Unforgettable 2 (Hollywood Love Story #2) (5 page)

“No, I’ve never taken you to dinner looking like
this.
Let me give you something to digest.”

On my knees between her legs, I undo the clasp of my pants and zip down my fly. My hard as a rock cock springs out like a jack in the box. Her jaw drops to her chest and she gasps.

I don’t think I’ve ever had such a powerful erection. It curls to my navel. There’s even a bead of pre-cum on the tip. “Do I come up to your expectations?”

“Oh, James, so beyond! Please, James, I need you inside me!”

“My dear, I’m going to fuck you until you detonate. Blow you up into a million little pieces. I’m going to make you come so loud, so hard you’re going to scare the fish.”

“Oh James, take me. You can have me any time. Anywhere. Whatever is left of me, whatever I am, I’m yours!”

She has no idea. I lean into her, placing one hand on the cold cement to anchor myself, and the other around my enormous shaft. I rub it along her soaked folds and then I put it at her entrance. Inch by thick inch, I glide it inside her until I hit the warm, wet velvet of her womb. She clenches around me. And then I hear another scream.

“I’m not done with you, James.”

The voice is a hoarse, deranged whisper, but I’d recognize it anywhere. Katrina! She’s alive! Still inside Zoey, I crank my neck and her venomous eyes collide with mine. Zoey’s knife is in her hands. Before I can blink, a white-hot pain sears me…

Fade to black.

At the sound of my alarm, I bolt up in my bed. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m back to being me. And that I’m alive. I’ve got a giant boner and I’m shaking like a leaf. The blurred line between reality and fantasy frightens me. My dream’s as vivid as the morning light. I try to make sense of it.

It’s sending me a message. About my need for dominance. And my need for my assistant. Zoey’s under my skin and in my bloodstream. She lives in my soul and makes me feel whole.

But my gut tells me this dream is an ominous warning. An omen. A chill runs through me from my head to my toes. Things are so goddamn complicated. My fucking life is totally out of control.

Zoey

T
he next day, I’m feeling a lot stronger physically, so Brandon lets me spend more time up and about. I spend most of my time helping him with some lines and, like it or not, responding to the never-ending tweets about the status of Bratrina. He seems a little on edge. When I ask him why, he tells me he’s got a lot on his mind and didn’t sleep well. That makes two of us. Visions of Donatelli and my mother’s brutal death haunted me as did Brandon’s pending marriage to Katrina.

In the late afternoon, he orders me to put my laptop away and we snuggle on the couch to watch another rough-cut of an upcoming
Kurt Kussler
episode. Both of us relax. Halfway through it, my phone rings. Brandon puts the show on pause while I answer it.

It’s Pops! He’s back in town and wants to come over. He’s eager to talk to me.

Forty-five minutes later, he’s at the house. I hug him at the front door.

“Oh, Pops! I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How are you doing, babycakes?”

I smile and usher him in. “I’m doing better.”

“I’m taking good care of her, Detective.” Widening my smile, I cast my eyes at Brandon who’s come to join us. “I’m about to order in some sandwiches from Greenblatt’s. Would you like one?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I won’t be staying long. The missus wants me home for dinner. Boss’s orders.”

Brandon and I both laugh. “What about a beer then?” he asks.

Pops’s eyes light up. “Now, that I’ll take.”

“Me too,” I chime in.

Brandon shoots me a dirty look and waggles a reprimanding finger. “Uh-uh-uh. No beer for you. You can’t have any alcohol while you’re on your meds.
Your
boss’s orders. Understood?”

I make a face. “Yes, sir.” Brandon’s face lights up at the last word.

While Brandon goes to the kitchen to get the beers, Pops shrugs off his trench coat and makes himself at home, taking a seat in one of Brandon’s oversized chairs. I curl up on the couch. Someone who wastes no time, Pops gets right into it.

“So babycakes, tell me again what happened.”

I launch into my story and tell him how I’m sure I saw Brandon’s manager Scott having coffee with Mama’s murderer. “Pops, I’m more than a hundred percent sure it was him. You know I’d never forget his face. Yeah, he looked older, but it was him. I’m absolutely positive.”

“I believe you, babycakes. The problem is we can’t find any witnesses who saw two men who matched those descriptions. The Farmer’s Market is a big open space with diverse locals and tourists who come and go. My team’s spoken to all the vendors, and at best, they’ve gotten something like, ‘That sounds like a lot of people who stop by.’”

“Maybe they caught something on a surveillance camera,” I offer. Between growing up with Pops and watching a lot of
Kurt Kussler
, I could practically be a detective myself.

Pops glumly shakes his head. “I wish. Unfortunately, The Farmer’s Market doesn’t have a surveillance system.”

My heart sinks. We’re still at square one. Brandon returns with two Heinekens and a Diet Coke for me.
Mr.
Thoughtful.

“Help yourselves,” he says, setting the bottles on the coffee table. Snatching a beer, he lowers himself on the couch next to me. His thigh brushes against mine and I can feel his warmth.

“Why is Scott lying?” I throw the question out to both Pops and Brandon after taking a swig of my soda. “Pops, you should make him take a lie detector test.”

“They’re unreliable.” He grabs a beer and takes several gulps.

Brandon plays devil’s advocate. “What makes you think he’s lying?”

What! He doesn’t believe me now? My face scrunches with anger and my voice rises an octave. “Because he is! He’s a total slimebucket. I wouldn’t believe a word that man said. I bet he even told you he’s the one who found you unconscious on the day of your accident.”

Setting his beer bottle back down on the table, Brandon blinks several times the way he does whenever he’s having a recall moment. He looks flustered…unsure. “He did. While I was in the hospital, he said he called it in. Saved my ass.”

My stomach twists. I didn’t really mean what I said. A cocktail of shock and rage shoots through me. “Fucking liar! Newsflash:
I’m
the one who found you and called 911.”
The one who held you, prayed for you, kissed
…I banish the memory of that day before tears betray me.

Pops corroborates what I’ve said. “It’s true. Zoey did. We still have the dispatcher’s recording.”

Brandon is stunned into silence. Finally, in a soft voice, he says, “Zoey, why didn’t you tell me?”

My voice softens too. “I thought you knew.”

“I’m sorry, Zo.” He brushes his hand along my jawline. His tender touch sets me on fire. I feel myself flushing with tingles all over. Wondering if Pops notices, I glance his way. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed together, and he’s rubbing a thumb across his dimpled chin. I know that expression. I’ve seen it a zillion times before. He’s onto something.

“Pops, what are you thinking?”

He lowers his hand, but his brows remain knitted. “If Scott Turner is lying, that changes everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Babycakes, tell me again the conversation you overheard. Word for word.”

Thanks to my eidetic memory, I recite it as if I’ve just heard it, making use of my acting skills to imitate their voices. “The man who shot Mama shouted, ‘You fucked up once. Don’t do it again.’ And then Scott nervously replied, ‘Okay, okay, I’ll take care of it.’”

Almost instantly, I gasp and clasp my hand to my mouth. I construe their exchange in a whole new way. “Pops, do you think they were referring to Brandon’s hit and run?”

Pops looks at me with intensity. “Possibly. The two of them may have something to do with it. I have a hunch someone’s trying to knock off Brandon. And there could be a connection between the accident and your mother’s murder.”

Brandon and I both quietly digest Pops’s words. Brandon breaks the silence. “Detective, what’s the next step?”

“I want Zoey to come into headquarters tomorrow and talk to our sketch artist. We need to find out who this man is.”

“I’ll bring her. I don’t want her driving yet, especially downtown.”

Pops smiles warmly. “Thanks. Afterward, I’m going to talk to Scott. Check out his cell phone as well as his alibi and do some digging. Maybe we can dredge up something that ties everything together. Maybe there’s even a connection to Kremins.”

“Kremins?” asks Brandon, puzzled.

Pops fills Brandon in. Conrad Kremins was the man who was shot along with Mama. What Pops learned in the investigation of their murders was that he was a sleazy sex club operator who had a lot of enemies and was in major debt. My mother’s bullet was probably meant for him.

A pang of sadness assaults me at the thought of her senseless murder before giving way to a burst of optimism and excitement. Pops is going to find the evil man who did this to her! And uncover the cruel person who ran Brandon over and left him for dead. I just know it.

Setting my soda down, I leap up from the couch and give my father another big hug. “Oh, Pops, you’re the best!”

He laughs his hearty laugh. “We’re going to solve this mystery once and for all.” He turns to Brandon and, with a wink, does his best Kurt Kussler imitation: “Get it. Got it?…”

“Good,” chimes in Brandon, smiling brightly. He really seems to like my dad.

“One last thing. Brandon, do you have a bodyguard?”

Brandon screws up his face. “No way. I’m an action hero. I can take care of myself. And I don’t like people following me around.”

Pops twists his mouth. “I seriously think you should have one. Your life may be in jeopardy.”

Brandon polishes off his beer. “I’ll think about it.”

Knowing my headstrong boss, I doubt he’ll acquiesce. Despite the megastar he is, he’s never traveled with an entourage except on very special occasions like award shows.

Pops presses his lips thin. My perceptive father already knows it’s futile. “Well then, until you decide, I’m going to set up twenty-four hour police surveillance outside your house. I can’t have my daughter in danger either.”

Brandon twitches a half-smile. “That’s a good idea.” He pauses, casting his eyes my way. “And I’m going to make sure nothing happens to her. Zoey means a lot to me.”

At his unexpected words, I feel myself flushing and once again try to process what he just said.

“I appreciate that, Brandon. She means a lot to me too,” Pops says before glancing down at his battered watch. “Gotta go. The missus is waiting for me. Oh, and by the way, she can’t thank you enough for those signed DVDs. She displays the box on our fireplace mantle like it’s some rare piece of art.”

Brandon’s megawatt smile widens. God, he’s so gorgeous when he smiles. “Glad to hear that. Can you hang out for a minute?”

“Sure,” says Pops as Brandon jogs out of the room. He returns in no time, holding what looks to be a glossy photo. Sure enough, it’s a miniature version of the shattered
Kurt Kussler
poster I still have propped up against a wall in my bedroom. He hands it to Pops.

“I’ve already signed it.”

“Holy baloney! She’s going to love this!”

Brandon is beaming like a proud boy scout. “And tell her, she can drop by the set anytime she wants. Just have her call Zoey to arrange for a pass to get onto the lot.” He shoots me a saucy wink.

Clenching my teeth, I shoot him back a look that says “screw you, asshole.” He always has to one up me with my father, making me look like the bad guy. I try to keep my cool, but Brandon’s flirtatious, cocky grin makes it difficult.

“Sure. No problem.” A retaliatory smirk and then I pause. “Brandon, I’m going to walk my father to his car, if that’s okay with you. I think I can handle it.”

Brandon stands and shakes my father’s hand. “Take good care of her, Detective. I need her around. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

The late January night air is crisp and refreshing. The lit up LA skyline is basked in moonlight. It feels good to be outside having been cooped up in Brandon’s house for almost two days though I shouldn’t be complaining. I’ve been treated like a queen, waited and doted on by the King of Good Looking. I walk Pops to his car, which is parked in the driveway. He buckles up his rumpled trench coat while I lift up the wide collar.