Star Crossed (24 page)

She stroked his face. “You can tell me.”

He lost his nerve at the last moment.

“I was thinking,” he said, a calculation he hadn’t known he’d made adding up in his mind. “If the attacks on me are related, and someone from the Listies is behind both, Naomi might have been the real target in New York. The shooter might have objected to me dating someone other than my ‘one true love.’”

A.J. looked at him, her eyes glittering in the faint light from the windows. “I wondered if you’d work that out. It might be true, but you shouldn’t assume you’re safe if it is. Crazies operate on their own logic. Maybe you weren’t strafed at the premiere by mistake. In any case, you shouldn’t blame yourself for Naomi getting hurt. The shooter did that, and you’re doing everything you can to protect her now.”

The corner of his mouth contracted. “That sounds like you’re admitting I was right to let her stay.”

“Uh boy,” she said, rather than acknowledge it.

“Three little words,” he teased. “‘You were right.’ I’m sure you’re woman enough not to choke on them.”

“You were right,” she said grumpily. “But only by accident.”

He laughed, aware in that moment that he was more than halfway to loving her. Being with her made him happy—even when she was snippy. He sank back against the pillows, coaxing her by the elbow until she followed him. She chafed his ribs and settled on his shoulder, unconsciously soothing him as he kissed her brow.

Because yanking her chain was so very entertaining, he didn’t resist the urge. “I’m right about a lot of things.”

“Jeesh,” was the only riposte she came up with.

Another thought occurred to him. “We should warn Naomi not to leave.”

“I already asked Martin to speak to her.”

Of course she had. She was used to thinking the angles through. His slowness bothered him a little. Maybe A.J. knew. She patted his chest lightly.

“It’s my job to think like this, Luke. Sometimes I wonder if I’d be better at it if I were
more
paranoid.”

She didn’t sound like she was joking.

“God forbid,” he said sincerely.

BREAKFAST was bright and early in Luke’s formal dining room. He’d already made it clear A.J.’s team was welcome to enjoy his chef’s buffet. As a rule, A.J.’s men took their plates to the ops room, to maintain the separation between the client and them. This morning, Martin sat at the table with Christie and Naomi. His tie was on, but his jacket hung from the chair behind him as he skimmed reports on his phone. He was relaxed: available but not yet on full duty.

“You see?” Luke murmured by her ear. “It’s perfectly fine if you stay and eat with me.”

A.J. had reasons for not wanting to appear too cozy, but just this once she supposed it wouldn’t hurt. Waking up with Luke had been surprisingly comfortable. Sharing the bathroom. Trading places for brushing teeth in front of the single sink. It was all very domestic.

Rather than resist his invitation, she nodded good morning to the others and crossed to the sideboard. She noticed the women, who seemed sleepy and weren’t speaking, had taken nothing from the selection but cut-up fruit. A.J. understood they were probably perpetually on diets, but Naomi at least ought to be eating more.

“Would you like some protein?” she offered the supermodel. “Even a short stay in a hospital bed can cause you to lose muscle. I could make you up a plate.”

Naomi looked at her in surprise. “Oh, I—”

“She’s a grown woman,” Christie snapped. “She can decide what to eat herself.”

A.J supposed the actress had a point, if a rude way of delivering it. Even though A.J. had slept with Luke, she was his bodyguard, not a guest or a nutrition consultant. “Of course. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Luke must have expected her to match Christie’s bite, because he did a double take.

“Maybe a small plate,” Naomi said, the lines of her lovely face showing amusement. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

Christie let out a snort A.J. pretended not to hear.

“I’d be happy to,” she said.

She’d set her selection in front of Naomi and was about to sit when the walkie-talkie function on her phone emitted a burst of static. She moved two strides to the window to answer it. “Hoyt here.”

“There’s a Detective Turner at the gate,” said Burgess, who she’d recently assigned there. “Flashed his badge. Says he needs to talk to Mr. Channing personally.”

Turner showing up instead of calling suggested his agenda was more complicated than an update on last night’s events. Requesting an explanation was likely to be a waste of time. Cops knew how to play their cards close. She turned toward the table to find both Martin and Luke’s gaze on her.

“Detective Turner,” she said to Luke. “He’s here. Can you give him a few minutes?”

“He say what it’s about?”

A.J. shook her head.

The same thought process she’d just gone through seemed to roll behind his eyes. “I’ll talk to him in my office. If it suits you, I wouldn’t mind you being there as well.”

“It suits me fine,” A.J. assured him.

Whether Detective Turner’s business would, she doubted.

*

With A.J. standing silently at the wall behind his desk, Luke felt weirdly like a mob boss watched over by muscle. His butler, Nettles, showed the policeman in and left. In comparison to A.J. and her team, whose work clothes were always crisp, Turner’s outdated jacket and mismatched trousers reminded Luke of a door-to-door salesman. That, however, was probably him being Hollywood again.

“Won’t you sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair.

Turner hitched up his pants and did. His dark eyes watched Luke like a hawk.

“Teresa Ricci is dead,” he said.

Cold washed into Luke’s face. He didn’t know what this meant, only that it wasn’t good. His eyelids descended in a slow blink. “I don’t know who that is.”

“She’s the girl who tried to shove her tongue down your throat last night. College student. Nineteen years old. Long brown hair. She was crossing the street to student housing when, according to witnesses, a dark blue sedan sped up and ran her down. Didn’t even brake. Ricci was DOA by the time the ambulance got her to the hospital.”

Luke’s reaction to this information seemed to be important. Turner’s gaze didn’t leave him once. “I still don’t under—” His brain caught up and his stomach plummeted. “You mean the girl who kissed me in front of the restaurant? She’s dead?”

“Stone cold,” the cop said flatly.

He seemed to be accusing Luke of having something to do with it, which struck him temporarily speechlessly.

A.J. broke the silence. Her voice was strictly professional. “What time was the girl run down?”

Turner shifted his cool gaze to her. “Round about 1 a.m.”

“Was Kourtney Prentiss still in custody?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Did your witnesses get a license number?”

Turner leaned back and crossed his arms. “Evidently, the plates were removed.”

He was acting as if this proved something, which Luke didn’t understand. “Why would I kill a girl who was probably just trying to show her friends how daring she was? I’m not saying I welcome being accosted by perfect strangers, but I’d have to be crazy to respond that way.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Turner drawled. “You’ve got a big movie coming out. I’ve seen actors do strange things in the name of publicity.”

“But . . . she’s
dead!
” Luke exclaimed, his voice roughening. He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, wishing he could will the detective to believe him. “That’s not a publicity stunt. That’s nuts. Anyway, I was here at 1 a.m. The whole house can vouch for me.”

“You’re a billionaire. Or so I read in the papers. You could have hired a hundred drivers to run her down.”

“‘Could have’ doesn’t mean I did! And what if this is all related? Did I hire someone to shoot me and my best friend at my own premiere?”

Turner smiled faintly. “You walked away from that, didn’t you? Came out smelling like a rose. Of course, if you’d like to open your books and prove it, the LAPD wouldn’t turn you down.”

Luke liked to think Two Dudes Productions was enlightened, but every company had a Sony-style memo or two somewhere. As to that, he had personal financial info he preferred to keep that way. No way was he giving the cops free rein to paw through his files.

“No,” A.J. broke in before he could find a non-incendiary way to say this. “If you want to access to Mr. Channing’s financial records, you’ll need to establish sufficient basis for a warrant.”

“Are you his lawyer now?”

“I’m a person who recognizes when a cop is floundering for answers.”

“Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you?” Turner sneered. “Seeing as you ‘floundered’ yourself right off the police force. I checked into you, Ms. Hoyt. Your boss know about your past? That you didn’t leave the NYPD voluntarily?”

A.J. didn’t flinch but her eyes narrowed. “Mr. Channing is aware,” she said simply.

This took the wind from the detective’s self-righteous sails. In spite of the tragedy that probably inspired Turner’s aggressive stance, Luke had to fight a smile. A.J. understood the value of saying less to accomplish more.

Her coolness set an example he decided to follow.

“I’d like to cooperate,” he said, meaning it. “I don’t take the this girl’s death lightly. If you have other questions, I’ll answer them. My finances, however, are my business. You can examine them when you have a warrant, assuming—as Ms. Hoyt pointed out—you can convince a judge you have grounds for one.”

Luke might not be as big as Spielberg, but his clout wasn’t negligible. Turner’s brief grimace betrayed his doubt that he could get a judge to agree without a smoking gun. Since his bluff had been called, the detective rose.

He paused at the door to jerk his thumb toward A.J. “You watch yourself with this one, Mr. Channing. If she didn’t have her colleagues’ backs when she was one of us, how well will she guard yours?”

Luke took a page out of A.J.’s book and simply smiled at him.

The girl’s murder didn’t truly hit him until the cop was gone.

*

Luke didn’t look so good to A.J. Arms braced on the desk’s corners, he stared at a spot between them as if he saw something shocking there. His handsome face was ashen.

“I need air,” he said, rising so suddenly he startled her.

A.J. undid her jacket’s single button, clearing access to the weapon she’d kept low-key during the cop’s visit. “A walk sounds like a good idea. I’ll just—”

“No,” he interrupted sharply. “I mean by myself. I need time to think. Don’t worry. I’ll stay on the grounds.” Wryness bent his expression. “I’m sure your men will keep an eye on me.”

“Okay, but—” Her phone buzzed before she could say more. The screen said it was Tanisha, who A.J. hoped would have news.

Luke pressed his advantage. “Take your call. I’ll be fine.”

She exhaled but let him go. He wasn’t in the mood for crowding. And her team would keep an eye on him. Without thinking about it particularly, she lowered herself into the chair he’d vacated. The seat was warm from him.

“What’s up?” she asked Tanisha.

“There’s been a giant wank at
Luke and Christie Forever!
” she exclaimed, which A.J. guessed she was expected to understand. “It’s frickin’ take no prisoners day on the message boards. KourtneyP is out and Kitt3ns24 is the new head mod.”

“Kitt3ns24?”

“Kourtney’s rival for the hearts of the rank and file. Kitt3ns24 was outer circle until now, but the police must still have Kourtney, because she hasn’t been online to defend herself. Kitt3ns is claiming the viral video reflects badly on the fandom, especially since KourtneyP couldn’t control her minions. Stealing kisses from their idol violates canon.”

“Have they heard the girl who did it is dead?”

“What?” Tanisha gasped. “How?”

A.J. explained what she knew so far.

“Jesus,” Tanisha breathed. “No, that news hasn’t reached the boards. I’m sure Kitt3ns can spin it to her advantage. She’s gunning to impress the powers that be. I think I’ve succeeded in presenting myself as a useful ally, plus sucking up tastefully. I’m hoping she’ll take me with her if the True Believers do tap her.”

A.J.
thought
she followed what the receptionist meant.

“Good work,” she said. “Keep on that and let me know if anything further develops.”

“There’s one more thing: I have a possible handle for the member who provided Luke’s location: HHNDS, aka Hellhounds. I’m not sure if it’s a man or woman, but it’s definitely inner circle. I’ve asked your dad’s cyber guys to see if they can get a real world name.”

“Great,” A.J. said. “I’ll touch base with you later.”

She ended the call and glanced at her watch. Maybe it was nothing, but she felt as rattled as Luke had looked. Her instincts—or maybe her emotions—were goading her to go after him, no matter if he didn’t want company.

She mouthed a curse silently. This was what happened when you got involved with clients. You couldn’t tell anymore why your warning flags were flapping. Her dad would advise her to err on the side on caution, even if she annoyed their boss.

The decision made her feel better immediately.

She tracked Luke to the rear of his estate, past the empty pool to a drought garden. Aloes grew there in profusion, from spiky rock-clingers no bigger than her fist to flowering seven-foot monsters.

Ugly-beautiful was the best she could say for them.

As she strode toward the planting across the terrace, she spied Luke in conversation with an older man in a brown uniform. The wheelbarrow next to him suggested he was a gardener. If he were, his and Luke’s connection was friendly as well as professional. When Luke bowed his head, the white-haired man touched his arm as if comforting him.

The gesture wasn’t threatening: the opposite, really. Luke didn’t react as if the man overstepped his bounds. Not that he necessarily would. Luke was sociable by nature. A.J. couldn’t have said what made her steps quicken. She only knew she was curious.

Before she reached them, Luke spotted her. He said a word aside to the gardener, who took his barrow and rolled away. Though the older man didn’t run, his exodus seemed hasty. Evidently, the work he did kept him spry.