “I’ll pass along the news of Lester’s death. I’ll do what I
can. We don’t want to have to recast, a setback at this stage could cause the
production to go overdue and over budget, and my butt will be on the line if
that happens.” He forced a tight smile. “Talk to you soon.”

When
Adam returned to his office, Stacy had her laptop open.

“I
have to go back for the funeral. There will have to be a funeral.”

“They
could bury him in Bali.”

She
shook her head. “There’s a plot in Nashville with his name on it. When his wife
died, he told me he wanted to be buried next to her. I promised I’d see to it.”

There
was a fervent gleam in her eyes, as though she’d made her decision and wouldn’t
be turned from it under any circumstances. But he still tried.

“Any
promises you once made are irrelevant now. It’s not your problem. That woman he
ran away with, your accountant, can do it.”

Stacy
crossed her legs and angled her knees away. The fingers of one hand curled into
a fist. “I need to organize his funeral. I promised I would. He screwed up the
end of his life, but that doesn’t negate all the good he did. He launched many
people’s careers. He was a force in the business—he doesn’t deserve to have his
legacy being someone who stole and ran away.”

“But
he did.”

Her
body stiffened. She breathed in deep. “Yes, he did. But maybe he had his
reasons. Maybe he didn’t have any other options open to him.” She wiped her
eyes with her fingertips. “During this whole thing, I’ve only focused on me. I
didn’t know he was sick, didn’t know about his addiction. If I had been a
better friend to him maybe we could have worked something out together, maybe I
could have gotten him some help.”

It
killed him to see her feeling responsible for Lester’s condition. “You’re not
to blame.”

She
stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I was a child in his eyes, and I
never did anything to make him think I was capable of looking after myself—of
looking after him. I let him down.” She turned to her laptop. “I need to book a
flight.”

“Plaxtair
want it handled quietly. They want him buried in Bali.”

She
stared at him, her mouth agape. “I can’t do that. He needs a proper funeral, to
be buried next to his wife.”

“I
don’t understand why you care. He sold your home. Stole everything.” Even in
death the specter of Lester Jones was driving them apart. Frustration that she
was letting him control her, choosing Lester over him made Adam’s tone harsh. “You
don’t need to be involved in this.”

“I
do. I have to.” Her eyes flashed. “I’m going, Adam, and you can’t stop me.”

His
breathing was harsh as he stared her down. Her spine was ramrod straight, and
her jaw set. If he couldn’t force her to stay put, he’d have to go with her to
keep her safe, and for damage control.

“If
you insist on doing this, I’m coming with you. You need someone.” She’d deemed
it necessary to travel with Apollo to keep the press at bay, and that was
before the press were even aware she was travelling. Now, the interest in her
was at its peak, and once the news of Lester’s death hit the tabloids, they’d be
relentless in chasing the story.

She
shook her head. “No. Lester treated me like a child, and now you’re doing it
too. I won’t have it. I’ve spent too much time letting other people do things
for me. Look out for me. I can do this alone.” She cast him a glance. “If I can
get on a flight today, I’m going.”

Adam
left the room without a word. She was so goddamn stubborn, so unable to take
help when it was offered that once again she was retreating into her own world
and blocking him out.

He
made a phone call to Apollo, briefly detailing the new developments.

“Stacy’s
flying back to Nashville,” he said. “We don’t have a flight number yet, but I
need you at the airport.” He hated how she’d insisted he didn’t need to make
the trip. She was stubborn, but he was too. If she insisted she was travelling
alone, he would ensure everything was safe and secure when she arrived.

“No
problem.”

“I’ll
see her onto the plane. You need to handle the situation when it lands.”

“Okay.”

He
terminated the call and returned to Stacy.

She
stood. “I’ve managed to book a ticket for tonight.”

“Give
me the details.”

He
texted a message, then pressed send. “Apollo will meet you.”

“I
haven’t spoken—”

“Yeah,
well, I have. If you won’t let me go with you, you’ll damn well consent to
having him meet you at the other end.”

“Fine.”
Her mouth thinned into a narrow line. “Christine said I could record stuff in
the American studio if there’s a problem with me getting back here.” She twisted
her fingers together. “Right now I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know
anything. Don’t call me, I’ll call you when everything is clearer. I need some
time.”

*****

She
splashed out money she probably didn’t have on a first class seat, and didn’t
regret one single cent. The hostess kept her well fuelled with champagne, the
food was delicious, and she was left in peace. She didn’t want to think about
the man and the whole world she’d left behind, couldn’t think of that. So
instead, she focused on making notes and endless lists of the things she needed
to do when she landed.

She’d
spoken again to Black at the FBI. He revealed that Mrs Kensington had disappeared,
avoiding the threat of prosecution which would surely occur should she
accompany Lester’s body back to the States.

So
he’d be travelling home alone.

The
next call had been to the American consulate to arrange for his body’s
repatriation.

She
even managed to catch a couple of hours sleep.

When
the plane landed, she was rushed through security and taken through a side door
where Apollo waited.

He
took her bags. “Cole Tempest called this morning, he wanted to know what he
could do to help.” Apollo had been friends with everyone in her band.

“Is
he on tour?”

Apollo
shook his head. “No, he’s away on holiday, but he’ll be back in time for the
funeral. Cole saw on the internet that Lester sold your house, and he didn’t
want you staying at a hotel. He’s offered his place as a base while you’re
sorting everything out.”

The
generosity of Cole’s offer made her feel a little weepy. “That’s so good of
him.”

Apollo
grinned. “You’ve been there, right?”

“Yes.”
She’d been to a couple of parties over the years at the house Cole had bought
once his career took off. It was the perfect place to hide and regroup.
Sheltered outside town, built with the needs of a media-shy celebrity in mind,
with comprehensive security.

“We’ll
go straight there.” He pushed open a fire door which led to a deserted lot at
the back of the airport where his car waited.

It
had been raining. As the car cut through the wet streets, Stacy allowed herself
to relax for the first time in hours. The worry of being sandbagged at the
airport leached out of her, and she leaned back against the warm leather
headrest and breathed deep.

“There’s
something I have to tell you.”

She
glanced across at Apollo. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Some
scumball tracked down your family. Your mother was on the news.”

Panic
fluttered in Stacy’s throat. “My mother?”

“The
press are making a big thing of the fact that you said they were dead. They’ve
found footage of you saying it, and are running it next to a segment of your
mother saying Lester took you away and you were so ashamed of your origins you
denied that they even existed.”

A
memory of her mother not even recognizing her at the last time she’d visited
wouldn’t shift, playing on endless loop in her mind. “Did she mention the
payoff she received every year?” Her voice sounded harsh, but she didn’t care. “And
what of my father? What did he have to say?”

“He’s
doing life in prison, so they couldn’t—”

She
gasped.

“You
didn’t know?”

She
shook her head.

“He
shot a guy dead in a drug deal gone bad five years ago. Are you okay? Do you
want me to pull over?”

“No.
No. Keep driving.” It was all too much to take in. “Lester did a deal with my
parents when I was fourteen. He took over responsibility for me and they let
him in exchange for a payout every year. I guess they reckoned they wouldn’t be
getting any more.” She couldn’t help herself from asking: “How did she look?
Was she sober?”

“She
looked as though they’d filled her full of coffee and set a makeup artist on
her. Which is to say, not bad. Bad teeth, but not slurring her words.”

How
could this story look anything but bad for her? She’d lied for years about her
origins. Had been packaged as sweet little Stacy Gold, the girl who magically
found her happy ever after. The hope of redemption looked slim.

“Take
a left turn ahead, we need to call in to Star Records.”

Apollo’s
head snapped her direction.

“Here,
Apollo. Turn left.”

He
flicked the indicator, and turned off the highway. “Are you sure? Is Clint
Bailey even there?”

“He’s
always there.” She reached over the seat to grab the tote containing her laptop
and the memory stick of songs she’d prepared the previous night. “And he’ll see
me. If nothing else, curiosity will make him see me.”

They
pulled up outside Star Records twenty minutes later.

“Stay
here, I won’t be long.” She forced a smile. “Maybe you could give Cole a call
and let him know we had to make a detour.”

“Yeah.”
Apollo already had his phone out.

She
straightened her backbone, strode into the lobby like she owned it. Gum nearly
fell out of the receptionist’s mouth as she saw Stacy coming.

“I
need to see Clint. Is he in his office?” She didn’t slow, just kept walking.

“He’s…”
The receptionist jumped up. “I should check to see if he’s busy.”

“You
do that.”

Her
heels clicked on the polished wood floor. She could hear the receptionist
mumbling in the background, but didn’t hesitate when she reached Clint’s shiny
mahogany door. She gave it a quick rap with her knuckles, and without waiting
for the okay to enter, pushed the door open.