Kept (20 page)

What was Derek doing right now? Was he okay? Was he mad at her for getting him fired? Or too preoccupied by his mother to care about her?

She didn’t think she’d ever forget the look on his face after that phone call. The devastation in his eyes, pouring in like thunderheads. The way his tan skin blanched, his stubble stark against his jaw. The way he’d pulled her close and kissed her like a dying man.

He needed her.

Right. Needed her like he needed a hole in the head.

But she hadn’t imagined the ferocity of his grip as he’d held her to him.

She was reaching for her cell phone before she snapped herself out of it. He had bigger things to worry about right now. He didn’t need her calling, trying to get him to talk about his feelings.

She yawned and settled back into the couch and flicked on the TV. She was reading a magazine, only half paying at
tention to the images flickering on the flat screen, when she heard her name blaring through her living room.

There was a time when Alyssa had lived and died by entertainment news shows, obsessively recording each and every one, watching to see if she’d made it on that evening’s edition.

Now they made her cringe. But she couldn’t help but look at her image filling the fifty-two inch screen. A knot formed at the base of her neck when she realized it was from the party three nights ago, right as she was being led away from the podium. A hand—Derek’s hand, she knew, though he was out of the frame—gripped her arm as her knees visibly buckled. Her cheeks were hectic pink, the rest of her face stark white, a gleam of cold sweat glistening on her skin.

“Another starlet headed for a meltdown?” the hostess asked, her voice full of false concern. “Celebrity party girl Alyssa Miles was on the way to revamping her image in the last several months after becoming the spokesmodel for the Van Weldt’s ‘Diamonds for All’ campaign.”

Another image flashed, this one from the last ad campaign. Alyssa had her back to the camera, naked except for a line of diamond butterflies marching down her spine.

“But since her father’s death, Alyssa’s been spiraling out of control.” The producers helpfully played video footage of Alyssa slumped in the corner of a nightclub from the AIDs benefit two weeks ago. The night Alyssa was convinced she’d come down with food poisoning.

As she thought of the toxicology report from the other day, she wasn’t sure at all.

“In the last two days, Alyssa seems to have disappeared entirely, missing scheduled appointments and appearances. Her reps won’t comment, but sources close to her speculate that after a stint two years ago for an addiction to cocaine, old problems may have come back to haunt her.”

Alyssa jumped as a hand reached out and snatched the remote from her hand and clicked the TV off. “You shouldn’t be watching that,” Andy scolded, sounding like a sixty-year-old grandma instead of a recent college graduate.

“I might as well know what they’re saying about me,” Alyssa said.

“Bull,” Andy said as she came around the couch to take a seat beside Alyssa. “You need to ignore everything. You need to lie low and get some rest until this all blows over.” She patted Alyssa’s leg reassuringly. “Here, drink this.”

Alyssa took the steaming mug and gave it a cautious sniff.

“It’s chamomile. It will help you sleep.”

Her night was restless, full of waking dreams. She worried about Derek, haunted by visions of his harsh face white with barely disguised devastation. Demons chased her, watching her every move, poisoning her.

The next morning her brain was cloudy, unfocused, and no matter how much coffee she drank, she couldn’t shake off the fatigue that had settled into her bones.

She planted herself on the couch and checked her cell phone. A rush of adrenaline pierced through the exhaustion when she saw the first text.

I no the truth. We need 2 talk.

It was the fourth message in two days, in addition to the two hang-up calls. She wondered if anyone at Gemini had found any more information about the caller. Then again, they had more important things to worry about right now than finding out who was prank-calling a woman who wasn’t even their responsibility anymore.

Kimberly had called. “I’m worried, Alyssa. Just call me to let me know you’re okay. Whatever you’re going through, I’m here for you.”

Trite words, but Alyssa appreciated them all the same.

She skipped to the next voice mail. From Louis. He’d heard she was back and said it was urgent that he see her.

She made a mental note to tell Andy to get her a new cellphone number.

She scrolled through the rest of her messages, vaguely listening as Andy fielded calls, offering endless rounds of “No comment” to whomever was on the other line.

Her phone rang, the shrill ringtone piercing the air.
UNKNOWN CALLER
flashed on the display. The events of the last few days caught up with her in a sudden rush. The drugging. Derek. The new wave of unflattering press coverage.

And now some asshole had gotten hold of her phone number and wouldn’t stop fucking with her. “What do you want?” she snapped, ignoring Andy’s startled look from her seat at the kitchen table.

“You’re a hard woman to get ahold of. I’ve been trying to run you down for days. Guess the curiosity finally got the better of you.”

The voice was deep and male; a faint east-coast accent threaded through.

“Who is this?”

“Are you alone?”

Her gaze flicked to Andy, who had turned her attention back to her computer screen. “Why does that matter?”

“I read the interview in
Bella
.”

Her sleep-deprived brain had a hard time following the jump in conversation.

“I know you have your suspicions.”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember what he might be talking about.

Sometimes I dream there’s someone else there, waiting to kill me, too.

Her blood ran cold. She pushed herself off the couch and walked over to the big bay window that looked out over the
street. Was he out there? Watching her as they spoke? “What are you talking about?”

“Are you alone?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll call you later.”

The connection abruptly dropped.

“Who was that?”

Alyssa jumped as Andy’s voice came from right behind her, so close she could feel the other woman’s breath on her hair.

“Just a wrong number.”

“Kind of a long conversation for a wrong number.” Andy’s brown eyes were wide and inquisitive.

“It was nothing,” Alyssa said, her voice sharp with annoyance. While she loved the way Andy effortlessly took care of everything, the lack of privacy sometimes grated on her.

Andy’s phone rang, cutting off any further questions. “No, she’s fine,” Andy said.
It’s your uncle,
she mouthed, rolling her eyes. “No, she hasn’t gone anywhere.”

Alyssa’s irritation grew in force. Her uncle was still watching her, using Andy as a spy to report back to him. And Andy was playing along.

“You don’t work for him, you know,” Alyssa snapped when Andy hung up. “I still pay your salary.”

“I know,” Andy said, her brow knit in concern. “But I figure it’s easier for me to tell him what he wants to hear than to make you deal with it, right?”

Alyssa immediately felt bad. Andy was just doing her job, and a damn good one, too. The phone rang again, this time Alyssa’s landline. Andy hurried to answer it and brushed off the caller in record time.

“That was your mother,” Andy said with a wave of her hand. “I know you don’t want to deal with her.”

Alyssa’s irritation reared its head again. She knew she was lucky to have Andy, but sometimes the woman was almost
too efficient, too nice. Her “I know exactly what you need better than you do yourself” attitude was great at the beginning but was starting to cloy. Andy was a full year her junior, but she acted like her mother.

Well, maybe, Alyssa conceded, not
her
mother specifically. But a mother, anyway.

“Can I get you anything to eat? I can run out to the crepe place if you want.”

Alyssa shook her head, pushing away her annoyance at the same time. Andy was just being her helpful, hyperefficient self. It wasn’t her fault Alyssa felt like crap and couldn’t shake her bad mood.

She left Andy in the living room, crawled back into bed, and pulled the covers up over her face. She wanted to wake in a world where the last month hadn’t happened. Her father would still be alive, she wouldn’t be receiving cryptic anonymous calls from wackos claiming to have information about his death, and, maybe most importantly, she wouldn’t be completely hung up on the most physically and emotionally hard man she’d ever met.

She slept hard and woke, disoriented, at the insistent ring of her phone. She squinted at the clock, shocked to see it was after eight
PM
. She’d been asleep for nearly nine hours.

The call went to voice mail. She picked up her phone and scrolled through the missed calls, her stomach twisting when her unknown caller showed up four times. The guy was messing with her, some nutjob, or, worse, a stalker, who wanted to get close to her. She should just dump her number and be done with it.

But when she emerged from the shower after fifteen minutes and heard her phone ring, she sprinted to catch the call. Heart pounding, she pressed the button to accept the call and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Are you alone?”

She pulled her thick terrycloth robe tight around her as
though afraid the man might be watching. “Yes. Now tell me what the hell this is all about.”

“Not over the phone. Too easy for people to listen in.”

She rolled her eyes. Why had she taken the call? “You know what? You can take your crackpot theories and big-brother paranoia and shove it up your butt. I’m getting rid of this number and finding out who you are, and if you come within a thousand feet of me I’ll have you arrested.”

“You know the truth, Alyssa, you said it yourself. You know someone else was there that night.”

Her breath froze in her chest.

“You never pushed the police on it. The case was so cut and dry, you knew they’d never believe you, vapid, flighty, drugged-out party girl that you are.”

She listened silently as he laid out her inner turmoil with eerie clarity.

“I believe you, Alyssa. But you need to show me you can trust me with the truth.”

“And how can I do that?” she snapped, fully expecting him to prove her wack-job theory right and request a pair of shoes or underwear or something.

“Meeting me, for starters.”

“Okay, fine. My assistant and I will meet you at the Starbucks on the corner of Larkin and Post tomorrow. Name a time.” Perfect. The coffee shop was always crowded, Andy would be there as backup, and, as a bonus, the paparazzi camped outside her front door would tag along and catch him in the act if he tried anything crazy.

“Sorry. No can do. We need to fly under the radar, for your protection and mine. Meet me in one hour at Zed’s, and come alone.” He rattled off the address.

She flipped open her laptop, plugged the address into Google, looked at the result, and gave a sharp laugh. “You want me to go to that part of the city alone at night? Are you trying to get me raped and killed? And that’s assuming
I can sneak out unnoticed. You may not have noticed, but I’m not the most inconspicuous person in the world.”

“You’ll be perfectly safe as long as you don’t do anything stupid. As for sneaking away, I’m sure you’ll manage. I’ll see you in an hour.”

The connection dropped.

A
LYSSA PULLED ON a pair of jeans, a bulky, nondescript sweater, and a pair of running shoes. She couldn’t believe she was even contemplating the meeting.

Don’t do anything stupid.
No shit. Going alone to one of the seediest, worst neighborhoods in San Francisco to meet with a man who’d somehow gotten hold of her cell-phone number fit firmly in the stupid category.

Yet she couldn’t stifle the voice that shouted, wailed, insisted that she hear what this man had to say. The subconscious whisper that haunted her dreams became a full-fledged roar, demanding that she sit up and pay attention to what it had been trying to tell her.

Andy jumped up from the couch when Alyssa came out of the bedroom, looking almost guilty to be caught doing nothing. She smoothed a nervous hand over her hair and regarded Alyssa with concern. “Are you feeling better? Can I get you anything?” A frown knit her brow as she took in Alyssa’s attire. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I have to meet someone,” Alyssa replied, making it clear in her tone that she wasn’t up for more questions.

Andy made a move toward her bedroom. “Just let me grab some shoes, and I’ll go with you.”

Alyssa put a hand on her arm to stay her. “No. I have to go alone.”

Andy’s mouth pulled into a nervous smile. “What’s going on here, Alyssa? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Alyssa licked her lips, debating how much to tell her. Finally she replied, “Someone has been calling me, claiming he has information about my father’s death. That’s all I can say.”

“You shouldn’t be meeting him by yourself,” Andy said, positioning herself between Alyssa and the door. “If he has information, you should make him go to the police.”

Alyssa shook her head, grabbed Andy by the shoulders, and firmly moved her aside. “I want to talk to him first. I’ll be back in an hour, okay? And if my uncle calls, don’t say anything about this to him. Or to anyone else.”

She darted out the side door before Andy could say anything. It was only after she’d slipped out the back, around the corner, and into the back of a cab that she thought maybe she should have told Andy where she was headed. Something along the lines of “If I don’t come back tonight, look for my body at the intersection of Fifteenth and Church.” She pulled out her phone to call but thought better of it.

Alyssa didn’t doubt Andy’s loyalty but knew she was worried about her like everyone else. She might call Harold or Richard, meaning well, and then Alyssa would really be up shit creek.

Anything weird happens, you call me.
Derek’s parting words echoed in her head. Anonymous calls from someone claiming to have information about her father’s death certainly qualified.

And something about the way he had said it…Of everyone around her, he alone seemed to be willing to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t a druggie.

Too bad he was off God knew where dealing with his own problems. Her heart clenched at the memory of the pain in
his dark eyes. Was his mother dead? After all these years, would the mystery of her disappearance be solved?

With everything he was going through, she didn’t want to be another burden. But, really, how stupid was she, going off alone to this part of town to meet a man she’d never met? She needed to tell someone, in case the worst happened.

She’d still be dead from her own foolish impetuousness, but at least they’d know where to look for her killer.

Alyssa felt a mixture of relief and regret when the call went straight to voice mail. On the one hand, she secretly—okay, not so secretly—was psyched to have a valid excuse to call him and maybe find out how he was doing. On the other, she didn’t want to hear the censure in his voice when she explained exactly what she was doing.

Richard answered on the first ring. He sounded breathless and irritated. Andy could hear a woman’s voice murmuring in the background. Whoops. Looked like she’d interrupted Richard in the middle of getting a piece.

“What do you want?”

“You asked me to keep you informed,” she replied. “Alyssa left here about five minutes ago, saying she had to go meet someone.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know, she wouldn’t tell me. But whoever she’s meeting claims to have information about Oscar’s death.”

Richard swore softly. “Did she say anything else?”

“No, but I have an address,” she said, unable to banish the smugness from her voice. After Alyssa left, Andy had gone into her room and opened Alyssa’s laptop. The screen was locked, but Alyssa had given Andy her password months ago and hadn’t bothered to change it. One click through Alyssa’s browser history, and Andy found the Google map pinpointing the bar’s location.

“Where?” Richard said.

Andy breathed a sigh and picked a piece of lint from her navy cashmere sweater. “I’m going to need an extra deposit.”

“You little bitch. Who do you think you’re talking to—”

“Listen, Dick,” she said. “I know it’s been ages since you’ve been in school, but do you have any idea how much it costs to go to Brown these days? Not to mention, with the way Harold’s cutting Alyssa’s income left and right, I may soon find myself unemployed.” She named a figure.

“That’s ridiculous,” Richard spluttered.

“How much do you think the
Enquirer
would pay for my story, Dick? Double that? Triple? I hear
OK! Magazine
pays well—”

“You’ll have it tomorrow. Now give me the address.”

Richard hung up on Andy, the knot in his stomach tightening as he dialed Louis’s number. He hated dealing with him, had been convinced it was a bad idea from the very beginning, but as usual he was overruled. Richard existed to do whatever the Van Weldt family required of him, no questions asked, and dealing with Louis was no different.

They were playing a dangerous game with Abbassi, and he knew if Louis found out they’d been planning to kill Alyssa all along, there would be hell to pay. But after what Andy had told him, even Louis wouldn’t be able to deny it was time to take care of Alyssa once and for all.

“We have a problem,” Richard said as soon as Louis picked up. “We need to take care of her, and I know a way we can do it.” He quickly explained the situation, as well as their plan, as though he’d only just come up with it.

“You know of a place to take her?” Louis asked.

Richard had the perfect place in mind. “It’s totally isolated. No one will look for her there, especially if we tell the press she’s in treatment.”

“Fine,” Louis said. “You bring her to me. I will take care of other arrangements.”

Alyssa kept her head down, shoulders hunched as she slunk past the panhandler shoving an empty McDonald’s cup in her face. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t give him any money, having spent all her cash on the cab. She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. This part of San Francisco was not the kind of place a woman should be walking around alone, much less walking alone looking for an ATM.

Keeping a constant bead on her surroundings, Alyssa looked at the scrap of paper in her hand and checked the address once again. She cursed under her breath. She had the intersection right, but she’d been up and down the block twice now, on both sides of the street, and still hadn’t located Zed’s.

“What you lookin’ for, beautiful?” a homeless guy called out to her from a doorway. He was stringy and filthy, his face half hidden by his scraggly beard.

She gave him a wide berth as she walked past. Other people looked her way. She was starting to attract attention. Sweat beaded and itched around the neckline of her sweater as her eyes darted around. Finally she spotted it, a cardboard sign no bigger than a standard eight-by-ten piece of paper, taped on the inside of a window of an otherwise innocuous building.

It didn’t look so much like a bar as a crack den. Alyssa took a deep breath and braced herself as she opened the door.

The bar was full, even on a weeknight, the crowd an odd mix, ranging from people who’d scraped enough together from their McDonald’s cups to buy a beer, to groups of slick yuppie types who’d ventured into the wild from their multimillion-dollar condos on the gentrified block around the corner.

One of the yuppies looked up to see who had walked in.
Alyssa dipped her head even farther, sending her hair spilling over her shoulder to hide her face, and prayed she went unrecognized.

Apparently the patrons hadn’t gotten the memo about San Francisco’s citywide smoking ban, because the air was so thick with tobacco smoke and worse she could barely see through it enough to make out features. Not that she had any clue who she was looking for. Her heart picked up speed, and she was struck once again by how colossally stupid this was. She’d fallen for this stupid cloak-and-dagger prank, and it was probably all some ploy to get her alone and vulnerable so some psycho could do whatever he wanted to her.

She started to reach in her pocket for her phone. A hand curled around her forearm, and she jumped about two feet off the ground.

“Did anyone see you? Does anyone know where you are?”

She shook her head.

The man’s eyes darted over her shoulder and canvassed the dim room. “Head to the back. We can talk privately.”

She swallowed hard, questioning her sanity even as she let him steer her to the back of the dark, smoky bar. Alyssa slid into one side of the small booth, and the man took his seat across from her.

“You came. I wasn’t sure you would.” His eyes were bloodshot behind the lenses of his glasses, darting around the room as he tried to see everything at once. He raised a hand to signal the cocktail waitress, and Alyssa didn’t miss the telltale tremble.

A drunk. Or worse.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?” Convinced by the second she’d been snowed, she wanted to cut to the chase, find out what he thought he knew so she could get the hell out of there.

“Martin Fish. Thanks for meeting me. This is good. This is good,” he repeated, nodding compulsively. The waitress came over and took his order for a triple shot of Johnnie Walker, neat.

“Let me guess, you’re a fan?” Alyssa said.

“I’m a reporter.”

She pushed herself up from the bench seat with a soft curse. “I’m out of here.”

He lunged across the table and grabbed her arm, his grip so tight she could feel his fingernails even through the thick knit of her sweater. “Sit down. You want to hear what I have to say. And if you don’t you’re even stupider than I thought.”

Veins stood out on his wiry forearm as his grip urged her to sit back down. Satisfied she wasn’t going to bolt, he released her. Alyssa sank back and took a good look at Martin Fish.

Other than the rabid glint in his eyes, he was completely unremarkable looking. His hair was a dusty brown with a few threads of gray, swept back from a slightly receding hairline. His face was tanned dark, weathered as an old bomber jacket, and his eyes were deep set and dark behind round tortoiseshell glasses that had gone out of style about five years ago. His nose was wide, and a scraggly goatee framed thin lips and distracted from a slightly weak chin.

The waitress brought his drink. He sucked down half of it in one gulp, closing his eyes and sighing as if it were ambrosia.

“Why don’t you tell me what I’m doing here, Martin? You said you have information about my father’s death,” she prompted.

“Do you like diamonds, Alyssa?” Martin asked, his eyebrow cocked, his lips pulling into an odd smile.

“Sure.” Alyssa shrugged, not sure where this was going. Though in truth she was more of an emerald girl, ever since her father had given her a pendant for her twelfth birthday
and claimed it was no match for her eyes. But she wasn’t about to share all that with Martin Fish, whose vibe was growing weirder by the second. “Girl’s best friend and all that.”

“The ad campaign has been very successful, hasn’t it? Everyone loves a pretty girl draped in diamonds.” His eyes roamed over her, as if he could see through her clothes. Alyssa’s skin crawled, and she cursed herself for turning down Andy’s offer to accompany her. “Do you know where those diamonds come from? Do you care where they were before they touched your naked skin?” Martin prodded.

This was such a mistake. She needed to get out of here.

Then she remembered the dreams. The drugs in her system.

Alyssa couldn’t leave, not if there was even a slim chance he had any information about her father’s death. She stared him dead in his crazy eyes and recited, word for word, the verbiage on the card that accompanied every piece of diamond jewelry sold by the Van Weldts. “While it is difficult, if not impossible, to trace the origin of our stones, we guarantee that all our diamonds are legally obtained from sanctioned mines that enforce humane mining practices, pay their workers fairly, and make the safety of their employees the utmost priority.”

“How PC,” Martin said, his thin lips stretching into a smile that left his eyes cold. “Too bad it’s a load of bullshit.”

“What are you talking about? My father would never sell conflict diamonds.” Not only because it was unethical. As much as Alyssa had loved her father and wanted to believe in his integrity, she also knew what a hit her father’s business had taken in the wake of the Leo DiCaprio movie.

The issue of blood diamonds wasn’t a new one. It was an open secret that every year a certain amount of illegally mined diamonds were smuggled over the borders of civil-war-torn
countries, and their proceeds were used to support the armies of the various factions. But after the success of the movie, the issue of blood diamonds was on everybody’s radar, and now everyone wanted to make sure the diamonds they bought were from legitimate sources. Major diamond dealers—her father included—did whatever they could to assure their customers their diamonds were from “clean” sources. “My father would never risk the company’s image that way,” Alyssa insisted.

Martin’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a disgusted sneer. “People will do anything for money.”

Alyssa shook her head. “He knew everything about the business. He only bought diamonds from reputable cutting operations.”