Viper's Nest (3 page)

She could see it now, glinting beyond the low-lying brightly painted buildings that stood between the highway and the wide beach.

Cate edged forward in her seat, desperate to get to the hotel, change out of her jeans and T-shirt and hit the beach.

The cab indicated and turned left along Ocean Avenue, slowing almost to a halt as the driver looked out for the Erin Hotel. Cate wound down the window and sniffed the air, smiling with pleasure
as she felt the sea breeze on her face.

No two buildings were the same: some were domed, some had chalet-style roofs, others were simply square concrete boxes painted in a variety of burned reds, bright blues and vibrant oranges.
There were endless bars and restaurants, shops selling artwork, photographs, tattoos and books, and tiny cafés spilling out on to the hot concrete pavement. Where the sand met the sidewalk,
Cate could see a wave of people running and power-walking along a wide tarmac path which edged the golden beach and stretched away out of sight behind the buildings.

‘Ocean Front Walk,’ said the cabbie helpfully, spotting her enraptured face in his mirror. ‘The place where all the beautiful people come to be seen. The best place for
people-watching in the whole of this crazy city.’

Cate grinned back at him before sending her mother a quick text to tell her that she was staying at the Erin Hotel by Santa Monica Pier. Hopefully it would save her mum a wasted journey out to
the airport.

As the cabbie pulled to a halt, three girls in short skirts and vest tops swished past them, their rollerblades grinding on the pavement, long bare legs swaying.

‘It’s been a warm few weeks for April,’ said the cabbie, watching the girls admiringly as he pulled the cases from the boot of his car. ‘The forecast is good too. Have a
great vacation now.’

Cate took the cases from him, paid him and turned towards the hotel. Pistachio-green with a pointed roof and balconies at every window, it wouldn’t have looked out of place in an Alpine
resort. But there the similarity ended. Rather than snow, sand edged the building and a bright yellow lifeguard jeep was parked outside the large porch, which trailed pink, red and yellow
bougainvillea and ivy.

As Cate watched, two muscled surfers carried their brightly painted boards into the reception, pausing only to shake the sand from their beach shoes as they went in.

Bleached wooden floorboards and limed timbers gave the reception area an unmistakable beachside vibe and, at the far end of the vast room, a small coffee lounge spilled out through large glass
doors on to a wide balcony overlooking the beach.

She sent a silent thank you to the woman who had sent her there. Just after she got Cate a massive reduction on the usual room rate, she’d gone off to the ladies and didn’t come
back. She hadn’t said goodbye and Cate felt bad she hadn’t been able to thank her properly. Still, thought Cate, whoever she was, she had done her a huge favour. Talk about good
luck.

Unable to resist, Cate headed straight for the view. The balcony was a suntrap; sand blown up from the beach was scattered over orange oversized beanbags and lumped up in hot silver mounds
underneath her feet. Cate bent down and slipped off her sandals and leaned against the round metal railings to gaze down at the bright blue ocean, feeling her body unwind and relax from the effects
of a long, hard British winter.

‘Cate? Oh my God, is that you?’ The booming voice came from behind her and made her jump. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

It was Ritchie, standing beside her, as large – if not larger – than he had seemed earlier in the day.

Cate flushed. ‘My mum isn’t coming until tomorrow now.’ She found herself looking at her feet. ‘So I booked myself in here for the night. Someone at the airport
recommended it.’

‘I’m so glad they did! My uncle owns this place. That’s what I was doing here. Just popping in to see him. And now you. Seems like we’re destined to meet!’

‘Spooky,’ she agreed. Suddenly she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. ‘It’s great to see you again, Ritchie,’ said Cate, ‘but I really need to get up to
my room and chill out a bit.’

‘No problem. I understand. It’s been a long day for all of us.’ He paused. ‘Look, a bunch of us are having a beach party tonight. Nothing fancy, just a barbecue, some
music, maybe a bit of surfing if the water isn’t too cold. Join us if you want.’

Cate hesitated. Ritchie seemed like a nice guy, but she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She was still hurting badly from her split with her French boyfriend Michel. She had met
Michel last summer in Antibes, and it was he who had invited her out to Australia. But after he found out that Cate had spent the entire holiday working undercover for IMIA – and had been
forced to spy on him and his friends at the sanctuary – he had decided to finish their relationship.

‘I’m sorry, Cate,’ he had said to her. ‘I understand why you lied to me but I need honesty in my relationships. I guess I’m not sure how I can trust you any more
– and I can’t be with someone I can’t trust. Not even as friends.’

Cate had tried to reason with him of course, to explain that her life – and probably the life of everyone at the sanctuary – had depended on her silence. But his mind had been made
up, his face hard, so different from the affectionate, laid-back Michel she knew and loved.

‘Hey, penny for them?’ Ritchie was looking concerned. ‘You seem really down. I’m asking you to a party, not a wake. No strings, just a fun few hours with nice people. It
looks like you could use it.’

Cate pulled herself together and smiled. ‘Sorry, Ritchie, you’re right. I should get out there and enjoy myself. I’m only in LA for two weeks. Where’s the
party?’

‘Past the pier – towards Venice. Meet you in reception at eight-thirty and we’ll walk down together, if that’s OK with you?’

‘Thanks,’ Cate said. ‘I’m looking forward to it already.’

As Cate pushed open the door of her hotel room, her eyes widened in amazement. Opposite her, taking up an entire wall, was a huge mural of a giant wave breaking on to a beach
where a young blond surfer was standing with his board at the ready. Thick sheepskin rugs dyed and cut into the shape of surfboards and camper vans were scattered liberally across the cool marble
floor, and the bed frame was definitely made from bleached driftwood. Above it, battered surfboards hung at crazy angles from the ceiling and, just in case you missed the point, the lamp stand was
a bronze cast of an arching dolphin.

The room was crammed with the latest gadgets and Cate broke into a grin as she took in a large, bright yellow Smeg fridge, a massive blender next to a huge bowl of fruit, and an iPod docking
station on the granite work surface. Below the massive LED TV screen on the wall opposite her bed, the shelves were stacked with CDs and DVDs. Then, to her utter disbelief, Cate spotted a twin
mixing desk next to a sound editing desk. The whole room was unashamedly, proudly beach chic and it made Cate want to laugh out loud. She really wished that her best friend Louisa and younger
brother Arthur could be here to share it with her. It was just the most amazing hotel room ever.

Cate found the kettle and, while she waited for it to boil, unpacked a few of her clothes. She was here for at least a day and she decided to make herself feel at home. She chose a fennel tea
from the variety of herbal tea bags in the small kitchen, walked to the window, pulled back the light muslin curtains and stepped out on to the balcony.

Cate eased herself into the blue wicker chair and gazed out at the ocean, revelling in the feel of the warm breeze on her face and bare arms. It was hard to believe that just twenty-four hours
earlier she had been saying goodbye to her stepmother, Monique, at Heathrow Airport in the cold, driving rain of a grey April day. As she rubbed in some suncream, she wondered if it was too early
to Skype Louisa and decided that it probably was. Instead, she shut her eyes and dozed, feeling the exhaustion of the long flight melting away.

An hour later, she was standing under the power shower, trying to decide what to do next. Half of her wanted to get into her beach stuff and go down to the ocean, lie on the sand and chill out.
But Cate had been sitting down for a long time – she needed some exercise.

Cate headed back into the room and felt around in the bottom of her suitcase for her running shoes, pulled them out and threw them on to the bed along with her lycra shorts, T-shirt and cap.

As she pulled her thick, dark-blond hair back into a ponytail, her phone chimed with a text. It was from her mum, and was studded with a large amount of exclamation marks and smiley faces.

Cate’s jaw dropped. Her mother had a shop? She had always told Cate and Arthur how she hated to be tied down to routine, how the drudgery of a nine-to-five life would destroy her soul.
This she had to see. Was it within running distance of the Erin? she wondered as she headed downstairs to the lobby.

‘Do you happen to know where Brendan Street is?’ Cate asked the receptionist, who had been chatting animatedly to a pair of lifeguards. She was black, with bleached-blond hair, four
piercings in each ear and a very low-cut top. ‘I’d quite like to run there if it’s possible.’

All three turned slowly to look at Cate, then the receptionist smiled. ‘I’ll find it for you, honey,’ she said, getting out a local map and beckoning to Cate. ‘Yeah, here
it is.’ Her bright red fingernails pointed to a road a few kilometres south of the hotel. ‘Brendan Street. Head along the beach towards Venice and then turn inland at Rose Avenue. Take
this map with you and you’ll find it, no problem.’

‘Cool,’ said Cate, turning to go. ‘Should take me about an hour.’

‘Mmm,’ said one of the lifeguards, putting down the bottle of Diet Coke he had been swigging from and looking Cate up and down ‘Do you know Santa Monica at all?’

‘Sort of,’ said Cate. ‘Been here a few years ago.’

‘Then you’ll know to stay this side of the Pacific Highway,’ one of the lifeguards called over his shoulder. ‘You do that, you’ll be safe.’

Cate thanked him. She was well able to look after herself. When her mother had left home, her father, a UN peace negotiator, had insisted she and Arthur join him in his world of diplomatic
travel. She had travelled all over the globe and had found herself in many a tricky situation before her father had insisted they settled in London once Cate had started working towards exams. She
also had a brown belt in martial arts, which gave her confidence. But it always made sense to listen to good advice.

She was just heading for the door when she spotted Ritchie. He was facing her, talking to a man, whose grey-streaked hair and the set of his broad shoulders seemed, weirdly, familiar.

She hesitated. She didn’t want to interrupt Ritchie, but equally she would be mortified if he thought she was ignoring him.

Ritchie saw her and solved her dilemma. He beckoned her over with a friendly gesture. ‘Hey, Cate, I was just telling my uncle about you. Come and say hello.’

The older man turned to greet her with a broad smile and, as Cate automatically put out her hand to shake his, she felt a shock of recognition. There, standing right in front of her, his lightly
tanned face creased into a devastatingly handsome smile, brown eyes crinkling at the edges, was none other than Johnny James, possibly the most famous star Hollywood had produced in the last twenty
years!

Charming, debonair, eternally single yet always seen out with the most beautiful girls, Johnny James had, almost overnight, risen from being a bit-part actor in a cult medical TV drama to one of
the most accomplished and sought-after film stars in Hollywood. Just about every film he starred in was a box office hit, and year after year he was voted the number-one heart-throb by women around
the world. And now, this . . . this god was standing in front of her, smiling his famous lopsided smile.

For a few seconds Cate thought her knees might just give out, but instead she managed to pull herself together and shake his manicured hand.

‘Cate – meet Johnny James, aka my Uncle Jack.’ Ritchie was grinning down at her, amused by her reaction. ‘Uncle Jack, this is Cate Carlisle, a great friend of the
twins.’

‘Cate.’ His voice was like liquid chocolate. ‘So good to meet you. I hope the hotel has lived up to your expectations. How’s the room?’

‘Fantastic, thanks,’ said Cate, trying hard to sound as if she was perfectly used to chatting to world-famous film stars. ‘The view is amazing and I really love the mixing
desk.’

Both men laughed.

‘I’ll let you into a secret, Cate,’ said the film star. ‘The desks were a bit of an indulgence of mine. I’ve always fancied being a top DJ and I thought if I put
them in my hotel I would get round to using them.’ He gave Ritchie a jovial nudge.

‘Are you off for a run?’ asked Ritchie, changing the subject.

‘Best way I know to work off jet lag,’ Cate said, smiling at him. ‘Otherwise there’s no way I’ll stay awake for your party tonight.’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Ritchie. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

Cate went round the corner of the hotel, out of sight, and then jumped up and down on the spot for a good twenty seconds at the same time as trying hard not to scream. She, Cate Carlisle, had
just met
Johnny James
.
The
Johnny James! And they had actually shaken hands! Santa Monica was amazing. This was going to be the best holiday ever!

She punched the air, then reached for her phone and began to text Louisa. This her best friend had to hear.

It was a few minutes before Cate felt composed enough to cross the sandy road at the back of the hotel on to the hot, dusty boardwalk to begin her run.

The boardwalk was packed. The baby buggies that Cate had seen earlier were gone, replaced by more serious joggers making a big show of drinking water and checking their bulky watches. Some of
the men were shirtless, their tanned biceps bulging as they pounded along. The women were sporting the skimpiest of sportswear, perfectly cut to show off their toned arms and tight enough to make
their washboard stomachs clear.