Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (33 page)

“Can we? Thanks, man!”

Instead of pulling in close enough to transfer from one boat to the other, they rolled into the water and swam. He suspected it was an excuse to cool off.

“Where to?”

A half hour later after towing the catamaran in at a sluggishly slow pace, Gage drifted toward a pier Jeter pointed out. Idly, his gaze went from the dock to the house beyond it, and he froze.

Jeter was already throwing off his life jacket, and it landed with a quiet plunk on the weathered wood. Seth had his arm out, hands on the pier keeping the boat from brushing against it.

Gage turned, checking on the Hobie and then curiously eyed Jeter. “This is your dad’s place?”

“Yeah. He might be selling it though. I’m hoping he’ll get a place on Big Bear or somewhere where we can have wave runners.”

“Bradley Walker is your father?”

Scarlette was tugging in the Hobie Cat, and her back straightened. Pivoting around, she swung her attention from him to Jeter.

“You know him?” Jeter wondered.

“Who doesn’t?” Gage joked and moved to the rear of the boat to take over pulling the rope in. “One of you jump in and untie that.”

Seth volunteered, and Jeter knelt holding the boat in place.

“You said he’s down there at that party?” Gage nodded to the garish monster of a house and the buzz of activity around it.

Jeter confirmed Gage’s query, but lost interest in the conversation and expressed his thanks, clearly eager to get into the house. Seth hung back. “Think we can take Rascal?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“It’s fine. My dad won’t care.” Jeter paused his stride midway to the house that sat close to the waterline. “He misses our dog. He was a big dog too. It lives with Mom now.”

“I don’t know…”

“Please. We can bring him over later. He has his tracker on his collar.” Still indecisive, Gage reached down to turn the tracker on and the boys fisted the air. “Yaaas!”

Less than a half hour later
, he tucked Scar’s hand in his as they made the trek down the road. They had entertained the idea of boating over, directly after dropping Seth and Jeter off. They had even talked of waiting until the next morning. But she was worried, given their track record so far with the search for Ivy that the next morning Bradley Walker might be gone. At the same time, she didn’t want to wander into a party of strangers—celebrity strangers—wearing only her swimsuit, cover-up, and flip-flops.

In the time it had taken him to pull on clean clothing and buzz a shaver over face and neck, she had jumped in and out of the shower and dressed. He wasn’t sure she had taken even three minutes with the hairdryer before slicking her semi damp hair into a tight knot atop her head. She’d smeared lip-gloss on and threaded several bracelets on her wrist.

Her wrist jangled when she slowed at the foot of the drive, and her arm stretched with him before he noticed the gentle resistance.

“Ready?” He took in the nervous dart of her gaze to the house beyond.

Ironically, in a repeat of the first party where they had looked for Ivy, they were detained and questioned in the driveway. After introducing himself, he waited as the security personnel texted into his phone and then they were given the go ahead.

He squeezed her hand again after they were admitted into the house. A server wearing a crisp white uniform made them a drink, and a party hostess escorted them to the back terrace. Feeling a tremble run through Scar, he rested his hand on her back above her waist, lending moral support. Other than a few glances, no one paid them any mind and she visibly relaxed as he guided her to a quiet corner where she could take everything in.

His own eyes skirted over the guests on the rambling lawn and stone patios, and he wondered if he would even recognize Ivy if he saw her.

“Gage Remington! My son texted just now and told me you rescued him and his friend.”

“Ah, yeah. They were having gaming and iPhone withdrawals.”

He had only seen Bradley in passing at various events and once out on the water when staying here last summer. The actor was a favorite of the tabloids and the women. The heartthrob’s short stature was always a surprise to see, given his larger than life effect on a screen.

They formally introduced themselves, and when he turned to include Scar in the introductions, he saw her moving away, her eyes focused as if in a trance. Following her line of sight, he found an older version of the girl he remembered sans dark hair.

“My assistant emailed me about you coming by the house. Sorry I missed you. He said the woman with you was looking for…” Bradley broke off. “Looks like she found her.”

Gage watched as the two women embraced but noticed the lack of a smile or happy face between them. When Bradley took a step in their direction, Gage quickly moved to intercept him with a slight step in front of him. “Maybe we could give them a minute?”

“Sure. Right.” Bradley agreed, but his eyes were watchful of Ivy. The actor offered to introduce him around, and although he wasn’t enthusiastic at meeting a bunch of strangers, he took him up on it to keep the other guy occupied.

“I
couldn’t—can’t face anyone.” Ivy took a gulp of her fruity drink, and her eyes wandered around the fancy conservatory. “You understand.”

I dropped to sit on the piano bench with the baby grand behind me and watched Ivy pace the shiny marble floor. “I don’t. Your mother is freaking frantic. Why would you put her through this?”

At this, Ivy’s chin snapped up. “You know my mother. I’ve no doubt she needs to miss me for a while. That way she won’t scream at me for not living five minutes from her beck and call!”

“She thinks you could be dead!”

“Good. Then maybe she’ll be happy I’m alive!”

“No chance of that.” My lips twisted in a mutation between a grimace and a smile. Despite my fury with my friend’s attitude, I couldn’t help but postulate the scene of Ivy telling Ms. Messlehof she had moved to Californication, was living unwed with a movie star, and ‘oh yeah Mom, there’s this video going around…’ “In fact she might kill you off herself.”

“See,” Ivy rang the reply out triumphantly.

Ivy had an incredible story. She had remained on the tour bus through the last dates and then had flown to L.A. with Pax from the band. Her phone had gone dead that first night and no one else’s charger had been compatible. Somewhere between Auburn and Sacramento, the phone had been lost altogether. She didn’t know my number by memory. During her first weeks in Los Angeles, she had hooked up with Bradley at a party. This was the night of the infamous video, although she didn’t know of it at the time, and it would be a month before it hit the internet. Pax from the band kicked her out of the house the next day. “I didn’t know he knew what I had done or would even care if he did.” She’d figured he was simply an asinine rock star and he was tired of having her around. Which was fine with her, because Pax had some kinks she was tired of indulging, and she and Bradley had really hit it off so well that he had programmed his number into the new cell phone she was using. “I couldn’t replace my other phone because the bill was overdue, and at that point I had no money. It was way cheaper to buy the new one with some cash Pax had given me sometime before L.A.” Bradley had seemed happy to move her into his place. Because of his recent divorce though, they had kept their affair quiet—until the video hit.

“You can answer to your mother whenever. But me?” I shot to my feet, and Ivy backed down a couple of wary steps. “I’ve never done a damn thing except support you in everything you’ve ever done. There’s Facebook. Snap Chat. Twitter. Email…” Breaking off, I was distracted by Ivy’s designer clothing and accessories. “You’re so freaking selfish! Out here living it up while anyone who really gives a damn about you is worried sick.”

“I know it was shitty of me. But you have to understand.”

“I don’t.”

“You of all people understand dropping out of sight over… over public embarrassment.” Understanding seemed to dawn. “That’s what you’re doing here in the middle of nowhere. Where the paparazzi marks hide away. It’s almost the twentieth anniversary…”

Did Ivy truly believe what she was saying?

There was no way Ivy could equate not shooting at least one message to say ‘hey the rock stars didn’t murder me and toss my body in the Black Rock desert while passing through,’ with my getaway to Lake Arrowhead. The most important difference was I myself would have let Ivy know where I was. I wouldn’t have dropped off the face of the social media map.

I lost it and lunged at Ivy, slapping the fruity drink from her manicured hands. When the glass shattered on the floor, and the contents miraculously missed splashing the designer dress on the way down, I tossed my own drink and watched the stain spread on the silk.

Ivy’s eyes were huge globes before her lids narrowed in fury. “What the fuck! You bitch! Do you know how much this dress cost?”

“What do you care? You didn’t buy it, right? You―” I stopped myself just in time before calling my ex best friend out for whoring around with celebrities.

A slight cough alerted me to our spectators. We had begun the discussion in relative privacy, but now our raised voices and Ivy’s cocktail bath had drawn attention.

I spun on my heel. Now that I’d seen with my own eyes that Ivy was safe, I wanted as far away from her as I could get. The next embarrassing scene spanned only a couple of seconds. Ivy shot her arm out. I wasn’t sure if it was a silent plea or if a full-out bitch fight would have ensued, had I not tripped in my haste to get away from what felt like a betrayal of our tight friendship.

I was surrounded by tanned feet in open toed shoes on marble so glossy, I could see my reflection. Gasps and murmurs flew above my head. Pushing myself up, I kept my eyes straight ahead and ran for the door.

E
ntering the empty cabin, I tripped again on the furry rug stretched in front of the den fireplace. My hands stung with the impact of protecting myself a second time from a face plant. Instead of righting myself, I simply sat in the shadows.

The room was bathed in the gold hue of the sunset when Gage appeared. When he simply sank down in front of me, it reminded me of the night before in the pool. His fingers fiddled with my knot of hair, freeing it from the bun, and then the pads of his fingers brushed soothingly against my scalp. I rested my forehead on his shoulder, surrendering to the massage.

“Want to talk about it?” he whispered against my hair. I shook my head. He devoted a few more minutes to the soothing ministrations of his fingers and then stood. With the turn of a key, the fireplace leapt to life. The flames entranced me, easing even more of the tension from my tendons. He locked the door, drew the drapes, and dropped the blinds until we were in our own little world. He took a moment to dock his phone and adjust the volume on a mellow playlist. As the first measures of the ‘feel better’ tunes began, he reclaimed his spot, but scooted forward, one leg on either side of me until our bodies were all but touching.

His fingers splayed my cheek, his thumb brushing my lips in what I was learning was his prelude to a kiss. I knew the action well now after only a few times—knew all I had to do was turn my head if I objected. I didn’t.