Married Lovers (31 page)

G
regg Kingston drove his rented Chevy up to Don Verona’s house to check it out. Had to find out what he was up against, since the gossip rags seemed to be linking Cameron to Famous Prick, and he’d observed with his own eyes her taking off with him for what looked like a weekend jaunt.

Don’s house was gated. No problem.

Making sure no one was watching, Gregg scaled the gate with ease. There was a car parked in the driveway, so in case someone was home, he stealthily made his way round the side of the house, credit-carding his way through a locked side-gate.

He moved slowly–wouldn’t do to get caught. He could hear the slight movement of a pool, and as he rounded the corner, there it was–a blue infinity pool overlooking Hollywood.

This was some lush set-up–quite different from Cameron’s modest little shack down in the cheap streets. No wonder she was chasing this dude.

Noticing big glass doors, he edged toward them, flattening himself against the side of the house.

Then he saw them. Two people. A man and a woman standing close together inside the house.

The woman was naked except for her shoes. The man was fully dressed.

Gregg took a sharp breath, and at that moment his eye caught the glint of something in the surrounding bushes–was it a telescope, a camera? Yeah, someone had a camera and they were taking pictures, pretty pictures of the couple in the room.

Moving fast, Gregg backed up out of sight and retreated the same way he’d come in, making it back to his car which he’d parked half a block down the street.

He sat there for a while, listening to Linkin Park and Chris Brown on the radio. He didn’t know why he was sitting there, just had a hunch there might be something to see.

Sure enough, ten minutes later a cab came barreling round the corner, stopping outside Famous Prick’s house. And then the naked woman emerged from the house, all dressed now. She got in the cab, but before she did, Gregg spied a shadowy figure with a camera snapping her picture.

The woman had no clue that she was being photographed, and Gregg had no clue what was going on, but it was sure as hell interesting–especially when a black Lincoln town car fell in behind the cab as the driver took off.

Naked woman in Famous Prick’s house having clandestine photos taken and then being tailed.

Something was up.

Twenty minutes passed before the man who’d been standing with the naked woman came out. He got in the car that was parked in the driveway, activated the gates and left. House now empty, Gregg surmised.

Once more he scaled the gate, making his way round the back where he’d observed the sliding glass doors. His luck was in because they were not locked.

Entering the house, he stood there for a moment, listening intently for any sound of movement.

Nothing.

House definitely empty.

Gregg was enjoying himself. How powerful it was having free run of someone else’s house. Snooping in every nook and cranny and they didn’t know!

Famous Prick, Cameron’s new boyfriend, had a lot of clothes. There were rows of expensive suits, jackets, shirts, all neatly lined up on matching hangers–the shirts were color coordinated. And there were dozens of shoes, mostly shiny and new. And many ties of all hues.

“Faggot!” Gregg muttered, suppressing a sudden urge to piss all over everything.

He checked out the bathroom. The usual shit. Dozens of packs of vitamins, and in the bathroom cabinet, prescription bottles of Vicodin and Ambien.

Gregg was way familiar with both drugs. He emptied out half the contents of both containers and shoved them in the pocket of his jeans. Nice haul. Worth the visit.

The bedroom was next. Huge oversize bed, black-out blinds, TV hanging from the ceiling on chrome chains. Too modern for Gregg’s taste. He opened the drawer in the cabinet next to the bed, and BINGO! Good stuff. Packets of condoms–magnum size. Yeah! Who was this dude kidding? Breath mints–strong ones. Hand cream. Several remotes. A digital camera. And best of all–a nine-millimeter hand gun.

Gregg picked up the gun and slowly caressed it. He had a thing about guns, always had, and this one was a beaut.

He checked the clip, fully loaded. In back of the drawer he discovered an extra box of bullets. Very convenient.

Shoving the gun down the waist of his jeans and pocketing the bullets, he ran through the images on the digital camera. A few pretty girls who looked vaguely familiar sitting or lying in various stages of undress on Famous Prick’s bed, nothing too raunchy, no images of Cameron. Too bad. He was almost in the mood to jerk off.

He thought about taking the camera, decided against it. The
gun was the real prize. He couldn’t wait to wave it in Cameron’s face and take her the fuck back to where she belonged.

Hawaii.

With him.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, startling him. His eyes swiveled to the security cameras and he observed a pretty girl in pink shorts and matching tank top standing by the outside gates. Gregg took a second look and recognized her as the other girl from the photos of Famous Prick in the rags. Mary Ellen Something. He’d seen her on TV in some stupid sit-com.

What did
she
want?

Maybe he should invite her in and show her a
real
good time.

But no, he wasn’t in L.A. to have a good time. He was here to collect his fucking out-of-control cheating murderous wife.

After a couple of minutes the girl put an envelope in the mailbox, turned around, plumped her pretty ass in a white convertible Mercedes, and drove off.

Gregg waited a beat, then decided it was time to go before Famous Prick had any more visitors.

On the way to his car he flipped open the mailbox and scooped up Mary Ellen’s note.

Why not? It was a free country.

M
arty was dead. Stone cold utterly dead.

Ryan stood near the pool in Evie’s rented house, and stared in stunned silence as the police photographer finished his job. Marty’s body was sprawled beside the pool, his head blown to pieces, blood and fragments of human flesh scattered everywhere.

A broad-faced detective approached Ryan. “I’ll never understand why they havta do it in front of the kids,” the detective said, digging at his teeth with a wooden toothpick. “Makes me sick. This is the second one this week.”

“Second what?” Ryan asked, his stomach churning.

“Second bastard who blew himself away with his kids watching.”

“My sister had a Restraining Order,” Ryan muttered.

“Yeah,” the detective drawled. “An’ I got a note from Bank of America saying they’re gonna give me a million big ones.”

Ryan understood what the detective was saying. He’d been warned that Restraining Orders were a waste of time. Why hadn’t he had the sense to hire a security guard to watch over Evie and the kids?

Thank God for small mercies. Marty had taken his own life and not Evie’s or the boys. It could so easily have gone the other way.

He walked inside the house where Evie was being questioned
by a female detective, his mother also. The three boys had been whisked away by his older sister, Inga.

Making his way out to the front yard he pulled out his phone and called Mandy. She didn’t pick up. Same thing with Don.

He ached to call Cameron, she would understand better than anyone, but he couldn’t do that, could he? No. She was with Don. They were enjoying their weekend together. He wasn’t about to ruin it for either of them.

Back inside the house the female detective had finished taking Evie’s statement.

Evie spotted him, got up and ran into his arms.

Ryan hugged her tightly. “You can cry if you want,” he encouraged. “Go ahead, let it all out.”

Between choked sobs she began explaining what had happened. She told him that the boys were out in the pool, all three of them excellent swimmers, while she and her mother watched them from the kitchen window as they prepared lunch. Then out of nowhere Marty suddenly appeared, screaming at the boys to get out and come home to Silverlake with him where they belonged.

Confused, the boys started climbing out of the pool. Evie ran outside, followed by Noreen.

Marty was drunk and a mess. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Evie shouted.

“Too fuckin’ bad,” he responded. “You’re all comin’ home with me.”

“No, they’re not,” Noreen said, bravely stepping forward to protect her brood.

That’s when Marty produced the gun, waving it randomly in the air. “Gonna give you a choice,” he said, turning to Evie. “You’re all comin’ home with me or I’m blowin’ my fuckin’ brains out. Whaddya think of
that
?”

“Go ahead,” she said, never imagining he’d do such a thing.

But he did.

As she finished telling him, Ryan held her even closer. “It’s not your fault,” he assured her. “Marty was unbalanced, he wasn’t thinking straight. You didn’t cause him to do this, he did it all on his own.”

“Yes, but I told him to go ahead,” she sobbed, tears trickling down her face. “And the worst thing is that the boys saw everything.”

“He would’ve done it anyway. It had nothing to do with you telling him to go ahead.”

“I don’t know,” she said unsurely. “What if I’d stayed in Silverlake? What if I hadn’t taken the boys?”

“Stop second guessing yourself. You did the right thing, that’s all there is to it.”

“Are you sure, Ryan?”

“About as sure as I can be about anything,” he said, once more enclosing his sister in the safety of his arms.

After going over the script with a somewhat subdued Marlon, Lucy got in her Mercedes and drove home, her fury at Phil’s indiscretion somewhat abated. She’d gotten her revenge–of sorts. She’d been half-naked in front of another man, and that was enough to boost her confidence and infuriate Phil if he ever found out.

Of course, she could never tell him it was Marlon, that would ruin any future relationship the two of them might have regarding her script. Actually she was quite excited about them meeting one day. Phil was often into mentoring young talent, and when he read Marlon’s work, who knew what would happen?

Humming softly to herself she parked her car in the driveway and entered her house.

“Mommy! Mommy!” both her children chorused, greeting her in the hallway. “Look what Daddy got you. Look! Look!”

She looked, she couldn’t
not
look. The hallway was filled from
one end to the other with an amazing array of Lalique vases filled with all different colored roses and tulips.

“It’s not your birthday, Mommy, is it?” asked Abigaile, who was seven and a petite version of her mother.

“No, it’s not her birthday, stupid,” countered Andrew, aged nine and quite stocky with Harry Potter-style glasses and sticking-up hair.

“Daddy says you’re special, so you should have special things,” Abigaile sighed. “I wish
I
was special, Mommy.”

“You are, sweetheart,” Lucy said, patting her little daughter on the head.

“No, she’s not,” Andrew snorted. “She’s stupid!”

Nanny put her head around the door. “Homework, children,” she called out. “Come along. Snap to it.”

Thank God for Nanny, Lucy thought. She could never manage without her.

Abigaile and Andrew rushed off.

Phil appeared, balancing several small packages. “I’m an idiot,” he boomed, his voice louder than ever. “An oversexed, dumb-ass goddamn idiot.”

“That’s true,” she said, playing it cool as he thrust bags from
Cartier, Tiffany
and
Prada
at her. “What’s all this?” she asked.

“Gifts for my beautiful amazing forgiving understanding wife.”

“What makes you think I’m forgiving?” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“Because I adore you,” he proclaimed. “I worship you. You mean everything to me.”

“In that case…” she said, sensing a great and unexpected opportunity.

“Yes?” Phil said anxiously. “Anything you want. Just name it.”

“Help me get my career back on track,” she said quickly. “I have a plan.”

Returning home from her shopping spree, Mandy was surprised to find Evie and Noreen sitting in her living room. She did not recall Ryan telling her they were coming over, and she wasn’t exactly thrilled. Dropping several
Neiman’s
and
Saks
bags, she threw Ryan a questioning look.

“Hi, everyone,” she said. “Did I forget you were coming over?”

Ryan took her arm. “There’s been a terrible tragedy,” he said in a low voice. “Marty shot himself.”

For a moment she thought he was joking, then observing their serious faces, she realized he wasn’t.

As Ryan relayed the story to her, she thought how bizarre it was. Why did Marty shoot himself at Evie’s, when he could’ve done it at their Silverlake house and saved everyone a lot of trouble? A selfish bastard right up until the end.

Mandy had a sinking feeling that Evie and the boys were coming home to roost, for they certainly wouldn’t want to stay in the rented house, not after this.

She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Somehow–
I’m sorry for your loss
–did not seem appropriate.

She looked at Ryan who was pouring brandy into several glasses. “I suppose I should cancel our reservation at
Spago,
” she said lamely.

He fixed her with a grim stare. “Yes, Mandy, I suppose you should.”

They’d made love outside. Now, less than two hours later, they’d made love again–this time inside the house.

Could this weekend get any better? As far as Don was concerned–no. And Cameron had no complaints.

“You never tell me anything about you, your family, your ex-boyfriends, how you got into the personal fitness business. I don’t even know where you’re from,” Don said, lazily reaching over
and stroking her hair as they lay on his bed in the bedroom, sun streaming down on them from an open skylight.

Don was getting curious. She wasn’t sure she liked that.

“Chicago,” she said at last. “When my mom died, I left home and traveled around the world with a friend from school.”

“How old were you?”

“I guess I was about eighteen.”

“That’s a very adventurous thing to do for one so young,” he remarked.

“I was always an old soul, always capable of looking after myself.”

Now that was a lie. If she was so capable, why had she let Gregg get away with abusing her? Why hadn’t she run at the first sign of violence?

“How about ex-boyfriends?” he asked, his curiosity aroused. “Anyone I should be jealous of?”

“What is this?” she said, starting to get edgy. “An inquisition?”

“I’m interested,” he said, still stroking her hair.

“Here’s the thing, Don,” she said, willing him to stop with the questions. “It’s just not that interesting.”

“How’d you end up in L.A.?” he asked, determined to keep going.

Enough was enough, it was time to turn the questioning around. “How did
you
?” she countered, sitting up.

“I’m that strange breed–a tried and true L.A. native.”

“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

“It sure is,” he said, thinking how naturally beautiful she was. “Most people
come
to L.A., they’re not born here.”

“And your parents–are they still alive?”

“My mom’s around.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Once in a while.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “She lives in the valley with a house full of cats and a live-in girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? You mean partner girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” he said casually. “My dad ran out on us when I was six, so it kinda put her off men, then a few months after he beat it she changed tracks.”

Silently Cameron thought that his dad deserting the family, and his mother becoming a lesbian explained a lot. Don Verona. Player. Of course.

“Hey,” he said, perplexed. “How did this get turned around and now
I’m
the one answering all the questions?”

“Cause you love talking about yourself,” she said, smiling. “It feeds your ego.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he protested.

“Yes, it does.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, and I’m hungry. Isn’t it about time we sent out for something to eat?”

“And so she changes the subject,” he drawled, reaching for his phone and checking the messages. “You’re such a slippery one, you never reveal anything.”

There were three messages from Phil, which made him think that something must be up.

“One quick call to Phil and I’ll order food,” he promised.

Cameron jumped off the bed. “I think it’s about time I took a shower.”

“What?” he said, throwing her a meaningful look. “You can’t wait two minutes?”

“Join me,” she said, her voice full of promise. “I’ll keep the water cold for you.”

“Don’t you mean hot?”

“For you–cold. You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re complaining?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” she said, heading for the bathroom with a smile on her face.

Nothing like great afternoon sex. Cole and Dorian would be proud of her.

“I’m going over to Ryan’s,” Phil informed Lucy after hearing the news about Marty’s suicide. “There’s no reason for you to come.”

“Perhaps I should.”

“No. You weren’t that fond of Marty, there’s no need for you to tag along.”

“You weren’t that fond of him either.”

“That’s beside the point. I feel bad for Evie, she’s such a sweetheart. I’ll run by, give her a hug from both of us.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“It’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

Lucy nodded. Loyalty to his friends was one of Phil’s most endearing qualities.

“I love my gifts,” she said, because it was obvious he was trying hard.

“Excellent,” he said, sounding more confident now that she didn’t appear to be about to dump him–a thought that frightened the crap out of him. “Because I love you, my dear. You are always number one in my heart, and you always will be.”

Lucy had forgiven him, but not all the way. He had to keep his promise and do something major about getting her script off the ground before she totally forgave him.

And then…once she was Lucy Lyons again, he wouldn’t dare risk cheating on her.

Having been married five times, Hamilton J. Heckerling knew women very well; he also knew how devious they could be. Over the years he’d caught two of his wives having affairs, another one
squirreling money into an offshore account, and one wife had been supporting her entire extended family by forging his signature on checks.

Yes, Hamilton knew a thing or two about women. He understood that if a man was smart he would keep a very strong eye on them, especially if the wife in question was forty years his junior.

Pola was a true beauty. She catered to his every whim. But he did not trust her. Not one little bit.

Since their marriage he’d never left her alone, so when he decided to make a business trip to Japan without her, he put in place the appropriate arrangements to make sure he knew exactly where she was and what she was doing every minute of every day.

The report that came through on his e-mail, accompanied by photographs, was the last thing he’d expected.

It was shocking. Quite shocking.

The proof was in the pictures.