The Santangelos (3 page)

Now it was nine months later and she’d made a life for herself away from L.A. and all memories of Billy. Except that this morning, while idly browsing the Internet, she’d come across an item about Billy making his next movie in Europe. The locations where he would be shooting included Paris, London, and Rome.

This was majorly annoying. Wasn’t it enough that she had to see his photo in magazines accompanied by a parade of stunning young actresses hanging on to his arm? Now he was about to encroach on
her
territory. It simply wasn’t fair.

Several paparazzi were hovering outside the club when she exited. As soon as they spotted her, they jumped to attention. “Where’s your sexy girlfriend?” one of them asked with a knowing smirk, his camera flashing in her face. “You two haven’t split up, have you?”

Everyone salivated over the thought that she and Athena
might
be gay. They weren’t, but it amused them to keep people guessing. They called each other “Sweet Eyes,” and sometimes fake kissed for the cameras, putting on an outrageous act.

Max got off on the attention, often wondering if Billy ever saw her photo on the gossip sites or in the magazines. Probably not, because although Athena was red-hot in Europe, well known as a happening “It” girl, her particular brand of fame had not yet crossed over to America.

Max was full of anticipation the following week. She had an important photo shoot for a well-known jeans company. The ads, her agency had assured her, would break internationally, and that meant that Billy was certain to see them.

Ha! Billy Melina. Big movie star. Would he even remember her?

Of course he would, she told herself. After all, they’d shared something really special. Billy was the first man she’d gone all the way with, and that had to count for something.

Her Uber cab arrived and she got in, still thinking about Billy. Would he ever make his way out of her mind?

Probably not.

“Wait!” Athena yelled, tottering out of the club on her five-inch heels and flinging open the door of the cab, oblivious to the flashing cameras. “I’m coming too. Who cares about free drugs?”

Max shifted to make room for her friend.

“You little minx!” Athena exclaimed, flopping next to Max on the backseat of the cab. “Leaving me with those boring old men. I hate you!”

“We’ve got to find a new group to hang with,” Max said, pulling at a red string bracelet wrapped around her wrist. “I’m so over the London club scene.”

“Me too,” Athena agreed, licking her gold-glossed lips. “Here’s what we should do, after our weekend at the Abbey—we should take off and go cause chaos somewhere different.”

Max wrinkled her nose. “Where?”

“Not to worry. I’ll come up with an amazingly fun place,” Athena responded. “Don’t I always?”

Max nodded. This was true. Athena had a knack for sniffing out the best locations, and quite frankly she couldn’t wait.

CHAPTER FOUR

DENVER

“Long-distance relationships suck,” Denver Jones complained to her friend Carolyn Henderson as they sat out on the back patio of Carolyn’s small house in West Hollywood eating breakfast. Carolyn’s infant son, Andy, slept nearby in a wicker bassinet.

“Then maybe you should break up with him,” Carolyn responded with a casual shrug, tearing at a warm croissant and smothering it in butter.

“I didn’t
say
I wanted to break up with him,” Denver said, throwing her a stony look, wondering why Carolyn was always so negative. “I’m merely bitching about Bobby traveling all over the place while I’m stuck in L.A. ’cause of my job.”

“Ah, but it’s a job that you live, breathe, and totally love,” Carolyn pointed out.

“Oh, yeah,” Denver drawled sarcastically. “I so
love
trying to nail sleazebags who sell drugs to children and murder people when they get in their way. It’s
so
rewarding, not to mention majorly exciting.”

“Although, as a very competent deputy DA, you
do
love it when you hear the magic word:
guilty
,” Carolyn said matter-of-factly. “You’re the one who gets to lock the bad guys away.”

“And how often does
that
happen?” Denver said, reflecting on how screwed up the justice system could be. Nothing was ever a sure thing. “These guys hire the most expensive and canny lawyers, men in five-thousand-dollar suits who are paid fortunes to get those criminal assholes off the hook. And most times they succeed.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the system,” Carolyn said, adding jam to her croissant.

“Yeah,” Denver said glumly. “The system blows, and I should know since I was once part of it. I am
so
much happier being on the other side.”

“I can tell,” Carolyn said. “And you
did
get Frankie Romano arrested and thrown into jail.”

“True,” Denver said thoughtfully. “In spite of Bobby urging me to go easy on him.”

“Bobby gave you a hard time, right?”

“He certainly did, Frankie being an old friend of his. I mean, what did he
expect
me to do? It’s my
job
, for God’s sake. There’s no way I can call in favors. Frankie’s apartment was drug city.
And
he was dealing big-time.”

Since leaving the law firm of Saunders, Fields, Simmons and Johnson, where she had been one of their youngest defense attorneys, Denver was thrilled that she no longer had to defend scuzzy celebrities who were obviously guilty—including action-movie star Ralph Maestro. It was all a big relief. She was so glad she’d switched sides to become a deputy DA. She was currently part of a drug task force—a tight-knit group of people, all with the same endgame in mind: to stop the endless flow of illegal drugs into America. The stories that she saw and heard devastated her. Babies born addicted to crack; teenagers overdosing at parties; young girls forced into addiction and prostitution. And who profited from all this misery? The dealers, of course. From the kids on the street who peddled pot and pills to the drug lords like Pablo Fernandez Diego, an unprincipled Colombian who funneled drugs from his country into the United States at an alarming rate. The Diego cartel was notorious for supplying large shipments of cocaine, marijuana, heroin, and methamphetamine. It seemed Pablo’s drug operation was unstoppable, and although it would be more or less impossible to nail him in Colombia, if they could nab his lowlife son, Alejandro, it would be a major coup. Alejandro owned Club Luna, a Hollywood hangout that everyone knew was merely a front for laundering drug money—but so far, nothing could be proved. Arresting Frankie Romano was a positive, and Denver had high hopes that soon Frankie would start hemorrhaging information, for as Alejandro’s former close friend and minor partner in the club, he had to know plenty. Getting him to talk was the key to maybe indicting Alejandro. So far Frankie had refused to cooperate.

“Have you ever thought that Bobby might fool around on you?” Carolyn asked.

“Are you kidding me?” Denver said, surprised that Carolyn would even suggest it. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s never crossed your mind that he could cheat?”

“No, it never has.”

“Then you’re more naive than I thought,” Carolyn said, taking a gulp of hot coffee. “
All
men cheat.”

“And since when did
you
become such an expert on men?”

“Oh,
please
,” Carolyn sighed. “Try waking up to the real world. Your boyfriend is Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos, a total catch. Rich, handsome, charming.
And
he owns a bunch of hot clubs, which means he’s exposed to all the best-looking girls—and you can bet they come on to him. Single girls hitting the club scene are ruthless. They’ll go after a guy big-time. Especially a guy like Bobby.”

“So what?” Denver said, narrowing her eyes. “It’s not as if I’m exactly a dog. Men come on to me too. Besides, Bobby and I are in a secure relationship. We trust each other.”

“Okay, okay,” Carolyn said, thinking that it was true, Denver
was
a knockout, with her shiny auburn hair, curvy body, and wide-spaced hazel eyes. However, relationships were always at risk when there were long separations involved. “You’re not getting the big picture,” Carolyn added. “You should keep an eye on him, not give him so much freedom.”

“For God’s sake,” Denver said, an exasperated frown covering her face. “Ever since you decided to play for the other team, you have absolutely no respect for men.”

“Respect?” Carolyn said, raising a cynical eyebrow. “Surely you kid. Men are horny all the time, and let’s not forget, you’re here and he’s there.”

“Thanks,” Denver said drily. “It’s great to have such supportive friends.”

“What?” Carolyn said. “You really think he doesn’t play around? I’m merely the teller of truths.”

“Then may I suggest you go tell them to someone else,” Denver said, getting to her feet. “I’m out of here. Thanks for breakfast. As for the lecture—no thanks.”

“Have fun catching criminals.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Denver responded, still frowning. “How many times do I have to tell you—my job is not fun.”

“Whatever…”

Denver shook her head. There were times that Carolyn got on her nerves, and today was one of them. She had too much on her mind to worry about Carolyn putting thoughts of Bobby cheating in her head. Besides, Bobby wasn’t the cheating type. He was one of the good guys, and yes, she did trust him, just as he trusted her. They’d been living together in a house in the Hollywood Hills for almost a year, and so far everything was cool.

“Don’t forget tomorrow night,” Carolyn said as Denver headed inside. “Special dinner at the Falcons’. I’ll pick you up.”

“Not a plan,” Denver replied, moving through the house toward the front door.

“Why not?” Carolyn asked, following her inside.

“’Cause I might be working late,” Denver said, opening the door and briskly walking outside to her car, which was parked on the street. “Do not depend on me.”

“You can’t miss dinner,” Carolyn called out. “You know what Annabelle is like. She’ll throw one of her diva fits.”

“You think I care
what
Annabelle does?” Denver called back, getting behind the wheel of her car. “’Cause I don’t.”

“Well, you should,” Carolyn shouted. “She can be a real pain in the ass.”

Ignoring her, Denver started the engine and drove off.

Annabelle Falcon, n
é
e Maestro, and Carolyn Henderson were her two former college roommates. Over the years, the three of them had remained friends in spite of several full-on dramas, and although they both drove her a little bit crazy, they still shared a close bond.

Annabelle was less of a problem since she’d married agent Eddie Falcon and settled into the spoiled daily routine of a Hollywood wife. Pilates, spinning, yoga, daily sessions with a life coach and a shrink, weekly visits to a dermatologist. And of course the Hollywood Wife basics—shopping, lunches, putting together exclusive dinner parties. Denver was in awe of how busy Annabelle was at achieving absolutely nothing.

Carolyn, on the other hand, had suffered big problems. An illicit affair with the very much married Senator Gregory Stoneman in Washington had ended in a horrific kidnapping, after which Carolyn had fled back to L.A., without revealing to her married lover that she was still pregnant. The senator was under the impression she’d lost the baby.

She hadn’t.

Back in L.A., well away from Washington, she’d given birth to a son, Andy, then announced to her friends that she was now a lesbian and wanted nothing more to do with men. It was all very complicated, and even though Denver had tried to convince her that she should tell the senator about Andy and at least receive child support, Carolyn had stubbornly refused to entertain the thought.

As Denver drove toward her office, she attempted to concentrate on the big picture. Getting Frankie Romano to talk was number one on her agenda. She was sure he knew plenty about Alejandro’s activities, and if it meant a lighter sentence, then surely he’d be prepared to spill? Frankie—who happened to be an ex-boyfriend of Annabelle’s—was a weasel. Why wouldn’t he give Alejandro up? After all, he was Frankie Romano—wouldn’t he do anything to save his skinny ass from languishing in jail?

Arriving at the office, she was greeted by Leon, a fellow member of the task force. Leon was carrying a bag of donuts and two cups of coffee. “You look kinda tired,” he said, placing one of the cups on her desk.

“Thanks,” she said caustically. “That’s exactly what a girl wants to hear.”

In his mid-thirties and black, Leon had a kind of chill Will Smith vibe going for him. He changed girlfriends as often as he changed his pants, always leaving them with a smile on their face. A likable guy, he was one of Denver’s best friends, even though he was always teasing her, saying that if she weren’t living with Mr. Rich Pants—his nickname for Bobby—they would make a happening couple.

“Happening in what way?” she always asked with an amused smile.

Leon came up with the same answer every time. “Sex, baby,” he assured her. “Bed-breakin’ sex.”

It was a running joke between them.

She dove into the bag of donuts and selected one. “Is this raspberry cream?” she asked.

“What do you think?” Leon said with a big grin. “I know your taste buds like I know my own.”

“That sounds vaguely rude.”

“It’s meant to,” he said with a jaunty wink. “Hard night?”

“Bobby’s away, so I was home,” she said, biting into the donut.

“You should’ve called me. I would’ve come right over.”

“Somehow I’m not sure staying home is quite your style.”

“Hey—I’m always stylin’.”

“Anyway, I had company. Reruns of
Scandal
. Nothing better.”

“How’s your foxy friend Carolyn?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Denver said, exasperated. “Carolyn does
not
play on your side of the fence,
and
she has a girlfriend, so isn’t it about time you stopped lusting after her?”