Hollywood Sinners (31 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

I
t wasn’t hard to find Laura’s house. If you could call it that, Lester thought bitterly as he pulled up outside the palatial mansion in his muddy-brown Saab. All he’d had to do was go on one of those crappy celebrities’ homes tours, sit in a minivan with a freak show of squealing tourists for an hour and he had what he needed. Cole Steel’s place was the hugest of them all. Let his sister try to burn this one down.

His shoulders hurt. Since arriving in LA he’d been sleeping in the back seat of his car, unable to afford a proper bed for the night. It wasn’t worth finding work; he wouldn’t be here long. Besides, the wheels were more important. After scoping out his first target they would take him straight to Vegas for the main event. A star-studded premiere: the scene of his resurrection. He would arrive just in time to see his beloved sister take to the red carpet. A good brother never let his family down.

It was frustrating that despite his patience he hadn’t seen her yet. Camping outside the Steel mansion was a risk—they employed guys to look out for this sort of thing and one wrong move could jeopardise years of preparation. But he was always careful to keep his distance. A lifetime of living in the shadows had taught him that. When he needed to be, Lester Fallon was a ghost.

Sucking chilli meat from his fingers, Lester screwed up the greasy dog wrapper and tossed it into the back seat. He lifted a pair of binoculars to his face and squinted into them, scanning the part of the house visible from the road. The view from here was limited—he needed to get past the perimeter. For all he knew he could be missing a bedroom window, even better a bathroom. It had been too long.

Several times he had followed a car. Once Cole Steel had emerged in a silver Ferrari, but the others had been blacked-out limousines. He’d trailed them all but had eventually lost them in traffic. She could have been in one, he wasn’t sure, but a sixth sense informed him she wasn’t. Somehow he felt certain she wasn’t here. Over the years he had learned to trust his instincts: he would know when Laura was close.

So where the hell was she?

Lester narrowed his eyes over the top of the binoculars. She liked to hide, it was in her nature. But his dear sweet sister was forgetting he knew everything. He knew her better than she knew herself.

She needn’t worry. He’d wait.

He’d be waiting right there when she came home.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

C
hloe and Nate bumped into each other outside a tapas restaurant on Santa Monica, on a sunny morning at the beginning of May.

Flanked by a giant entourage, Nate spotted her on the way in, looking every inch the budding star as she lunched al fresco with Brock Wilde. Chloe looked better than ever in a white sundress that showed off her brown, smooth legs. But he knew better: she was a nasty piece of work dead set on ruining reputations. He wasn’t taken in by any of it. He knew different.

‘I’ll catch you up,’ he told the company, ambling over.

Brock clocked him straight away and sat to attention, bristling on the opposite side of the table like a possessive dog. He was drinking tomato juice through a straw.

‘Hey, Chloe,’ said Nate, keeping it light. Brock frowned, waiting to be acknowledged.
What is he, her new fuck toy?
Nate thought bitterly. Oh, no, that was somebody else.

At the sound of his voice Chloe looked up and removed her oversized sunglasses.

‘Hello, Nate.’ She stood to give him a kiss on both cheeks. It took him aback. They hadn’t seen each other since the episode at New Year and he’d expected at least a frisson of animosity. ‘Brock, you remember Nate Reid.’

‘How could I forget?’ Brock muttered, giving Nate’s hand a brief shake.

‘I was passing,’ said Nate unnecessarily.

‘How’s the band?’ Chloe asked, sitting back down. He could detect an unnatural Californian twang in her accent. ‘Can’t go anywhere these days without hearing you guys.’

You guys?.
How long again since she’d been over here?

‘Yup,’ he said curtly. What was with all this let’s-be-friends shit? He was supposed to be the bigger man here.

‘Melissa mentioned you’ve been in London.’ She put her shades back on.

‘Yeah. Place has gone crazy for the new stuff.’

‘I’m glad.’

Nate shifted his weight on to the other foot. ‘It was very…educational.’

There was a protracted silence and Brock, sensing an atmosphere, excused himself to go to the bathroom. He gave Chloe a potent stare before he departed.

When they were alone she said, ‘Look, Nate, we don’t have to do this.’

‘What?’

‘Be uptight with each other. Things ended badly. Fine. But it’s over, OK? You treated me like crap and I embarrassed you back—’

‘Embarrassed me?!’ he snorted. ‘Hardly. I’m better than I’ve ever been. I’ve got people wanting to eat their own shit for an interview with me.’

Chloe made a face. ‘That’s nice.’

‘It is.’

‘No hard feelings, then?’

His green eyes were cold and still. ‘No big deal to me. I’m over it.’

She noticed a photographer snapping at them on the opposite side of the road. Word about the doomed romance had made its way over the Atlantic and a shot of the reunited couple would command a handsome fee.

Nate couldn’t help himself. ‘Things are taking off for you, too?’

‘Yes, actually,’ Chloe said, pleased. She tried to ignore the bitterness in his voice. ‘I’ve got a casting next week for the new Cole Steel. I’m pretty excited, sort of a Bond-girl role.’

‘Sounds great,’ Nate said flatly. He thought how pretty she was, much prettier than he remembered. He wondered if she’d have to audition for this Cole Steel part at all or if she could just suck off the director like last time.

Another silence while he continued to appraise her.

‘Excited about
Eastern Sky
premiering?’

‘Yes, madly. How did you know?’

Nate shrugged. ‘Read it somewhere. In Vegas, right?’

She nodded, wishing Brock would come back. Nate was making her uneasy.

‘I guess you’ll be going with your new boyfriend,’ he added.

Chloe did a good job of disguising it. ‘What boyfriend?’ she challenged.

He shrugged innocently. ‘Sorry, my mistake. Must have misunderstood.’

A flicker of unease. ‘Misunderstood what?’

Nate shook his head as if it didn’t matter, then consulted his watch. ‘Forget it, babe, I’m running late, got people need feeding. Catch you later, yeah?’

Brock returned to the table, pulling out his chair with an almighty squeal.

‘Good to see you, Chlo,’ Nate said. He nodded to Brock. ‘You too, man.’

He made his way into the restaurant, pleased to have sown the seeds of his revenge. It was enough—for now.

* * *

‘What’s wrong?’ Brock gestured to Chloe’s virtually untouched pumpkin ravioli.

Chloe pushed the pasta round with her fork. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’ She crumpled her napkin and threw it on the plate.

‘Well, you’d better find it again, honey,’ said Brock, digging into his own food. ‘If you get the Cole Steel you’re gonna need
all
the energy you can get.’ He winked at her. ‘He’s an animal on set, or so I’ve heard.’

Chloe nodded, clearly distracted. Normally she’d have jumped at the chance to talk about Cole Steel.

‘OK,’ said Brock, putting his cutlery down. ‘It’s Nate, isn’t it?’

She shook her head briskly. ‘I just didn’t expect to see him.’

‘Hmm,’ said Brock, sipping his water. ‘You haven’t still got a thing for him, have you? I mean, of course it’s none of
my
business, but just for the record you could do a hell of a lot better.’

‘Believe me, I haven’t.’

‘He’s got a thing for you, then.’

Chloe frowned. ‘I’m not sure what he’s playing at.’

‘Oh?’ Brock caught the whiff of scandal with a trained nose.

‘Forget it.’ She lifted her knife and carved soupy lines in the pumpkin sauce. ‘I’m just being paranoid.’

Brock smacked her hand. ‘Stop playing with your food.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why would you be paranoid?’

‘No reason,’ she said hastily.

‘Good. Now, eat this up before I finish it.’ He stabbed one of her cold ravioli and popped it in his mouth.

Instead Chloe stood, flipping open her cell. ‘I’ve got to make a phone call. Back in a sec.’ She hurried inside, leaving Brock about to say something, and locked herself in the loo.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

A sharp voice came on the line. ‘Hello?’

Not the usual greeting. Either Kate was there or he was pissed off.

‘Jimmy, it’s me.’

His wife had been back two days. Chloe hadn’t seen or heard from Jimmy since, suspected he wanted to end it cleanly. Fine by her, but it didn’t mean he had to be rude.

There was a scuffle on the other end, before he hissed, ‘What are you doing? I
always call you, remember?’

‘It’s important,’ she said, wondering why he had to be so unpleasant about it.

‘What is?’

She kept her voice to a whisper. ‘Jimmy…is there any chance Kate knows about us?’

‘What?’
The sound of a door closing. ‘Of course not. Why?’

She closed her eyes in relief. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Why are you asking? Has someone said something?’

‘No, just—’

‘Good. Don’t put the shits up me like that.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Look, I can’t talk now. Kate’s here, we’re about to go out. Trust me, she hasn’t got a clue. You know me, right?’ A note of pride. ‘I’m careful.’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ll….er…call you some time.’

‘Whatever.’

He clicked off.

Chloe put her head back and exhaled through her mouth. She realised she’d been shaking.

Shit!
She needed to relax. Kate knew nothing. If Jimmy said so, she had to trust him. Right?

Trust. There was a joke of a word.

Chloe stuffed the phone in her pocket. Nate Reid was being a dick, there was nothing new there. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the cubicle and went back outside to meet Brock.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

J
immy Hart was finding it difficult to take his eyes off his wife’s knees. They were very square and neat, just visible under the line of her pencil skirt. He’d never had a thing for knees before. Now he was finding them desperately erotic.

Husband and wife were in the back of a limousine heading for Geisha, an exclusive Chinese restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard. It was their first time out as a couple in months and Jimmy was experiencing first-date jitters. It was crazy.

The moment Kate had returned from London, it was like a different woman had walked back into the marriage. She was confident, poised, attractive—she was
sexy
again. Jimmy noticed a lift in her tits; a new shape to her ass; a glint in her eye. Her hair was glossy and she wore it loose. Her face had expression—what’s more, she was smiling. There must have been something in Thames water.

Everyone said that absence made the heart grow fonder. Despite the fact he’d been sleeping with Chloe French for most of Kate’s, that could be it. But, no, it was more. London must have agreed with her. Kate was a changed woman.

Tonight they were meeting Danielle and George Roman. Danielle was helping Kate design her new fashion range.

‘I’m starving,’ said Jimmy, thinking about pork balls. He spread his arm across the back of the seat, hoping Kate would nuzzle in. There was a lot of ground to make up.

Kate flashed him a brilliant smile. Wow, not since the start of their marriage had he seen one of those. But she stayed where she was, her impressive body turned to the window, the elegant line of her neck sweeping up from the collar of her silk blouse. Christ, thought Jimmy, she even
sat
different.

Damn it! It was one thing her resisting his advances before, but now…

He knew Chloe would be on tap for sex even if his wife wasn’t. Normally the thought would have comforted him, but now he wasn’t sure. What the hell had Chloe been thinking, calling him at home? Young girls were always such a liability.

The couple emerged outside Geisha, smiling and clasping hands to greet the waiting paparazzi. As Jimmy hooked an arm round his wife and pulled her close, they even shared a kiss. He couldn’t remember the last time.

The friendly patron came out to greet them, did a series of shallow bows before taking them through to their customary window table, festooned with glowing lanterns. The others were already there.

‘Darling!’ gushed Danielle, standing to greet her. Kate thought she looked outdated in pearls and chiffon. Fleetingly she wondered if Danielle was best placed to back the KL range.

‘You look sensational,’ she lied, leaning in for the obligatory air affair.

George took her shoulders and planted matter-of-fact kisses on both her cheeks. Kate had always harboured a bit of a thing for George, in the way women can be attracted to bastards.

Jimmy hung back like the awkward teenager at a party of grown-ups. He hadn’t done a decent film in years—the sting of his fat-suit effort still smarted—and the role Brock had been working to secure had fallen through at the last minute. As they took their seats he realised that Kate had the status here, not him.

Suddenly he felt depressed. Kate’s fortunes were changing and if he wasn’t careful he’d get left behind. Without his wife, what was he? A washed-up alcoholic, that’s what. It was a sobering thought.

The women were babbling on about fabrics.

Danielle gestured dramatically. ‘You
must
see what I’ve been working on!’

George rolled his eyes in an indulgent way, looking at Jimmy for affirmation. Jimmy smiled back faintly and examined the wine list. George’s hand had disappeared under the table and, if he wasn’t mistaken, was tending to Danielle’s lap. He doubted she needed help rearranging her napkin.

By the time the
hors d’oeuvres
arrived, Jimmy was developing a wine headache. The chatter was incessant. He wanted to take Kate home, get some time to themselves, rectify things.

‘How’re the kids?’ George asked through shards of prawn cracker.

‘They’re doing great,’ said Jimmy, not honestly knowing how they were. It seemed he and Kate had achieved something exceptional by having children in Hollywood—and by staying a family. Despite the fat suit and the mess of his affairs, this was something he could say he had achieved. Without it, he was no one.

At the mention of her children, Kate tuned into the men’s conversation. She watched Jimmy out the side of her eye as Danielle, who had already polished off several glasses of champagne, confided that she and George had been trying for kids of their own.

‘Shh, darling,’ hushed George, gesturing for her to be quiet.

As Danielle meekly obeyed, Kate felt thankful that she was wearing the trousers in her own relationship—and never more so than now. She’d seen the way Jimmy had looked at her when she’d swept back into the Bel Air mansion, fresh from her transatlantic trip.

The meal passed as anticipated, with Danielle getting slowly more drunk, George cosseting her as one would a child and, most pleasing of all, Jimmy attempting a couple of times to run a hand up her leg. She chose not to respond—this was a delicate campaign and she wasn’t blowing it before the time was right.

They all headed home around one, with Jimmy’s attentions undiminished in the limo. Kate remained demure, almost bashful as he tried to kiss her, shying away then taking care to ensure he got an eyeful at every opportunity. On the surface she was being a prick tease—nothing her husband didn’t deserve—but deep down she wasn’t sure she’d be able to put out quite yet. They had left it so long, was there any spark to kindle?

Back at the mansion Jimmy poured them both a brandy. Amazingly he hadn’t drunk very much this evening and she suspected he was about to make up for it.

As soon as he was out of the room Kate pounced on his jacket, fumbling for his cell. Nothing in his left pocket—it was possible he still had it on him—but then she felt a reassuring weight in his right. Diving her hand in, she grasped the phone. The screen lit up and she saw he had a missed call. Well, well, well. Two initials and a number.

CF.

She smiled to herself. She didn’t even have to scroll through his contacts to find the dirty little bitch.

Hastily she punched the number into her own phone, slipping Jimmy’s back into his jacket a sliver before he re-entered. She arranged herself on the couch, long legs crossed.

‘Thanks,’ she said, taking the drink. ‘Nothing like a bit of the hard stuff before bed.’

He raised an eyebrow. Had his wife remembered innuendo?

‘Let’s take it upstairs,’ he said throatily, unable to peel his eyes from her body.

Kate sipped her drink, stringing out the moment. ‘I’m exhausted,’ she said finally, but not with the usual bite. Instead she stood, put her arms round his neck and kissed him gently. It felt strange, intimate without the cameras. There was a look in his eyes she hadn’t seen in too long.

She threw back her drink. It burned. With a lingering gaze she added, ‘You, my darling, will just have to wait.’