Things Lost In The Fire (19 page)

She claimed she remembered Tommy talking to Sadie at the foot of the stairs, right before Tommy walked past Shelly and gave her ass an affectionate squeeze. She didn’t mind, of course. He was rock royalty. She then saw Lee Walker come out of the chaos of the party like a big black bat, covered head to toe in his trademark color and as brooding as ever. According to Shelly, no one understood why Georgina wasted her time on him. He was a creep. Then he flew up the stairs and disappeared, but no one thought anything of it. Except for, according to Shelly, Tommy Barnes. She claimed she saw Tommy eyeing Lee with disgust, and that he said something to someone else nearby that to Shelly sounded like, “That fucker’s up to no good.”

The valuable part of Shelly’s testimony ended there. The rest was less useful than the babbling of a toddler. But he’d gathered one curious bit of information from her, something he was sure the police must have looked into. Had Tommy Barnes seen Walker follow Sadie? And if so, had he gone after him?

It was widely known that Tommy was the one who found Sadie
after
the gunshot was fired, but was it possible he fired the gun himself? The police reports claimed there was no evidence of gunshot residue on either Tommy or Valerie, but cops could be bribed and these
were
rock stars, after all. Was he looking at a possible cover-up?

Brody let out a rush of breath, feeling a headache coming on. God, this was more convoluted than he ever could have imagined. What the hell would be the reason for a cover-up, if there even was one? He found it hard to believe that Tommy Barnes wasn’t involved in some way. Either he saw something—or did something—that he planned to take to the grave.

Well, he wasn’t going to let that happen. Sadie deserved the truth, and he wanted to get it for her.

Thinking of her, his eyes fell from the screen to a printout of her school picture. Beside it lay a couple of photographs he’d found in storage, taken one time when they were goofing off at school. In one, his arm rested casually over her shoulders, his eyebrow cocked in a devious grin with sunglasses hiding his eyes. She held the camera pointed down at them, angled so the sunlight glowed over their hair like halos. Her smile was big and delighted, her green eyes bright with humor. She looked happier than he’d ever seen her. In the next photograph, she was overcome with laughter at something he’d said, and he was acting cool as though nothing in the world could touch him. He stared at his old self, missing the days when school was a sanctuary away from his parents, if only because Sadie was there.

He graduated that year, but not before facing six months of not knowing where she’d gone or if she’d be coming back. Six months of nothing but reporters gossiping over what happened to her, when he had no way of knowing if any of it was true. She was swept away and protected, which he knew now was what saved her. But back then all he’d wondered was if he would ever see her again.

Eventually it hadn’t mattered, he realized sadly. He moved on to college, then dove into the high life sponsored by his career as a photojournalist and never looked back. She became a distant memory, one he’d occasionally think of if an Albatross song came on the radio, only to fade away once again.

Things were different now. She was back, and whether it was fate or luck or just coincidence, he was ready to seize the opportunity to help her.

On impulse, he reached for his phone and the little scrap of paper she’d given him at lunch the day before. He dialed the number, then sat back and waited impatiently.

It rang five times and before he could decide if he should leave a voicemail, she answered.

“
Hello?
”

“Glad to see you didn’t give me a fake number,” he joked.

She was quiet for a moment, long enough that he checked his phone screen to see if she’d hung up. “
Who is this?
”

His brows knit together. “It’s Brody. What, did you give your number to another guy besides me yesterday?” He heard her breath quicken and concern hit him square in the chest. “You okay?”

“
Why are you calling me?
” she snapped.

Honestly taken aback, he laughed. “Traditionally, when a phone number is given it’s expected that the receiver will call.”

“
Didn’t you pump enough information out of me yesterday? What the hell else do you want?
”

The first hot flare of anger spiked in his system. “Okay, hold up. What exactly did I do to piss you off? I thought we left on good terms.”

“
Do you think I’m an idiot? I saw the headlines, Brody. Did you think I wouldn’t find out that you sold my story?
”

“What headlines?” He braced the phone against his shoulder and quickly dove into his laptop, bringing up Google. It only took three seconds for him to see what she was referring to. “Oh, shit.”

“
Yeah, shit. Don’t ever call me again.
”

She hung up before he could respond, and though he tried to call her again he knew she wouldn’t answer. Why the hell would she? She had every right to be pissed off.

And so did he. He hated being falsely accused of something he didn’t do, especially something like this. After catching up on the story the press had leaked, he realized why Sadie had come to the conclusion that he was guilty. It was exactly what she’d told him at lunch; that her mother was dying of cancer and that she was Piper Gray. Combine that coincidence with his unsavory reputation as a soulless paparazzi, and he knew he couldn’t blame her for being upset. But, damnit, he was innocent.

Now he just needed to prove it to her. It wasn’t going to be easy, especially if she continued to ignore his phone calls. Somehow he needed to find a way to get her the truth that her own mother was enough of a publicity whore to expose her.

Valerie Ryan was scorned, and this was undoubtedly her disgusting attempt at retribution.

SADIE TOSSED her phone aside and slipped beneath the frothy water of her bath, wanting nothing more than to drown out her own anger. She failed miserably.

How dare he call her after what he did? And to act as if he’d done nothing wrong on top of it. Did he really think she was that stupid? That she wouldn’t realize it was him who went to the press? It was all so predictable, after all. He was a paparazzi, of course he would want to exploit her secrets. Clearly the friendship they once had meant less to him than the money he’d get for her story.

Realizing that, understanding it, broke her heart. She came up for air, the tears in her eyes blending with the water that spilled down her face. Her lungs filled gratefully with air and it took all she had to combat the sob that hovered there, ready to unleash the pain. Anger was an easier emotion to deal with, she knew. Crying sucked and she refused to let herself shed any tears for him. He wasn’t worth it.

But when the image of his face flew into her mind, she lost some of her resolve. The truth was, the betrayal stung worse than the act itself. She didn’t even really care that the press knew about her mother, or about her alias. It bothered her more that Brody could do this to her. That he would forfeit everything between them for money.

He’d put on quite the act, though. Pretending he had no idea what she was talking about. She might have believed him if she wasn’t so pissed off. Then again, she wouldn’t be played for a fool. Not by him, and not by anyone. The press could have their field day with the information they already knew, but she would not be giving them anything more.

With the water going cold, she rose from the tub, toweled off, and slipped into a sapphire blue robe. The silky material was cool over her skin and smelled comfortingly like pine needles and wood smoke. Like home. Lake Tahoe seemed a million miles away—some far off place that might as well be a dream. Every day that passed it grew dimmer in her memory as the city hardened her heart to stone.

She wandered out of the bathroom and into the music room. She needed to vent, to release her frustrations until she was too exhausted to move. Music was the only answer, the only cure for the misery she felt.

Sitting down on the piano bench, she placed her fingers over the keys and took a deep, soothing breath.

Now.
She launched into a fast, furious song that took all of her skill to play, losing herself in the sound it made. Her fingers were rough over the keys, slamming them into place and inciting sharp, crisp notes. She tossed her head back and let it take over, let it drive her to a place where nothing existed and nothing mattered. There was no tomorrow, no yesterday. Nothing for her to face in the morning when the sun came up. There was only the sound of the music and the feel of her hands as she made it come alive.

She played until her fingers were raw, until she could barely move her hands. Her eyes closed as she fought to catch her breath, thrilled the way an athlete is after a good run. She fed off the feeling until she could hold back those dark thoughts no more. They filtered in, slowly but surely, only this time she saw them with clarity. She’d beaten out the worst of the anger and sorrow, and in its place was nothing but reality.

Damage had been done by coming back to L.A. She knew that now. In the morning she would need to face her mother and somehow explain how she’d kept such a terrible secret from her. A secret that should have been shared with delight and a shared passion for music. Instead, she’d assumed her mother would disapprove. She still believed that. Valerie Ryan, being the vivacious celebrity that she was, would never understand the need for an alias. She thrived under the limelight. How could she fathom the idea that Sadie wanted no part of it?

And who knew what her reaction would be to the news that her own secret was now out. The world knew she was dying. Their beloved Valerie, the Goddess of Albatross, would likely never grace the stage again. Could she accept their pity at the realization that she was no longer young and radiant? That cancer was killing her beauty and ripping the life from her body with each day that passed?

No. Sadie knew the answer without even finishing the thought. Her mother would likely enjoy the attention from the press for awhile before retreating into depression over her situation. Some days she’d be joyful, other days it would be like the world was falling apart. That was just how Valerie was.

There was a soft knock on the door before Tess entered. She eyed Sadie hesitantly. “Hey. You hungry?”

Sadie nodded, massaging her hands as she got to her feet. “Hungry for more wine, if that’s what you mean.”

“Did you get a call earlier? I thought I heard you yelling.”

“Brody called,” Sadie replied, gritting her teeth. “He acted like nothing happened. I, in so many words, told him to fuck off.”

“Good girl.” Tess wrapped an arm over her shoulders and led the way out to the kitchen. “Let’s get you that wine and my mom’s famous spaghetti. Then for dessert we have chocolate cheesecake.”

“Did I mention I love you?” Sadie smiled, hugging Tess’s waist.

“Once or twice.” Tess poured wine into two glasses and nudged one to Sadie. “You know, if you want to go home no one will blame you. Just throwing it out there.”

Sadie stopped mid-sip, blinking in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if you don’t want to deal with this shit—Brody and your mother and the press and all that—no one will blame you for going back home to Tahoe. I’ll miss you, of course, but I don’t want you to put yourself through hell just because you feel like you have to help the woman who calls herself your mother but never really stepped into the shoes.”

Sadie considered her friend’s words, taking a thoughtful sip of her wine. “You know, my first instinct is to run. Which is exactly why I won’t be leaving.”

“Okay…why not?”

“Because it’s occurred to me that I didn’t just come here for my mother,” Sadie began, shaking her head. “I want to help her, but what I really want is to face this demon I’ve lived with for eleven years. I need to prove to myself that I can live without the fear. Does that make sense?”

Tess smiled and lifted her wine glass in a toast. “All the sense in the world, honey.”

Sadie raised her glass as well, releasing a nervous breath. “Okay, good. Because I think I might be a little out of it right now and I’ll probably feel like running away in the morning, so you need to promise you won’t let me escape.”