Kissed Blind (A Hot Pursuit Novel Book 2) (7 page)

Cici had the coffee ready in less than two minutes. Camille had curled her legs up into the black leather chair while she thumbed through her phone, snickering over something that popped up on her screen. Cici placed the cup of coffee on the table next to her. She gave the cup a quick glance. “I changed my mind. Would you be a dear and make me a chai tea?”

Cici’s mouth fell open before she smiled. “Of course. It’ll be just a second.”

“Not so much milk this time, I couldn’t taste the tea the last time you made it.” Her phone made a dinging noise in her hand and a moment later she gasped. “Oli! We’re big news again. Look at us, darling!” She held her phone up to him. She’d come across one of the several images I’d already seen on the morning news.

Oliver took the phone from her hand and inspected the image before returning the phone to her. “There’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?” Camille focused her attention on her phone while Oliver looked over at me and Vance. “How’re you two feeling this morning?”

I patted my cheek. “I’ve taken worse from this guy during a workout. I’m fine.” I poked a thumb in Vance’s direction.

Vance ran a hand over his shirt. “Thanks to her, I’m good, a little sore, but it won’t slow me down.”

“You guys looked great out there. Hopefully that’ll be the end of the nut jobs we encounter while I’m here.”

“I hope so too,” I said with a nod.

Oliver gathered a stack of papers, stuffed them in a satchel, and threw it over his shoulder, wincing as he did. He rubbed a hand over his stomach.

“Everything all right, darling?” Camille asked, eyes barely leaving her screen.

“I’m fine. My stomach is acting up a little,” Oliver answered.

“Oh! You know what?” She reached into her purse and pulled something out. “Take these with some water.” She held out her hand and placed something into Oliver’s palm.

Oliver inspected two capsules. “What’re these?” 

“Something my herbalist gave me back home. She said they’ll work wonders.”

“That was sweet of you to bring these all the way here.” He bent down, tipped her chin up, and gave her a long kiss on the lips. “Thanks.”

Her cheeks held a new radiant glow. “Anything for my Oli.”

We left Camille behind sipping a fresh brewed chai tea and drove to the location Cici had written down.

We arrived at a warehouse-type building on the outskirts of town in an industrial area. I expected something more glamourous and not so “off the beaten path.” With as isolated as it was though, droves of fans waited behind a black and white saw horse screaming Oliver’s name.

A few members of the crew lingered outside of the building, catching a smoke break—two frumpy women and a middle-aged man who hadn’t shaved in months to grow the ridiculous curled handlebar mustache he sported.

Oliver gave a nod of acknowledgement to the smokers, and each muttered a hello with a slight air of irritation. His face, I guessed, meant work had arrived. They smashed their cigarettes against the side of the building and pulled open the door.

We followed them inside, and I blinked rapidly trying to take it all in. Mobs of people moved about swirling and swelling like busy bees in a hive. Cameras were everywhere and towering lights stood tall, flickering off and on as someone shouted directions. Who would have known all this was going on inside this nothing of a building?

A woman with pencils sticking out of a messy blonde bun approached us. “Oliver! You’re late.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. She had a smooth British accent I could have listened to for days. “Christ, I’ve been calling your phone for an hour already. Martin is pissed. Hair and makeup have been waiting.”

“Diana, Vance, this is Cadence, the set director. Cadence, these two are my security staff, Diana and Vance,” he said ignoring the urgency in her tone.

“Yeah, great, nice to meet you.” She faked her interest, barely holding her impatience at bay while Vance and I said our hellos. She tapped an imaginary watch on her wrist.

He held up his hands, nodding, finally acknowledging her doggedness. He reached for my arm. “Hey, why don’t you keep me company while they do what they have to do to me? We’re shooting a scene today where I’m supposed to have just been in an explosion. They need to give me some bloody wounds.” Vance stood back, close to Cici, and Oliver glanced at them. “Cici, why don’t you take Vance around and show him the set? I shouldn’t need anything for a while. I’m going to be stuck in a chair, facing up, and staring at paintbrushes and latex.”

She made a cute ticking sound with her tongue and gasped. “I’d love to.” She hooked her arm inside of Vance’s. I contained a snarl as they walked off arm in arm.

I followed Oliver into a small room slightly bigger than a closet while he sat in a black, reclined chair. He leaned back, and the makeup artist got to work. I sat not far from Oliver and watched the transformation begin.

“Diana?” Oliver asked and pointed to a small refrigerator. “Could you grab me a water from there? I need to take this medicine Camille brought me. My stomach won’t stop giving me trouble lately.”

I’d heard a lot in recent months that Oliver had health issues. The media had speculated everything from cancer to substance abuse, but nothing was ever confirmed.

“Oh, sure.” I stepped over to the fridge and took a bottle.

“Thanks.” He twisted the lid off, popped the capsules in his mouth, and drained half. “Ah, fire extinguished.”

“Sit still, please.” The makeup artist used quick, nippy movements as she applied the foundation to his skin. She dabbed a white sponge against a concoction of colors on the inside of her wrist.

“Is it always like this on set?” I asked.

“Like what?” Oliver asked, wincing as she smacked the sponge against his cheek. “Take it easy, Sasha.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve just got half the time now to do what I have to do.”

“I threw off your schedule, haven’t I? Sorry, sweetheart.” He reached up and squeezed her arm.

She grinned and blushed. “It’s okay.” She continued to apply layers of makeup but did so more gently.

“It’s kind of chaotic here,” I said. “You’d have no idea what was going on inside this building from the outside.”

“It can be crazy. I’m sure it didn’t help that I was running late,” he said and lowered his voice. “Those detectives called this morning.”

“Oh, they did?” I straightened my back and leaned in.

“Yeah, Cici took the call.” A small patch of latex was applied under his eye that looked like the cut on Vance’s stomach.

“Did they find anything?”

“They said there’s a rat problem on the lot where we rented the car, and that they could’ve chewed through the lines, can you believe that?”

“Not really.” I shrugged.

“It’s a first for me too. They still have the garage footage to review though.” His chest heaved. “But because of that little phone call, Camille found out I’d lied about the accident then she blamed everything on Cici. She should have done this, she should have done that.” He lifted his hands in a dismissive gesture and groaned. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have shared that. Could get me into hot water later.”

“No, it’s fine. What happens in the makeup room stays in the makeup room. Couples are bound to disagree from time to time.”

“Yeah.” He snorted under his breath. “It’s not always easy.”

I’d followed Oliver and Camille’s story most of my life. I’d seen all of the
E! True Hollywood stories,
all of their interviews, not to mention their movies. Their relationship is what everyone inside and out of Hollywood aspired to have. It was kind of nice to know that behind closed doors they struggled like every other couple too.

“Do you mind me asking what this movie is about?” I asked. The makeup artist switched products and began gluing something else underneath Oliver’s other eye. He tilted his head an inch to give her a better angle and faced me. Even marred and falsely battered, he was devilishly handsome. The red shadow she’d used made his piercing blue eyes look almost unnatural.

“Not at all. It’s another cop flick, but this one is a lot different from the others I’ve done. I’m the lead detective investigating a series of murders. Think
Silence of the Lambs
on steroids. It’s going to be phenomenal. And with Martin Rubenstein directing, it’s going to be epic.”

I drew in a quick, silent breath. The set director had mentioned the name Martin, but I hadn’t given it a second thought. Martin Rubenstein was
the
director in Hollywood. He ranked up with Spielberg and Scorsese. His name had been associated with some of the biggest blockbuster movies ever produced, including
Acts of Desperation.

The process of getting Oliver into character took nothing short of two hours. He told me bits and pieces about the movie, how scenes were shot out of order, how he memorized lines, so many things I found fascinating; I almost forgot I was working. While Oliver spoke, occasionally I wondered what Vance and Cici were doing. I hadn’t caught a glimpse or heard from Vance the entire time.

After his transformation was complete, Oliver was taken into wardrobe. I stayed close behind. The wardrobe coordinator put Oliver in a torn shirt while someone covered his skin in something that looked like baby oil with chunks of dirt in it. His body was nothing short of fantastic. He had it all: bulging biceps, unbelievable abs, and a phenomenal chest. 

The actors took their places, and shooting was about to begin when Vance and Cici reappeared. Cici darted off to tend to Oliver, and Vance and I stood back to watch.

Someone yelled, “Quiet on the set!”

I whispered to Vance, “So what were you and Cici doing? You were gone for a long time.”

Vance dropped his voice low, “She took me around and showed me some of the different sets and explained how they do a few things. I never thought about all that goes on. It’s amazing how a rundown warehouse can look like another world inside. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah, it was cool watching Oliver get made up.” Shooting stopped while someone adjusted a prop in the scene. “I think she likes you.”

He tilted his head but didn’t look at me. “Who? Cici?”

“Duh.”

He cocked a sideways grin. “She’s nice. I don’t have any complaints.”

“You can’t get involved with her.”

“Uh, yes I can. Now stop talking before you get us in trouble.”

A man seated next to the director shot us a heated stare, and I shut up, shrugging an apology.

It was a long day of filming, and we didn’t leave the set until well after the sun went down. We loaded into the Rover and took an exhausted Oliver home.

At the desk in the lobby, Oliver made small talk with Barry.

“Evening, Mr. Pierce,” Barry said, in his deep-timbered voice. “Your lovely wife returned back not too long ago with her arms weighted down with lots of bags.”

“She texted me on the drive here and said she’d had a successful day.” Oliver laughed. “She’s a phenomenal actress, but between you and me, I think she was born to shop.”

Barry chuckled and his whole body shook. “Sounds like we’re married to similar women.”

“Barry, for your sake, I hope not too similar.” He shook Barry’s hand. “Have a good night. Don’t work too hard.”

“Night, Mr. Pierce. You all have a nice night too.”

We all said goodnight and took the elevator up. Inside the penthouse, all the lights were on, but it was eerily quiet. No television was on, and no music played. Oliver threw his bag on the floor next to the door and tossed his jacket off.

“Cici, would you run upstairs and tell Camille we’re here. I want to grab something to eat before I collapse.”

“Sure, no problem. Be right back.” She flashed another dimpled smile at Vance and trotted off.

Oliver went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “So, tomorrow’s schedule is going to be a little different. I’m meeting with a trainer here in the morning and shooting isn’t going to start until later, they need afternoon light and the weather looks like it’s going to cooperate.”

“Cici gave us a full schedule. We’re all up to date,” I said.

His eyebrows shot up. “She did? I know Camille complains about her, but I swear Cici is worth every penny I pay her and more.” He grabbed some deli meats from the fridge and tossed a loaf of bread down on the counter. He grabbed a jagged edged knife and sliced through the thick crust.

Upstairs, Cici screamed, “Oliver!”

Seven

“Oliver! Oliver! It’s Camille!” Cici shouted again. “Oh my God!”

Vance and I pulled our guns, and we ran toward Cici’s screams upstairs. Vance took the lead, and I was behind him shielding Oliver. We ran down a long hallway straight into the master bedroom. Cici stood over Camille’s lifeless body. She was strewn across fluffy, down-filled bedding, hair fanned out in an array of silken waves behind her head, but her face was covered in blazing red blotches, and her lips were blue.

She had to have been standing next to the bed and passed out. Lying on her side, her feet dangled over the edge. Her purse was on the floor, its contents partially spilled. Two tubes of lip gloss and the compact I’d seen her using earlier were on the carpet. On the nightstand, a clear cup filled with green liquid was sweating onto the wood.

Oliver ran to her side and shook her. He put his ear to her chest. “Wake up, baby, wake up.” He smacked her cheeks, but it had no effect.

“Did you see anyone up here?” I asked Cici. I stayed close to the doorway and looked out into the hall as I scanned the room for anything out of the ordinary. Vance had already come out of a closet and walked toward the en suite bathroom.

Cici glanced at the sweating cup and her eyes filled with tears. “No… no one was here. I walked in and she was like this.”

Oliver repositioned Camille’s body, laying her flat on her back. He grabbed the pillows from the bed and placed them under her feet, raising them higher and higher.

“I’ll call nine-one-one,” I said, replacing my weapon as Vance exited the bathroom. He gave me our signal that everything was clear.

“No!” Oliver snapped. “Cici, gather up her purse and hand it to me.” Cici replaced everything into the baby blue leather bag and handed it to Oliver. He sat on the bed next to Camille and rifled through it. He handed Cici his phone. “Make the call.”

Cici nodded, walked into the bathroom, and shut the door.

“Make what call?” I asked. “She needs an ambulance.”

“No, she doesn’t. She’ll be fine. I can take care of this.” His voice quivered, offering me no reassurance.

“She doesn’t look fine.”

“She’s breathing. I just need to get the medicine in her, and it’ll be fine.” He retrieved a pouch from her purse and held it in his hand. “I just need to keep her from going into shock.” He opened the pouch and took out something that looked like a child’s glue stick, but it was longer. He removed an orange cap and began lifting the fabric of Camille’s skirt. He stopped and looked at Vance and me. “If you and Vance could go downstairs and give us some privacy. We don’t need you right now. In a few minutes someone will be arriving. They’re to be buzzed up and let in. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Vance said joining me at my side. As we were walking out, Oliver stabbed the device into Camille’s thigh.

Downstairs, Vance and I walked back into the kitchen. I put away the food Oliver had left out on the counter. Too much adrenaline pumped through my blood. If I sat still, I was going to bounce out of my skin.

“What do you think happened? Some kind of drug overdose?” I asked, shutting the door to the fridge. “Drugs and Hollywood go hand in hand.”

“No. She had an allergic reaction to something is my guess.” Vance pulled out one of the stools at the island and sat.

“How do you know?”

“That was one of those allergy pens he stabbed it into her thigh. My niece is allergic to peanuts and my sister carries one around wherever she goes.”

“I wonder what she’s allergic to.”

“I don’t know, but it seemed pretty serious to me. I’m going to assume Oliver knows what he’s doing, but I think she should go to the hospital too.”

A few minutes passed, and Vance let in a tall, slender man with salt and pepper hair carrying a black satchel.

“Dr. Molinari,” he said, holding his hand out to Vance. “Where is she?”

Cici trotted down the stairs and waved the doctor up. Oliver and the doctor remained upstairs, and a frazzled Cici joined us in the kitchen. Vance ushered her over to one of the bar stools.

“You okay?” Vance asked, helping her sit.

“I’ve never seen her like that. I panicked.” She scooted onto the stool and thanked Vance for helping her.

“Is she okay?” I set a glass of water in front of her.

“Yeah, Oliver got the medicine in her and she came around in like a minute after that.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and rested her elbows on the counter. She covered her face in her hands and breathed in two huge breaths, letting the second one out slower than the first. Vance rubbed her back in small soothing circles, the same way he did when I was upset. A magical relaxing wand lived at the end of his fingertips. Within minutes of him doing that to me, I always felt better.

“What’s she allergic to anyway?” I asked, watching Vance with a pinched expression. If I stared at him hard enough he’d hear me telling him to get his hands off of her. A burning sensation filled my chest, and my jaw cramped from clenching my teeth.

“Strawberries. I don’t know why she would have drunk that smoothie. She always warns me, almost to an obsessive level: ‘Remember no strawberries, Cici.’ ‘Does this have strawberries, Cici?’ I swear, you’d think I was a moron for as often as she reminds me, so why she’d grab that and just drink it, I have no idea.”

“Where’d she get it?” I asked.

“From the fridge.” She looked up with heavy eyes. “It was mine from yesterday. I should have tossed it after Camille arrived. Maybe I am a moron.”

I understood where she was coming from. The mistake would be more ammunition for Camille. “You’re not a moron. Here, have some water.” I nudged the glass closer to her.

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “Well—”

“Cici, where did this come from?” Oliver appeared in the living room with the doctor at his side. He carried the cup of green liquid that had been on the nightstand and walked it over to the sink where he dumped it down the drain.

“Um, I ran out yesterday when you were with your trainer and put it in the fridge. I wanted to save it for later but completely forgot about it.”

“You know better than to bring things like this into the house with Camille.”

“I know, but she wasn’t here yet. I didn’t even think about it.”

Oliver closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay. She should have known better than to just drink something not knowing what was in it anyway.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah,” he said slightly withdrawn. “Could you take some water up to Camille?”

“Of course, right away.” Cici sprang from her seat and retrieved a deep blue, teardrop-shaped glass bottle from the fridge.

Oliver turned on the faucet and ran hot water over the liquid and wiped down every surface that could have been splashed with the green goo. “Oh, Cici?”

Cici stopped midstride. “Yes?”

“Don’t let her be too hard on you.”

She smiled and continued up to deliver the water.

I rounded the island and stood next to Vance. “How’s she doing?”

Oliver took a moment to collect himself. He leaned back against the sink and covered his mouth with his hand. “She’s going to be fine, but she knows better… they both do.” He shook his head. “She must have been in a shopping coma and forgot herself, or just assumed.” He snatched the cup and tossed it in the trash.

“So,” the doctor said, laying an iPad down on the island. He tapped away entering information into a digital form. “I gave her a second precautionary dose of epinephrine. She really should go to the hospital for observation, but since she’s refused, I’ll be back in the morning to check on her. She’s going to feel hyped up and maybe anxious. Make sure she gets plenty of fluids and rest.”

“I’ll make sure she has every need met, doctor. Thank you so much for rushing here on such short notice. Cici will take care of anything else you need.”

Cici returned to the kitchen on the heels of Oliver’s words. “She says she’s nauseous.”

The doctor bobbed his head. “That’s normal. Have her eat some crackers for now, or something else that will be easy on her stomach. Any clear carbonated beverage, like Sprite, should help settle her stomach as well.”

“Absolutely.” Oliver inhaled deeply, and the veins in his neck bulged under the extra pressure of the breath he was holding.

Cici started to say something and stopped herself.

“Speak up,” Oliver said. Exhaustion hit him hard, concealing his eyes in a shadow.

“It’s just that crackers are carbs and she won’t eat them.” She glanced around the room and avoided Oliver’s eyes.

“Tell her doctor’s orders,” the doctor chimed in.

“And tell her I said so too, if she puts up any fight.” He held up a finger. “Actually, I’ll take them to her myself. I have my ways. After all the years we’ve been married, I’d like to say I know her better than anyone else.”

“She was lucky you came home when you did. And thank goodness you were familiar with the problem and handled it perfectly. If you’d been much later, who knows what would have happened.” The doctor finished entering the information onto the screen and pushed it in Oliver’s direction.

“I know, doc, I don’t even want to think about it.” Oliver gave the doctor a firm pat on his shoulder and shook his hand.

“I just need you to sign here.” After Oliver scribbled his signature, the doctor handed him a small bottle of pills. “Should she have any issues resting, give her one of these. It will make her comfortable for the evening.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said, and Cici escorted the doctor to the door.

“Vance, I’m sorry to ask this, I know it’s not in the job description, but would you mind going with Cici to get Camille some soup? Cici knows what she likes. There’s a Japanese place close by, right? I’ll be able to get a few crackers in her, but the soup she won’t refuse.”

“It’s no problem at all.” Vance and Cici smiled at each other. “I know a great restaurant just across the way. We shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.”

I wanted to protest them leaving by themselves but couldn’t think of any logical reason. I watched them walk out the door together. Oliver went up to check on Camille and returned a few minutes later.

In the living room, he slumped back on the couch. “Join me for a second, Diana. Keep me company.”

It was surreal hearing him say those words to me, and I happily obliged. “Is she feeling better?” I sat in the chair next to him.

“She’s jittery, but if Camille can have her miso soup then all will be right with the world. Getting Camille to eat sometimes is a challenge.”

“I bet it’s tough for her constantly having her looks scrutinized.”

“We’ve both done it for so long it’s normal. Well, as normal as this life can be anyway.”

“Pretty crazy sometimes, huh?”

“Yeah, but unfortunately male and female actors fight different battles. A man can get roles well into his senior years. Most actresses aren’t so lucky. Camille hasn’t been getting the roles she’s wanted lately. It’s been hard on her. She thinks it’s because she’s getting old and fat.”

I laughed and slapped a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry, but Camille looks amazing. She’s nowhere near fat, and she’s worried about looking old? I should be so lucky to look half as good as she does at her age.”

“Don’t fool yourself. You’re stunning now, and I have no doubt you’ll continue to be.”

A flash of heat exploded in my body and filled my cheeks. I glanced down, hoping my hair would fall and cover my face. “Thank you, but I’m nothing compared to her. She’s beautiful, but she’s also incredible on the screen. I fell in love with her in
Acts of Desperation
.”

“Yeah, you and the rest of the world. If people only knew.” His last words trailed off, and he stared blankly at the city beyond the windows.

“I know. That movie made her career, but I’ve watched all the behind the scenes stuff about her career and yours. Neither of you had an easy ride to the top, but I guess that’s probably true for half of Hollywood.”

He sat quietly for a moment, pressing his fingertips together. “We’ve made sacrifices to get here, some bigger than others I suppose.”

“I can understand that. You sacrifice a lot more than people realize. It has to be annoying to not be able to go to the hospital when you should because pictures will be splashed all over the news. And then the made up stories over why you were there. I’m sure it gets old.”

“Yes, exactly. There are times where I wish we could just disappear, but we’ve made our beds and there’s no going back now. It would be magnificent though—just once—to walk across the street and grab a cup of coffee and not be mobbed by hundreds of people.” He paused again and a second wave of exhaustion hit him. His shoulders sagged a little lower, and he closed his eyes. He laughed to himself. “I must sound like an ungrateful ass, don’t I?”

“No, not at all. It can’t be easy.”

“It isn’t, but for all I have, I have no room to complain. I have more money than most people dream of. I can have anything I want. Hell, I can call the best doctor in the city and have him at my door in minutes. I can have someone hop up and run errands for me and get my wife soup. I can…” He sighed. “Oh never mind, you get the point.” He hopped off the sofa and went over to the wet bar. “Can I get you a drink while we wait for them to get back?”