You Don't Know Me (28 page)

“Okay, okay,” Tonja muttered, uncomfortable under Hayley’s hard stare. “I got you the script, didn’t I? I can ask him if he’s watched the video, but that’s it. I can’t force him.”

“Fine. If he doesn’t like what he sees, he won’t test me.”

“I’ll try,” Tonja grumbled, succumbing to Hayley’s will.

Hayley dropped her off, feeling better than she had in weeks. Finally, everything was going according to plan. She knew—well,
believed
—that if Callahan would just take a look, he’d see
she was
the right person for the role of Isabella, girl-next-door turned willing prostitute.

Back at Stanbury’s, she worked like a dog for Jason who pretended he didn’t notice. By the time she headed back to her apartment, secure in the knowledge that she would be able to at least pay her rent, she was so tired, all she could think about was her leaky shower and collapsing on the living room couch.

Unlocking the stubborn front door, she suddenly felt eyes following her. Fighting a gasp she whipped around and there, in the shadows at the far end of the balcony, a man’s shadow and steady footsteps.

Hayley pressed back in the doorway, heart slamming. The sound echoed, pounding at her skull. Fear shot through her, needle-sharp.

He came straight toward her.

“Hayley?” Connor Jackley asked, stopping short.

Her legs turned to water and she crumpled in an ignominious heap.

A hand touched her shoulder. She felt the heat of his nearness. “What happened?” he demanded, all cop.

She wanted to laugh. “You scared the shit out of me, you sneaky louse!” she accused sharply, finding her voice.

“You okay?” Then, looking around suspiciously, he asked, “Did someone hurt you?”

Memories tugged. Another man, Thomas, chasing after her, laughing at her fears. “Give it a rest,” she muttered, refusing his hand as she staggered to her feet.

He stared at her in the gathering gloom, the shadows of his face entrancingly attractive. Her gaze flitted to his mouth and she had to turn away.

“I am not talking to you anymore,” she warned as she finished unlocking her door.

“I’ve been to see Dr. Stone,” he answered. “Denise’s last psychiatrist. He thinks it’s lucky Denise left Lambert Wallace because he’s a miserable excuse for a human being.”

“Trust Denise to choose well,” Hayley muttered.

“Dr. Stone didn’t know about either you or Dinah.”

He followed her inside, seeming to fill the space inside her tiny living room. It made her nervous, having him so close.

Hayley wrapped her arms around herself, hating herself for feeling so vulnerable. “So she’s not confiding in her shrink. Big deal. Did you enlighten him?”

“You’re sure she’s back with her ex-husband?” he asked, ignoring her question.

“You’ve really got it bad,” she accused angrily. “You want to talk to Denise? Then go do it. I don’t need to hear this.”

“I’d like to talk about it with you.”

“I’m not interested. Go chase after Denise. Maybe you’ll get lucky. I hear she’s an easy screw,” Hayley tossed out bitterly. “Just—go away!”

With annoyance and fear, she watched as Connor Jackley completely ignored her demands and stood, waiting expectantly, in the center of the living room.

Unable to deal with him, she sputtered sarcastically, “Don’t mind me, I need an aspirin,” then she walked out of the room.

 

 

Lights twinkled on the inky surface of the pool like diamonds. Denise watched them idly as she sipped a diet cola. No pills, thank you very much. She was having one of her clear times and it felt great to feel everything, see everything, understand everything.

She was packed and ready to go; she didn’t know where. But this cycle of self-destruction had to end.

Of course it had taken hitting the ultimate bottom first.

Lina had left. Denise vaguely remembered Lina begging her to leave, too. A thin stream of blood had been running from Lina’s left nostril and her lips were quivering with anguish. Half of her words had been in Spanish, but Denise, even in her drug-altered state, had caught the gist of it: “Get out before he kills us both!”

Sooooo . . . she was taking Lina’s advice. Especially because since the maid’s departure, Lambert had been in a bad, bad mood. Denise had the bruises to prove it.

For the life of her she couldn’t understand what had taken her so long to come to this conclusion. Why had she put up with this abuse and degradation?

“No, I don’t.”

She’d called Leo this afternoon and the schmuck had finally taken her call. Said he’d just returned from Rome. So sorry it took so long to get back to her.

“They’re casting for
Blackbird,
” he told her. “I’ve talked to Susan Markson. You’ve got a lock on it, Denise. For God’s sake, where have you
been
all these weeks?”

“Does John know that I’m being considered?”

“Hell, yes, sweetheart! He talked to Susan about you himself. Whatever you’ve been doing, keep doing it. He loves you!”

His words filled her with anguish. This was Dinah’s doing. John loved Dinah, not Denise. John and Dinah. John and Dinah.

Her emotions lifted the fog that had enveloped her for so long. Action. That’s what she needed.

Screw Lambert Wallace and his cruelty. It was past time to leave.

She
wanted
that part.

With that thought firmly in mind, she shook off her current lethargy and got to her feet. She should see Stoner. Now, in her current state of mind. No need to tell him about the last few weeks. It was all a blur anyway. She would check into the Beverly Hills Hotel and then she would call him again. Everything copacetic.

With new resolve, Denise climbed, light-footed, up the stairs. Gathering her suitcases, she glanced around, shuddering at the dark, sticky memories this place had given her. Hurriedly, she returned to the foyer. She’d loved this house at first, but now she hated every board, nail, and slab of stucco.

Time to call a cab. She would have the driver drop her off at a different hotel, then switch several times before she landed at the Beverly Hills. She was taking no chances. Always before, she’d run from one man to another, but this time she was just running away. Lambert Wallace was something she’d never encountered before.

Denise shuddered again. Not the time to think about
that.

Damn . . . no cell phone, she thought for the umpteenth time.
Going “off the grid” didn’t work out so well for you, did it?

She’d just picked up the receiver for the landline when she felt the familiar vibration of a car’s engine in the adjacent garage. She froze, receiver in midair.

He was back.

Dropping the phone, she glanced around frantically, searching for a place to hide her suitcases. Nowhere!
Nowhere!
With a squeak of pure fear, she ran to the
hallway closet
and jammed the first bag inside. It tangled with long coats and she fought back hysterical screaming while she struggled to smash the second one inside and close the door.

Footsteps. Unhurried. Coming her way.

Gritting her teeth to control their chattering, she gently closed the door, grimacing against the soft click of the latch, then she tiptoed through the dining room and into the kitchen, away from Lambert’s approaching steps.

She was seated at the bar, flipping through a magazine, willing her fingers to stop shaking, when he appeared in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. He’d followed her all the way around.

Denise drew on immense acting skills and merely gave him a cursory “Hello.” After all, what else was there to say? Through the corners of her eyes, she glanced his way.

He held one of her suitcases.

The shaking in her hands intensified. He deliberately set the suitcase on the floor, unlatched it and dumped the contents into a heap. “You want to go? Go!” he said in that deadly voice she’d come to fear. “Nobody’s keeping you here. You don’t have to sneak.”

Denise kept flipping through the magazine, thinking hard. Panic whipped through her veins.

“Did you hear me?” He moved closer, directly behind her. One hand brushed her hair away from her ear, exposing it. Her whole body trembled. “What are you afraid of?”

“You,” she admitted. Her ear felt cold, vulnerable.

He leaned over and stuck his tongue inside, wiggling it around. Grimacing, Denise tried not to move. “Just like Lina,” he whispered, the sound reverberating inside her head. “Leaving, just like Lina.”

In a swift movement he grabbed her by the hair. Denise cried out, flailing to free herself. He slapped her and dragged her outside to the pool, throwing her onto the surrounding tiles, dunking her head underwater and holding it.

Three times and she gave up. Unconsciousness, freedom, beckoned with open arms. She reached for it gladly and slipped in a limp heap into the waiting pool.

 

 

Hours later. Maybe minutes. Maybe eons. She awoke to the familiar feel of rough sex. Good old Lambert. Probably thought she was dead and was in for a little necrophilia.

Hazily, she realized they were in his bedroom. Eyes closed, she tried to will herself away, but for once she couldn’t. She hated him and his grunting and sweat. She was far too lucid to put up with this. And too angry. It felt good to be angry. Rage ran through her like a life-giving balm, liquid fire awakening her from the soles of her feet, spreading upward, and revitalizing long submissive flesh, tingling furiously.

Like Rip Van Winkle, she’d been asleep for years and she was just now coming to.

And she hated. Hated like she’d never felt it possible to hate.

But she lay there, quiet and empty, while this animal rutted above her.

One of her arms was flung off the bed, an expression of total abandon. With each of his thrusts, her fingertips brushed the side of the nightstand. Slowly, slowly, she lifted her hand up the side of the polished wood, her palm drawing into a fist. How hard could she hit him? Where? How? To make him stop forever.

Her hand reached the top of the nightstand and encountered something rocklike and rough and familiar. John’s thunder egg. Her palm closed around it, the pad of her thumb digging into one of its center crystals.

With a power born of pure fury, she raised it up, arm shaking wildly, then smashed it as hard as she could against Lambert Wallace’s temple.

He collapsed in midstroke and Denise hit him again. And again. And again. And again . . .

She didn’t quit until they were both drenched in his blood. The thunder egg rolled from her now-lax fingers and she lay back, gasping and quaking.

It’s over,
she thought, drifting away to a better world.

 

It was dark as pitch when Dinah had Uber drop her off in front of Dr. Hayden Stone’s offices. The Corolla was lost to her, courtesy of its advancing years and John Callahan’s disinterest in it. The poor thing was probably still cold as a cod in His Highness’s driveway. But she couldn’t think about that now.

Luckily, the good doctor seemed to keep odd hours because a receptionist was still on duty as Dinah made her way inside. The offices were understated, understaffed, and underwhelming in a way Dinah found disarming. She smiled at the pretty (but not drop-dead gorgeous like they usually were) receptionist and opened her mouth to inquire about Dr. Stone when something on the woman’s face stopped her short.

Excitement. Disbelief. Adulation.

“Hello!” the girl greeted her. “I’m so glad you finally connected! He’s been anxious to talk to you for weeks.”

Dinah smiled faintly. She’d seen two other doctors and no one had yet made the connection between her and Denise. Not so here. This receptionist thought she was her famous sister. Ergo, he must be the Dr. Stone she was searching for.

“Is he in?” Dinah asked diffidently.

“He’s just finishing up. Would you mind waiting?” She seemed embarrassed to even ask.

“Not at all. Is there a restroom where I could . . . ?”

“Oh, right down the hall. Second door on the left.” She indicated a closed door. “Go right on through.”

Dinah headed for the bathroom. Looking in the mirror above the sink, she examined her reflection. Yes, she was a dead ringer for her sister, but only if you were looking for it. Denise never wore her hair in a ponytail—unless it was artfully coiffed by some hairdresser who was a celebrity in his or her own right—and she never wore jeans.

Nope. She was plain Dinah Scott. Except to Denise’s doctor, who was expecting to see his famous client.

And to John Callahan, who’d made love to her.

Vigorously, she scrubbed her hands.
Lady Macbeth?
“Oh, screw it!”

Back in the reception room she thumbed through a copy of
People
and tried to ignore the sideways stares from the star-struck receptionist. Either the girl was new, or Denise was Dr. Stone’s only famous face. Dinah’s finger stopped on a page in the magazine and she did a quick double take. It was a picture of
her
coming out of a coffee shop, though it was tagged as Denise. Damn paparazzi. She’d seen the guy and had ignored him. Weird world her twin lived in.

Five minutes later, an extremely thin, opulently dressed woman whose fingers were weighted down with rings and upon whose neck a thick pearl choker looked like a dog collar, marched toward the reception desk.

The receptionist looked up, gave the woman a big smile, then turned to Dinah. “He’ll see you now.”

The woman turned to give Dinah a furious glare.

Dinah ignored her. “His office is . . . ?”

“Straight down the hall.”

“Thanks.”

“I have an appointment,” the woman said icily. Her glare at Dinah changed to annoyed confusion. Clearly, she thought she recognized her but wasn’t certain, and in Hollywood it was always best to play it cool. Dinah had learned that much and more since becoming a part-time resident.

“He won’t be long,” the receptionist assured the woman as Dinah headed for the inner sanctum.

Dr. Stone’s office was at the end of the hall, remarkably unadorned except for a small brass nameplate attached to the door. The man was definitely not into making a statement, which surprised Dinah a little since Denise was so high-profile. What kind of a relationship did the two of them have?

Peeking inside the office, she was surprised by her first glimpse of Dr. Stone. He wore a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up the forearms and a pair of tan chinos. His hair was light brown; his eyes dark, either brown or hazel. He had the lean build of a golfer and an air of quietude that Dinah was certain shrinks practiced in medical school.

But he wasn’t anything like the slick, eye-on-the-meter professional she’d expected. He was . . . well,
appealing.

The look on his face was expectant, almost eager, but as soon as he saw her it changed to surprise. “Dinah?” he asked.

She was poleaxed. So Denise had come clean with the doc. Thank God she didn’t have to keep up pretenses for him. “Denise’s twin,” she agreed, reaching a hand across the desk.

He couldn’t seem to connect. He stood like the proverbial statue. Stone turned to stone. Dinah felt a perverse stab of amusement. It probably wasn’t every day that Dr. Stone got thrown for a loop, and he was definitely thrown now.

“She never mentioned you,” he said.

“Then how did you know?”

“Someone else told me.”

“Who?”

His eyes searched her face with an intensity that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Dinah shifted her weight.

“Have a seat,” he invited.

“Thanks.” She sat on the edge of the cushion. “Who?” she asked again.

“Connor Jackley.”

Dinah stared at him blankly.
“Who?”
she repeated.

“Connor Jackley. He’s a private investigator.”

A private investigator . . .
Dinah suddenly felt ice cold inside. She had trouble collecting her thoughts.

“He wanted to talk to me about Denise,” Dr. Stone went on, “but I didn’t have a lot to say. He told me about you and your other sister, Hayley. Apparently, he’s been in contact with her.”

“What?” Dinah asked weakly.

“Would you like something to drink?” he suddenly asked. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“Hayley told him about us?” she repeated.

“He was just here, as a matter of fact. I’ve been trying to reach Denise for a while. I thought you were her, of course, so I didn’t call the house.”

“The house?” Dinah felt like a parrot.

“The Malibu house. Denise and John Callahan’s residence. Mr. Jackley said she’s staying there. She’s terrible with cell phones,” he added as an aside.

“Oh, I know . . . but that was me, at the house. Until recently.” At his blank look, she said, “I had to leave.”

“Denise isn’t with Mr. Callahan?” He looked disturbed.

“No. At least I don’t think so.”
Lord, I hope not.
But no, John was too enraged and disgusted to allow Denise—any Denise—back into his life. “I can see why this private investigator might have got the idea she was,” she said. “But I was the one living there.”

“She was never there?”

Dinah shook her head.
Private investigator? Good God, what was that all about?
“She left me there, stranded, playing a part, which got too tricky to keep up with. So I left, but Denise has been missing awhile.” After a beat, she asked, worried, “You’re her doctor. Don’t you know where she is?”

“I was her doctor.”

“Was?”

“In Houston. But I haven’t seen her since I moved back. She hasn’t contacted me.” Now he looked as worried as Dinah felt, though for different reasons. “I wish she hadn’t lied about her past.”

“Well, Denise has her reasons,” Dinah murmured evasively.

“Which are?”

“I didn’t come here to rat out my sister. I’m looking for her, and I thought you could help. The last I heard, she was staying with a friend in Beverly Hills, but I can’t get a lead on him.”

“Who?”

“Lambert Wallace.”

“You know him?” Now that was truly redundant. Not only did the good doctor know him, he appeared to be shocked and concerned.

“I know of him,” he admitted grimly.

“You’re scaring me. What’s the deal with Wallace?”

“Where did she meet him? In
Houston?
” He paced the room, one hand fervently rubbing his jaw.

Dinah waited quietly, sensing danger. Dr. Hayden Stone struck her as a careful concealer of emotion, and he was doing a piss-poor job of it right now.

“Could you leave me your number and address?” he said abruptly, reaching for his jacket.

“Where are you going? For God’s sake, you’re making me crazy. If you’re going to find Denise, I’m going with you.” She jumped to her feet.

“Mr. Jackley seemed to think she was in Malibu. Maybe she wasn’t with Wallace. He said he’d interviewed her.”

“Interviewed
who?
”

“Denise,” he said patiently. “For his investigation, Mr. Jackley interviewed Denise.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“What investigation?” Dinah demanded, feeling like her world was reeling out of control.

“The murder of your stepfather, Thomas Daniels.”

Her legs collapsed. She sank back into the chair as if pulled down by ropes. “Back up, Doc,” she said unevenly. “I need a little more information.”

 

 

Twenty minutes later Dinah had been brought up to speed, and though Dr. Stone’s worry for Denise hadn’t lessened, he wasn’t as obsessed with the idea of chasing after her as he had been. Dinah was deeply concerned about the investigation into her stepfather’s death, and she told Dr. Stone as much.

“It won’t help. Thomas Daniels was a son of a bitch who hurt us all in different ways. I’m not sorry he’s dead. I’m sure Denise and Hayley feel the same way, but raking it all up isn’t going to solve Denise’s problems.”

“How do you know?” he asked curiously.

“I know that Denise’s problems started with him.” At his look, she said dryly, “Let’s not kid ourselves. I’m sure my stepfather abused her. But I took care of things,” she added quickly. “Denise is still suffering, but mostly she’s just unstable.”

“Meaning?”

“She feeds on male attention. It’s her nature.” Dinah shrugged. “So how do I find this Jackley guy?”

Dr. Stone fished into his pocket and produced a piece of paper with a phone number scratched on it. He added the number to his cell phone call list, then handed the paper to Dinah.

“I’d like to believe Denise isn’t with Lambert Wallace,” he said.

“Is he that bad?”

“Everything I’ve heard is a lot of rumor and innuendo and it wouldn’t be fair to repeat it.”

“Come on. We’re talking about my twin. Give me this guy’s address.”

He shook his head. “I’ll try to reach her. If you talk to her first, tell her I want to reach her.”

“And you promise you’ll call me?” she demanded, watching him closely.

Her suspiciousness brought a smile to his lips. Dr. Hayden Stone was a very attractive man. She suddenly wanted to warn him to be careful. She liked him and, knowing Denise, if there was anything brewing between them, he was bound to get hurt.

“It would be better for me to be with you when you talk to her,” Dinah told him.

“I’ve seen all her sides,” he assured her. “Nothing she does surprises me, or will make me think less of her. She’s a patient.”

“Call me the minute you find her,” Dinah demanded. “I’ll be camped on your doorstep tomorrow morning if you don’t.”

Smiling enigmatically, he preceded her down the hall, informed the receptionist he was leaving, much to the squawking of the pearl-collared woman, then headed out without so much as a good-bye. Dinah flirted with the idea of following him, then decided she’d let him play it his way. She’d found her link to Denise, and she wasn’t going to break it.

Patience was a virtue. She would wait.

You think you’re sooo noble,
her conscience smote her.
But you don’t want to face her, do you? She’s not going to understand about John. You’d like to keep that little secret, wouldn’t you?

“Bastard,” she muttered.

“Pardon?” The receptionist looked up.

“Will Dr. Stone be returning?” the woman demanded imperiously. “I’m pressed for time as it is!”

“I think we’ll have to reschedule,” the flustered receptionist answered. “He had an emergency appointment.”

Turning on Dinah, the woman half screamed, “I’m supposed to not care that you squeezed in ahead of me?”

Showing more restraint than normal, Dinah kept her tongue still. Life was too full of problems to stoop to the level of one self-centered woman.

“What about me?” the woman shrieked, working herself up to a full-fledged snit fit. “That’s what I’d like to know. What am I supposed to do now?” She stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You took my turn, so what am I supposed to do now?”

“Keep calm and carry on?”

Her face turned purple. She swept up her purse and stomped out of the office, muttering beneath her breath what sounded suspiciously like “Fuck you.”

Dinah found that funny and left the office after her, smiling.

 

 

Connor Jackley’s presence in her apartment made Hayley feel claustrophobic. The air was thick and still. She knew what he wanted to hear. She could go on all day about Thomas Daniels if she felt like it, but she never felt like it. Never ever.

His patience wore her down. He wasn’t much of a talker himself, which made each syllable appear packed with extra meaning. How she’d managed to handle him the last times they’d been together was a mystery because she sure as hell couldn’t figure out how to handle him now.

“Dr. Stone wasn’t a whole lot of help,” Connor concluded, after explaining the rather unrewarding conversation he’d had with the closemouthed doctor. “But he was glad to hear Denise was no longer with Lambert Wallace.”

“Wallace sounds like a great guy.”

“I’m no fan.” Connor was terse. “And neither’s Dr. Stone.” He shifted gears. “Apparently, Denise was pretty tight-lipped about you and Dinah.”