Resist (17 page)

She wrinkled her pretty nose in disgust. “I think I could have lived my whole life and if you’d never told me that, I’d still be okay. To be honest, I don’t want to know about every woman you fuck, Blaine. I might be forced to rethink our no-condom policy.”

“I wore one with her. I told you—it’s been a very long time I haven’t had a huge supply of those horribly alienating rubbers in my pockets or my wallet. The only reason we bareback is because no one else has been there but me and I’m infecting you with my disease and no one else’s.” He pulled her into embrace and she squirmed before she stopped and the smile left her face.

“Wait . . . what disease is that?”

“It’s
figurative
, Vie. I don’t have anything except manic depression and that’s not an STD. Hell, it can’t be contracted though you already know that.”

She whispered, “You’re an incorrigible bastard, you know that?”

It was Blaine’s turn to look at her as if she’d said something with a grain of truth to it. “You know, you aren’t that far off the mark. I’m a terrible person and I don’t deserve you but I will cherish you for as long as you are in my life.”

Vie smiled and though it was small, her eyes shined bright. “Well, I feel the same about you, baby.”

He kissed her and she opened her mouth to him, her tongue right there past her lips and he couldn’t help but deepen their public display of affection.

The sirens from the local police department and ambulance brought them both back to the present. She pulled away and gazed into his eyes, her steel-gray eyes beautiful and lustful. Her tongue licked her upper lip as he traced his right thumb over her bottom lip.

“Mr. Pascal-Baasch . . . so we meet again?” a female with a strong New York accent said out loud.

Blaine turned around to face Detective Laurie Hudson.

His heart thudded in his chest as a feeling like ice engulfed his body. If this bitch had anything to do with it, he’d never be allowed to leave New York and return to L.A.

He sent a silent prayer to whatever was above before he replied, “Well, I have a solid alibi this time. May I introduce you to Victoire Janssen? Victoire, this is Detective Hudson. She and I have . . . a past.”

Laurie was still as attractive as ever in that early forties, take-no-prisoners way. Like most women her age, she was slim but not to the point of anorexia. Tall at almost five feet, ten inches, she wore a fitted pantsuit that complimented her hourglass figure. She had dark auburn hair, similar to Vie but without the highlights and bright aquamarine eyes that sparkled in her face regardless how hard she tried to act. Pale Irish skin with freckles, a small pert nose and slightly full lips with a light coating of gloss completed the picture of confidence and prestige.

“When did you transfer down here? I thought you were still in Manhattan.” Blaine sounded stiff but the woman had once accused him of murder and he’d come within a hair’s breadth of an indictment at the time.

“I left the nineteenth precinct about twenty-three months ago. I got tired of the weird and kinky perversions of the rich and depraved. I transferred down here because I was under the mistaken assumption a divorced female police officer could raise her daughter in a safe community. Boy was I wrong. Sometimes, I think it would have been wiser for me to have stayed in Manhattan.”

The ambulance was waved away as CSI started to carpet bomb the scene as the Coroner’s van pulled up.

An investigator began taking the initial photos of the crime scene before Detective Hudson interfered and leaned down next to the victim. She wore those special booties as to not taint the scene though it was obvious now to Blaine as it was to her this wasn’t where it happened.

She used a slim, metal wand one of the investigators handed her to part the victim’s hair and lifted it away from her face.

Blaine’s heart lurched while Vie’s fingernails dug painfully into his bicep.

“Oh my God. It’s Brigitte,” she said to him in soft voice, barely above a whisper.

He closed his eyes for a moment before he backed away from the crime scene and began to pull out his phone but thought about it and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Um, Mr. Pascal-Baasch, can you please stick around? According to several eye-witnesses, you and Ms. Janssen were the first two on the scene.”

Blaine smirked though there was also a sliver of hostility in his expression. “Indeed we were.”

“We’re not going anywhere, Detective. Blaine and I will be right here,” Vie replied, ever the poised and sophisticated Stanford beauty she was.

Detective Hudson strode closer to them. “If this gorgeous morsel is your alibi, you might just get to fly home tomorrow . . .
Blaine
.”

He ground his teeth and counted to ten.

There was no doubt in his mind he and Vie would be at the beach longer than they initially had anticipated.

Chapter 14

Vie

T
he police questioning had felt slightly over the top and bizarre but not nearly as surreal as the flight home. I couldn’t wait until we arrived back in L.A. though it was bittersweet.

Our Labor Day had been ruined because Blaine and I had not only endured questions on the beach but we were let go only long enough to grab a quick lunch after not having eaten breakfast. Then we had to go down to the Southampton Village Police Department and answer more questions.

By he time we got back to the estate that evening, neither of us were in the mood to eat. We drank too much and ended up fucking each other to sleep before we awoke, devoured one another yet again and took quick showers before getting ready to leave for the airport.

It almost felt like a full circle moment.

Blaine and I sat in Business class as usual and enjoyed our choice of alcoholic beverages while the plane was over thirty-five thousand feet in the air. Blaine zoned out, fielding emails on his MacBook Air while I also had mine out but instead spent the time writing in my diary.

September 2nd, 2014

I truly wish I understood what was going on at this point in our relationship. Not between Blaine and I but the one between Zed and me. He seems strangely unaffected by this whole situation that ruined our holiday.

The detective on the case knows Blaine but I’m not sure how or in what capacity. They both mentioned the nineteenth precinct and how she used to work there. Part of me wonders if I should research what happened but another part of me is frightened to know what happened at all.

Blaine didn’t have anything to do with this unfortunate event of circumstances but unlike him, Zed could possibly be involved. Detective Hudson hinted at it and I have a feeling she is going to call us several days after we arrive home and tell us the investigation has turned into a homicide.

Unfortunately, I’m still torn as to whether I should tell Blaine anything. I wished I hadn’t been so observant that morning. I wish I hadn’t seen the scrapes and bruises on Zed’s arms. But mostly, I wish I could unsee him stuffing that hypodermic needle in his pocket. What was that all about?

Would he have murdered Brigitte to get rid of her or was this her own doing? Maybe I am just jumping to conclusions with an overactive imagination. God knows I hope so. I really, really don’t want to tell his brother about that goddamn needle.

I breathed hard and slammed my MacBook Air shut before I put it away and brought out my Kindle Fire. I had quite a few shows I could watch on Prime; if I got bored, there was also my arsenal of reading material stored on my device as well.

“Are you okay?” Blaine turned toward me with concerned blue eyes. “I know yesterday should have been a great day and instead, it turned to shit but . . . she didn’t shake you up, did she?”

“Who? Detective Hudson?” I closed the tablet and placed it on my lap.

“She’s a fucking barracuda in a Prada suit and Dolce and Gabbana heels. She was an anomaly back at the nineteenth precinct and she’s an even bigger anomaly in a Podunk, seaside village for the wealthy like Southampton.”

“That woman has a serious bone to pick with you.” I sipped from a glass of Pinot Gris. “What the hell is going on and how does she know you?”

He breathed deeply and finished his champagne. “I wanted to tell you in my own time because it was too awful to contemplate you knowing. However with the internet, all you have to do is a quick online search and the
New York Times
,
The New Yorker
and
The New York Post
will all come up with myriad of stories.”

“Well, what is it?” I awaited his answer with bated breath while my mind spun out of control.

“My father had a daughter from outside of his marriage with my mother. She was . . . only about three or four months younger than Zed and Xavier. We were close. A little too close because we met under false pretenses—initiated by her, I should add. She was an attractive woman and one thing led to another.”

Blaine paused and looked away from me. “Listen, I’m not trying to make myself sympathetic. I’m a pompous asshole who has issues with giving a shit about anyone other than myself so I don’t expect you to cry a river or feel sorry for me. I know what I am but one thing I never thought I would be was a man who fucked his half sister . . . or her murderer.”

My heart thundered in my chest with such overwhelming intensity, I had to fish out a Xanax and swallowed it quickly using my glass of wine. “I don’t understand.”

“She told me after we’d consummated our relationship about us being siblings. All along . . . she knew. She was trying to blackmail my dad for money and he wouldn’t bite so she did the unforgivable . . . she fucked his son, got pregnant by him and said she would only have an abortion if our father paid her five million dollars.”

“Oh my God.”

“It was sordid and really sick. The only reason why you don’t remember my name splashed all over the news is because it happened while she was considered a minor. I was eighteen and she was sixteen . . . Anyway, I was drunk and reckless. I went to her apartment she shared with her mother to confront her about the blackmail and what not. It got violent and I left but she followed me back to my family’s apartment on the Upper East Side.

“It was stupid . . . I should have never invited her up but I did. One of the windows was open in the sitting room and we started arguing again. I was so upset—all I could see was red and she drove me to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore. I just wanted everything to fucking stop. The lies, the regret, and the anger. I kept pushing and pushing before I realized what I was doing. I backed away and turned away from her.”

Blaine faced me then, his crystal blue eyes bright with unshed tears, “To this day, I don’t think she knew how close she was to that open window. She was too fucking vain to kill herself. It was like that surreal episode of
Sex & the City
with the old socialite. Remember, ‘I’m so bored I want to die?’ Well, she tripped on her ridiculously high Betsey Johnson wedges and fell out of the window. At the time, we were just a couple floors below the penthouse so she fell thirty-four or thirty-six stories. I’m not sure now. It was high enough there would be no way she could have survived the fall.”

“Detective Hudson thought you pushed her out of the window?”

“Yep. Until my mother stepped forward at the last minute and confessed to being in the house and having heard our whole conversation. She told Detective Hudson my back was to . . . Constance . . . when she fell. Hudson didn’t believe her. She put her through a litany of tests, including a polygraph but my parents are shrinks. It was a walk in the park for my mother . . . though she was lying through her teeth. She got there after the fact and all she had was my word.”

I grabbed his hand closest to me and squeezed it. “I’m not going to ask you whether you pushed her out of the window and it’s not because I’m too scared to hear the answer . . . I’m not. I truly don’t think you would lie to me because you have nothing left to lose.”

“You’re wrong. If all this gets out and Hudson starts to have a hard-on about me and this situation turns out to be murder, I’m fucked. Remember, I left my old occupation. Everything is being dectivated as we speak including the website and any means for my clients to contact me. I am going mainstream with my career but it will be dead in the water if they suspect me of having anything to do with Brigitte’s death.”

I swallowed harshly before I finished my wine.

Blaine was right of course. His career would be over before it’d began if the sharks smelled blood in the water, metaphorically speaking.

It was plainly obvious they were circling but for how long?

O
ver the next few days, Blaine and prepared ourselves for
WAGs
, our joint project that would start the following week. We had lunch with the wives and their famous husbands. The wives and I had so much fun, I invited them over to the loft for an impromptu happy hour to get to know them better one evening while Blaine was out to dinner with the studio execs from Meridian.

Chardonnay was a hoot. A former glamour model in her native England, she was originally from Manchester, the product of Irish parents, and absolutely gorgeous with a creamy complexion complimented by a hint of peaches, long chestnut brown hair, bright amber eyes and cheeky attitude. I loved her immediately.

Laurelynn was much more subdued in that Midwestern, upper-middle class way but she was sweet and seemed quite shy. It couldn’t be easy to be married to a well-known former philanderer but the All-American blonde with sky blue eyes and a mega-watt smile seemed to do it with ease. She wasn’t exactly a warm person but she was definitely someone I couldn’t wait to get to know better.

Sasha Radford, former
Uptown Girl
, and a hardcore Bostonian was not only gorgeous but intelligent. She had naturally bright red hair dyed platinum, green-gray eyes and an attitude that was one hundred percent genuine. She would definitely provide a lot of comic relief on the show.

Lastly, Zola Matthews was a wild and vivacious presence. With her deeply tanned skin and hazel eyes, the half-Argentinian, half-black beauty was a former Victoria’s Secret catalogue model along with a runway career for famous designers including Donatella Versace, Karl Lagerfeld, Caroline Herrera, and Dolce and Gabbana.

With her wild curly hair dyed light brown and streaked with blonde, loud attitude and avant-garde fashion sense, this woman was perfect for a show.

In fact they all were and could easily convince the women of America they were about to meet real housewives who were far from being desperate and sure as hell had more money than they needed at their disposal.

I’d set out several bottles of Cristal champagne and various hors d’oeuvres ordered from a local upscale restaurant but within an hour, I had to race back into the kitchen to get another couple of bottles out of the fridge.

“Here, let me help.”

I turned around and faced Zola. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She grabbed one of the bottles of Cristal. “Tell me, how long have you and Blaine been dating?”

“Not long. We went to the same university and met off campus in Palo Alto.”

“Mmm, interesting.” Zola popped the cork and refilled her fluted wine glass. “He’s quite the catch. Just know you will have many women here in the City of Angels gunning for you. He’s broken a lot of hearts and then some.”

“What are you trying to say?” I inquired as I poured myself a glass of Pinot Gris.

Zola shrugged. “You won’t be too different from Chardonnay, Sasha, Laurelynn or myself in a few months. Especially when the Awards season starts.”

I laughed out loud as my Samsung began to play “Somethin’ Bad” and I answered the call as soon as I saw the six-three-one area code.