Star Attraction (31 page)

“Brad, you’ll see it in the papers,
and I think maybe you should get out of the London apartment, just in case. The
fact is that Jonathan’s planted drugs everywhere.
 
The police are going to be stepping up their investigation,
and will probably try to extradite you.”

“That bastard! That's it,
Zaira.
 
I've done as much running
and hiding and I can stomach. I've had enough of him getting everything his own
way while I'm stuck here so far away from you and the life we've built for
ourselves in New York.
  
I’m
coming home.”

“No, not yet!
 
It isn’t safe,
 
Brad."

"But Zaira—"

"Please, Brad, just
listen.
 
Promise me that you'll
give it a few more days. Then we'll have all the proof we need of everything he
has been doing.
 
Don’t trust anyone
except me and your father and Matt.
 
Don't come home, but get out of the flat now.
 
Ring Matt if you need anything.”

“Zaira, why is it I can never ring
you?
 
What the hell is going on?”

“Never mind that now.
 
Trust me.
 
I love you.
 
I
swear, just a few more days, and then it will all be over.”

“Zaira, where
are
you?” Brad asked suddenly,
realization dawning in his voice.

“Goodbye, Brad.
 
I love you.”

She put down the phone and lay her
head on her desk, the tears streaming down her cheeks mingling with the ink
with which she had penned her passionate romance about a young college
professor and a handsome Hollywood director.

As the sky began to darken, she
rose from her seat to splash her tear-streaked face with cold water.

Cormac appeared a short time
later, and said, “This is a disaster.
 
We have to do something now.”

“I think we’ll have to go to the
police with all the evidence.
 
Only
leave me out of it.
 
Say you hired
the detectives, and so on,” Zaira urged.

“All right, whatever you say. I’ll
take Dave Tremaine with me.
 
He'll
know who to speak to, and go over all the evidence with them.”

“Listen, go tomorrow.
 
But first, tell Dave I want copies of
everything kept, just in case.
 
We
need some insurance here. Jonathan is far too clever, and the police can be
bought off by a man with as much money as Jonathan.
 
I want him behind bars where he belongs, and I intend to get
him there.”

“Zaira, the only way to prove it
beyond a reasonable doubt is if he pleads guilty.
 
There's no such thing as a miracle,” Cormac argued.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Zaira sighed,
then shrugged as she saw Cormac’s eyes boring into her.

“Tell Dave to make two copies of
everything, and be ready to go to the police at noon tomorrow.
 
And one more thing, can I go to Brad’s
house tomorrow, on my own?”

“Certainly, here’s the key,”
Cormac assented, removing it from his ring.
 
“But it seems an odd request.”

“It’s just that I have to go back
to New York soon, and I want to be reminded of him one last time,” Zaira said,
trying to sound convincing.

Cormac’s eyebrows raised.
 
“I have the feeling you're up to
something, but whatever it is, you're not going to tell me.”

“You know what it is.
 
It’s finished between Brad and me.
 
You’ll put Jonathan behind bars, and
I'll go back to New York,” Zaira said nonchalantly.

Cormac nodded.
 
“If that’s what you want, I can’t force
you to stay.
 
I’ll see the auditors
this evening, and we'll get whatever they have into some sort of shape to
present as evidence. Then we will see.
 
I’ll send you some copies as well.”

Zaira said quietly, “Thank you for
everything.
 
If I don’t see you,
goodbye, and tell Brad—
 
Well, just
tell him.”

“Believe me, I will.”

Zaira sat alone in the house,
almost frightened of the silence, and quailing at the magnitude of what she was
about to do.
 
The pen shook in her
hand as she scrawled a note to Jonathan on a small piece of lilac-scented
paper.
 
Zaira had always used that
stationery when she had been away from him in England, so he would know the
note was genuine.
 
Then she got
together some blank audio tapes, and went over the plans for the surveillance
cameras in Brad’s house.

Zaira patted her stomach softly,
saying a prayer for herself and her unborn child.
 
This was going to be a struggle for no less than life or
death, and she had a feeling the odds were not in her favor.

Cormac did go to the police the
next day with the evidence, but just as Zaira had suspected, nothing
happened.
 
The police fobbed Cormac
and Dave off with excuses about it not being relevant to their investigation,
since Jonathan wasn’t under suspicion.
 

Finally, one sergeant, whose name
Dave didn’t catch, told them to wait while he went over it all with someone in
authority.
 
They waited for hours,
and when they grew impatient and made inquiries, were told that no evidence had
been submitted.

Zaira’s suspicions were confirmed.
Jonathan could buy anyone for the right price, and all their evidence had been
stolen and probably destroyed.
 
It
was now completely up to her.

Zaira dressed carefully in jeans,
sneakers, a tee-shirt and baggy sweater.
 
It looked odd for the scorching Californian heat, but suited her
purposes exactly.
 
She checked her
tape recorder for the hundredth time, and drove Matt’s car downtown to a
novelty shop.
   

The man in the shop was very
helpful, and Zaira was soon ready to go out to Brad’s house in Malibu.
 
She was hours too early, but she needed
to be prepared.
 
She parked the car
a fair distance away down the beach, and walked the rest of the way to the
house.

Once inside the sumptuous
beach-front house, decorated in navy, gold, and cream, she checked all the
cameras to see if they were working, and then spread the evidence down all over
the floor.

She gazed out of the window and
over the balcony, to where the surf crashed down onto the rocks below.
 
Would this have been her home with
Brad, if they had ever got married?
 

Zaira shook her head.
 
There was no time for daydreams
now.
 
She had no future with Brad,
of that she was certain.

A small sound behind her caused
her to look up, startled.
 
Jonathan
was early, no doubt hoping to lie in wait for her, but she was ready.

“Well, well, Zaira, I couldn’t
believe it when I got your note.
 
A
charming spot for a reunion, don’t you think?”
 
He smiled, reminding Zaira of a wolf baring its teeth.

“Charming with the right company
of course. But I would hardly describe this as a reunion.
 
You can see all over that floor the
evidence that my private investigators have got on you.
 
I think you should really give yourself
up, and then perhaps they will go easier on you.”

“Your concern is touching, my
dear. But the point is, I have no intention of doing any such thing.
 
Your so-called evidence was thrown out
of the police station yesterday, so this final copy of yours is a waste of
time.”

“We know where Mike and all the
other models are. We have the drug dealer. They're repeat offenders. It doesn't
matter what you've paid them.
 
They'll talk to save their own skins. You can’t escape from this
forever,” Zaira argued, forcing herself to stare into his sherry-brown eyes.

“Sure I can.
 
Since they're repeat felons, everyone
will think they're lying to save their own skins. That's if anyone in this town
would even bother to try to take me to court. I can run away with the millions
I stole from Clarke Studios any time I like, Honey. But I have bigger game in
mind.
 
Brad's been completely
discredited, and I’m Cormac’s new heir.
 
Once Cormac is out of the way, I’ll have it all.”

Zaira shook her head.
 
“I’ll go to the FBI, anyone, with this
evidence, to stop you.”

“It’s too late.
 
I’ve won it all.
 
Cormac is already dead.
 
As you will be in a minute.”

Zaira sat down on the sofa, so
numb she barely noticed the gun Jonathan was holding.

“How?” she said, forcing her voice
to project for the benefit of the cameras she knew were filming them.

“A small fire at Lot 54.
 
A pity there were so many film
processing chemicals laying around.
 
What a dreadful explosion.”

“You're a monster."

"Just a good businessman with
lots of ambition."

"And what do you plan to do
with me, Jonathan?” Zaira demanded, once again projecting her voice for the
benefit of anyone who might be listening.

“Make it look like suicide, of
course. Insane that you lost me, and Brad turned out to be such a fiend, you
took your own life.
 
One last
headline in this incredible story.”

“You were no great loss, and
you're the fiend, not Brad."

"Now, now, dear,
temper—"

"Why? You had it all! Why the
drugs, the porn, the theft?
 
Even
murder?” Zaira shouted.

“The challenge of it all.
 
I’ve enjoyed every minute of it.
 
The drugs especially.
 
You always were a bit of a prude, my dear,
if I may say so,” Jonathan said with a smirk.

Then he pulled her to her feet and
fondled her roughly.
 
“What, not
even a last goodbye kiss?” he sneered, as she began to struggle against his
embrace.

“I’ll see you in hell first,
Jonathan.”

“And I shall enjoy sending you
there, my dear wife.” He laughed harshly, and brought up the gun, dangerously
close to her temple.

Zaira knew his plans for a neat
suicide would be foiled if she ran. She kneed him in the groin, and shoved him
away.
 
The gun went off, and she
could feel a sharp pain in her left wrist, and warm blood trickling down her
fingers.

“Damn it, make it easy on
yourself!
 
I’m going to kill you
anyway. You might as well go quietly.
 
Now I’ll have to throw your body in the sea.
 
Not a nice burial, my dear,” Jonathan called down the hall,
as she raced into one of the bedrooms, aking no effort to favor her wound and
trailing blood all over the cream-colored carpet on purpose.

No, it was definitely not going to
look like suicide.
 
The Tremaines
would bring Jonathan to justice for her murder, and Brad would be saved.

Except that it was his
house...
 
And might be used as yet
another charge against the man she loved if Jonathan ever figured out that he
was being taped.
 

She scanned the room quickly,
desperate now to live.
 
This room
also had a balcony overlooking the sea.
 

Zaira hurried outside, ducking
low. She peered over the railing,
 
calculating the distance between it and a low rock shelf.
 
She saw the ground was higher by the
living room window, so she made a dash for it.

Bullets shattered the glass behind
her as she ran out.

Zaira knew she had only seconds
before Jonathan came up behind her.
 
She yanked the living room door open, and tumbled back into the room,
turning to face Jonathan.

“You can’t do this. You and I were
married once. Loved each other. How can you hate me so much?” she pleaded
desperately, in an effort to catch him off guard.

Surprisingly, he hesitated.
 
“I don’t hate you. Don’t think I want
to do this.
 
But you’ve been
disloyal to me, and I can’t trust you.
 
You love Brad.
 
You never
loved me.
 
It’s bad luck really
that the two of you ever met.
 
I
never intended for you to get hurt.
 
I’m sorry it has to be like this, Zaira.
 
You’ve wasted your time and life coming here today to
blackmail me into changing my mind.
 
I’m guilty of everything I accused Brad of, but I'll never willingly go
to prison.”