The Wild One (3 page)

THIS
would be the case that made his career. Even as Steve Kass handed a tissue to the woman crying in his guest chair, he could think of little else. If he managed to not only keep Roxxy RoxX alive, but also catch her murderous stalker, goodbye assistant D.A., hello Attorney General of New York come the next election cycle. Maybe Roxxy would even sing at his inauguration. How cool would that be? A chart-topping music star, playing at
his
inauguration? He could almost see it now…

“I’m sorry I’m crying all over your chair, Mr. Kass,” Roxxy said, interrupting his inauguration daydream. “I just can’t believe Mabel’s really gone. She’s been with me since I was sixteen. She was like a mother to me.”

Her face, which was painted white with a rainbow of lightning bolts across it, crumpled as more tears fell from her eyes.

Steve held out some more tissues. “No, don’t apologize. You’ve been through a lot today between finding your employee like that and the hours of police questioning. I’m surprised your makeup held up all this time.”

Roxxy, he noticed, hesitated a bit, before she plucked the proffered tissues from his hand, careful to avoid skin-to-skin contact. She’d also hesitated before shaking his hand earlier. He would have chalked it up to her being one of those germaphobe types, but she hadn’t availed herself of the hand sanitizer on his desk after he invited her to sit down. And she was still calling him Mr. Kass, though he’d told her she could call him Steve twice already.

Overall, the real life version of Roxxy RoxX was a lot less sassy and confident than the girl he’d seen in the music videos, first as a jailbait teen at the beginning of her career, and then as a naughty seductress with an even naughtier singing voice.

She sniffed into a tissue. “Mabel was very good at her job. She always said if she was doing my makeup, it wouldn’t come off until I wanted it off.”

He eyed her get-up from the powder-blue mermaid wig that fell all the way down to her lush breasts, to the sequined green mini skirt that barely covered her ass, much less her shapely legs encased in glittery tights. “You know, your penchant for makeup might serve us well when it comes to protecting you.”

“How so?”

“Well, obviously, this is the work of an unstable fan. Luckily your bodyguard provided us with a list of people who have sent you unsettling emails and/or letters. However, it’s really long.”

Roxxy dabbed at her eyes. “That’s why he never lets me check my own fan mail…he wants to keep me away from stuff like that.”

“I don’t blame him. But unfortunately, it’s going to take a while for the NYPD to get through the list. Meanwhile, I think it would be best if you lay low, no makeup, no costumes, no—” he waved a hand toward the crazy wig, “—hair, except for your own.”

Roxxy thought about that and nodded. “I was planning to take a vacation anyway. I could go to my condo in Atlanta. Or my flat in London. I’m also about to close on a new apartment in L.A. I could stay there.”

“Actually, I was thinking someplace even less conspicuous than that. This guy broke into your high-security apartment and kept his face off all the cameras. I don’t think going to another known residence is the answer. I also don’t think you should stay with anyone you know, especially if they’re also famous. In celebrity cases like yours, it’s hard to keep locations contained. People want to give you safe harbor, but they also can’t resist telling a friend or two that they’ve got a music star staying with them.”

“I could stay with my bodyguard. He lives in the Bronx. I doubt anyone would look for me there.”

Steve shook his head. He’d had a hard enough time convincing the large man to remain outside the door while he had this private conversation with Roxxy. He could only imagine how hard he’d make Steve’s life if she were staying in his home.

“Unfortunately, Dexter isn’t the kind of guy who blends in. And from what you’ve told us, the public has become used to associating him with you. Half of today’s gossip blogs are reporting you spent the night at two different clubs and then found Mabel dead, just because he was spotted at both places.”

She lowered her tissue. “So you want me to stay with a stranger?”

“It wouldn’t exactly be staying with a stranger. I have a friend named Andrew Sinclair from college who owns a guest ranch in Montana. I use him whenever I need a place to stash VIPs—usually people who witnessed big crimes.

“I didn’t tell him who you were, but he’s agreed to give you one of his cabins for as long as you need it. I think between hiding you out in a flyover state, keeping your identity a secret even from him, and the fact so few people have ever seen you outside of your stage persona, we should be able to keep you hidden until we flush out your stalker.”

He half-expected her to fight him on this. Heaven knew most of the high-profile stalking victims who came through here seemed more concerned with keeping their careers on track than protecting themselves against possible psychos.

But Roxxy agreed with a quick nod of her head. “I’ll go. I’ll stay low wherever you want me to and however long you need. Only one thing,” She gave him a sheepish look. “Could you tell Dex for me? I don’t think he’s going to take it well.”

ROXXY WAS RIGHT, Dexter didn’t take it well. After Mr. Kass told him, he all but pushed the smaller man aside to confront Roxxy.

“How could you agree to this?” he asked. “We don’t know this guy. And how are you going keep yourself from freaking out when you’re alone with him if I’m not on the other side of that door?”

“He’s a civil servant. I’ll just concentrate on that and I’ll probably be fine.”

Dex clenched his jaw, “Probably isn’t good enough.”

She rubbed his shoulder. “I know, Dex. But think of it as a trial run for when I go to college, okay? I mean, I’m going to have to learn to get along without you, anyway. Might as well start now.”

“Can you call me when you get wherever he’s taking you?”

She tilted her head to the side in apology. “I don’t think so. I trust you, but he’s not even letting me tell the guy I’m staying with who I really am. He also had me hand over my phone and wallet, so that I can’t be tracked down. But I promise to be in contact as soon as I get back.”

Dexter let his ham-like fist curl and uncurl in frustration before finally saying, “Fine, I just worry about you all the time. You know that.”

“I do.” She hugged Dexter. He was the only man she’d felt comfortable enough to embrace in almost fifteen years, not just because he wasn’t into girls that way, but also because he’d been so kind about putting up with all of her issues over the years. “I’m going miss you,” she said, meaning it.

“Imma miss you, too,” he said, hugging her back.

“You should do something for yourself while I’m gone,” she told him. “Maybe take a vacation, like we were talking about before. You totally deserve one.”

Dexter gave a non-committal grunt before saying, “Let me go give this fool some instructions before you leave.”

She watched him walk away, back toward Mr. Kass.
You can do this, you can do this
, she chanted to herself, and she almost believed it.

CHAPTER 3

SHE
couldn’t do this
, Roxxy thought to herself an hour later. She and Steve Kass were on a private plane headed to Montana, and the only thing keeping her from having a full out panic attack in an enclosed space with a man she barely knew, was the bottle of vodka she was currently white knuckling between much needed swigs of Dutch courage.

She silently thanked her mother for shoving the vodka into her purse when she’d come to say goodbye to her at Mr. Kass’s office. At the time, it had felt like her Shirelle being pushy again, but now the vodka was the only thing keeping her from jumping out of her skin.

And it was certainly the only thing allowing her to pretend she was a normal woman who could sit across from a man without her bodyguard nearby and without feeling completely creeped out.

“He’s a civil servant. He’s a civil servant,” she chanted in her mind. Then she forced herself to listen to what Steve Kass was saying.

“After you take your makeup off, we’ll go over the cover story we’re going to give my friend, Andrew, and the second cover story we’re going to give anyone else you meet. The most important thing for you to remember is you’ve got to stick to both stories. Andrew’s a stand-up guy, and I trust him more than I trust most, but you never know how people will respond to star power, so you’ve got to memorize both your cover stories and stick to them no matter what, okay?”

“Okay,” Roxxy agreed, taking another swig of vodka.

“Your manager, Shirelle, said you were interested in breaking into acting next, so this might come in handy for you.”

Roxxy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d have to be knee-deep in her degree before Shirelle gave up that dream.

“Anything else I should know before we get there?” she asked.

“Before I forget.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and placed it on the table in front of her. “If we get separated for any reason, or something important comes up and you can’t get a hold of me, here’s the D.A.’s number. He’s the only other person I trust in my office not to leak your whereabouts.”

“Okay,” she said again, picking up the card and slipping it into her purse. “By the way, how am I supposed to buy anything if I don’t have my credit cards?”

“I’ll give you cash before we meet with Andrew. He’ll need to take you to buy some new clothes tomorrow morning, since you’ll definitely stand out in that outfit. But the guest ranch is all-inclusive, so you probably won’t need much in the way of money. If you do want to buy something at the ranch, just charge it to the room. “

Ugh…Roxxy had to take another swig of vodka to digest that information.

A few hours later, she found herself ensconced inside a bathroom at the Ride ‘Em Cowboy, a two-floor motel with a diner attached. The hotel appeared to be the only non-agriculture based business for miles and miles and it rented rooms by both the week and the night. Mr. Kass apologized profusely for putting her up there, but it was the closest hotel to Andrew’s guest ranch, and it allowed him to pay for a week up-front in cash, so he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone tracing his credit card to track her down.

She’d already been inside the bathroom for at least twenty minutes, staring into the mirror over the sink. Though she’d sworn off drinking alone—especially if it was alcohol after her second DUI—she was already halfway through the bottle of vodka. Her hands shook as she unscrewed the lid of her makeup remover.

Roxxy had always thought when she finally took off the crazy makeup and the wild wigs and the outrageous costumes, it would be for something big: an exclusive with a popular talk show host or the final number at her last concert or the inevitable “Where are They Now” special ten or twenty years after her unofficial retirement.

But her final concert had come and gone unannounced because she was too chicken to tell her mother she was done with music, and where she was
now
was in a motel bathroom. With a half-empty bottle of vodka.

““How much longer?” the assistant D.A. called through the door.

A cold shiver crawled down her back. The only thing scarier than being alone in close quarters with a guy without Dex nearby, was taking off her makeup so she could do it again in a seedy motel room. It felt like the equivalent of a soldier throwing away her shield just before she was about to engage in battle.

“We’re set to meet Andrew in less than thirty minutes,” Mr. Kass said, reminding her he was still outside the door and waiting for her to answer.

Roxxy took several more swigs of vodka. “I’m going to need at least twenty more minutes,” she called back.

Suddenly the room was no longer staying put the way it was supposed to. She turned away from the mirror just for a second or two, she assured herself, to give herself some breathing room. Looking around the bathroom, she took in the bathtub, solidly rectangular with a plastic shower curtain and no extra amenities like a Jacuzzi option or an array of expensive bath oils awaiting her on its ledge. There wasn’t even a bar of soap that she could see.

What really struck Roxxy, though, was the smell. Or rather the lack of smell—no Jasmine or other aromatic scent being pumped through the circulation system. No cleaning products still lingering in the air, giving away that the room had received an extra special cleaning in preparation for her celebrity arrival.

The toilet was a dull white and so was the sink, which was encased in scratched-up, mustard yellow formica, probably dating back to the sixties or seventies. Nothing in the room sparkled underneath the fluorescent lights. In fact, they made her look garish and silly in the mermaid outfit, which had looked so magical the night before.

Finally the room stopped spinning, and the vodka must have really decided to kick in, because Roxxy didn’t feel so scared anymore.

She turned back to the mirror and before she could think too hard about it, she poured a liberal amount of makeup remover onto a large cotton round. Then for the first time in over a decade, she began removing her makeup herself, with hard, determined swipes.

IT WASN’T LIKE STEVE WAS ONE OF THOSE HOUSEWIVES who read glossy magazines, lapping up news about the latest Roxxy RoxX exploits while clucking her tongue. However, he wasn’t unaware of her reputation for partying hard and kicking up a tornado’s worth of behind-the-scenes drama. That morning, in fact, he’d read all about her two DUIs and subsequent house arrest.

But he also knew she had millions of fans, and the truth was, he’d heard quite a few of her throaty bubblegum songs on the radio and he hadn’t always switched the station when he did. Sometimes he’d even found himself singing along. She had a really good voice, and they wrote those damn songs to stick in your head, even when you didn’t want them to.

But standing in the motel room, waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom, he couldn’t shake the nervous energy popping around inside of him. He, Steve Kass, would soon be the first regular person to see Roxxy RoxX outside of her elaborate hair and makeup in over a decade. If everything went to plan, and she was able to lay low at Andrew Sinclair’s ranch until they tracked down her stalker, maybe he’d be the only person to knowingly see her this way.