Gold Diggers Page 25

  “I’ll be better in a few days,” she answered, pouting.

  “What’s happened now?” Concern registered in his voice. With all of the recent drama he constantly worried about her, which was one of the reasons he’d invited her on the trip—to get away from it all.

  “The question is, What’s going to happen?” She laughed at his confusion. “I’m being swept away to Africa by my prince.”

  Now he laughed. It was a beautiful sound. “He must be some guy.”

  “Trust me, he is the best. But listen, I’ve gotta run. I just wanted to let you know that I’ve changed my mind; I am going with you.”

  “Where are you? Wanna stop by for a little preflight instruction? I’m in Midtown; I could be at the Plaza in fifteen minutes,” he teased.

  She smiled. “I wish I could, but I’m headed to the apartment to pick up my passport.” Now that she had made the decision to go with him, she was giddy with excitement.

  “Where’s Max?” She could hear the concern in his voice again.

  “He was brought in by the police for questioning.” She still could hardly believe that the man she’d married was quite possibly a murderer.

  He exhaled loudly. “I can’t say that I’m sorry.”

  “Nor can I, but listen—gotta go; I’ll call you later.” She puckered her lips together, sending a kiss through the phone’s receiver.

  “All right, darling.”

  She hung up the phone and tossed it into her bag, wearing a sunbeam smile and flushed with lurid thoughts of fourteen days and nights with this man whom she loved. She got out of the car and dashed into the house, anxious to get in and get out as quickly as possible. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation with Max. She turned the key in the lock and slipped into the dark, empty house, feeling like a stranger breaking and entering. The house and everything in it felt foreign to her, as though it all belonged to another person. The beautifully decorated rooms and exquisite furnishings were tasteful and well selected, but bore no hint of her personality; they could have been picked out of a catalog. Her house, though expensive, was cookie-cutter, as was her life up until now—and she was intent on breaking that mold. She dropped her bag onto the foyer table and quickly headed upstairs to retrieve her passport and a few other personal effects.

  Fifteen minutes later she was bounding down the stairs on the way out the door when it opened, and there stood Max.

  “What are you doing here?” He looked like hell, and smelled like cheap vodka.

  Lauren’s breath caught in her throat. “I-I had to pick up a few things that I forgot.”

  “Oh, like your husband, maybe?” He slurred his words and opened his arms wide, as though presenting himself. It was a sad sight.

  She tried to walk around him. “I’ve gotta go.” He widened his arms to block her exit.

  “Home to your boyfriend, huh? Who knew that you were such a little slut? I thought I was marrying Westchester, and got Harlem instead.”

  She planted her hand on her hip and angled one foot outward. “Let me by,” she insisted.

  “Or what?” he asked, moving closer to her. His eyes were menacing and bloodshot, and his breath was hot and rancid.

  Anxious to leave, she reached for her purse. He snatched it out of her hand and threw it across the room. “What are you doing?” she yelled.

  “It’s time you paid for ruining my life.”

  “How did I ruin your life? From what I see you’ve done a brilliant job of that all by yourself.”

  “You spoiled little bitch,” he spit. “I wasn’t good enough for you to have my baby, huh?”

  Lauren was stunned. She had no idea that he knew her secret.

  “All this time I thought that you were just a barren, frigid bitch. Little did I know that you were just a frigid bitch who thought she was too good to have my child.”

  “Obviously Paulette didn’t have that problem, and look where it got her,” Lauren retorted.

  Rage gripped him, narrowing his eyes, and sending blood coursing to his brain through arteries that now pulsed, and his fists were clenched tight with anger. “I oughta—”

  “What, kill me, too?”

  He raised his hand high above his head, ready to strike down to crush the source of his anger and hatred. Lauren represented everything that he cherished and exalted, but didn’t really feel worthy of. Likewise, she reflected the things about himself that he hated and despised. Lauren shrank away, and her arms flew up reflexively to protect herself.

  “Don’t you even think about it.” Max looked over his shoulder, only to find Gideon, who’d just opened the door and was wearing a look that said, I’d be very happy to kick your ass. The muscles in Gideon’s neck twitched in anticipation of it. After the call from Lauren he couldn’t shake the unease he felt that she was walking into Max’s house alone; after all, the man was a murder suspect, and just because he was brought in for questioning didn’t mean that they would or could keep him. When Gideon couldn’t reach her on her cell phone, which she’d left downstairs, he immediately raced to the apartment.

  Lauren’s eyes closed in relief, and she let out a breath that she didn’t even realize she’d been holding.

  “Who the hell are you?” Max asked, frowning.

  “I’m the man who will kick your punk ass if you even think about touching her.” He reached out to have Lauren come to him. She retrieved her bag and hurried out of the house that she’d somehow once called home.

  When they were safely outside Lauren melted in his arms. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to take a chance.” He held her close, kissing her forehead. “I love you, Lauren.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He followed her to her hotel, and spent the entire night there holding her in his arms.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Gillian had been nothing short of a godsend to Reese. She’d cleaned the loft from top to bottom, and made sure that it was fully stocked with food and that Reese had the medicines and medical supplies she needed. She’d even found a real estate agent to help her start the search for a place of her own, and Reese was actually looking forward to the solitude she’d learned to value after hours lying alone in the hospital. For the first time she had really gotten to know herself, and she wasn’t all bad. She felt ready to get on with her life.

  To that end, later today she and Chris were meeting, without their attorneys, to have what she hoped would be their last conversation about the settlement. But there was one thing that she had to do first. When she was getting into bed that first night at the loft, she’d found an envelope with her name on it inside her pillowcase. It was from Paulette, and read:

  Dear Reese,

  In case you get back to New York before I do, here are the goods!

  This is the key to the safe-deposit box where I’ve stored the photos and negatives of Chris for safekeeping. Use them in good health (and for lots of wealth!).

  Ciao,

  Paulette

  Reese called a car service and made the trip to Paulette’s bank, where her safe-deposit box was kept. After showing proper credentials, she was provided with the contents of the box. Sure enough, inside was an envelope containing the lurid eight-by-ten glossies of Chris having oral sex with another man, along with the only set of negatives, at least according to Paulette. Again she flipped through the photos, but this time a feeling of sadness came over her. She never really knew her own husband, but then again, he never really knew her either. She stuffed the envelope into her bag and picked up another one that lay in the box. It had Brandon Russell’s name scrawled across it.

  Puzzled, she looked around before opening it. She really felt like a trespasser now, but Paulette was dead, so what was the difference? Inside the envelope she found a computer flash drive and a copy of a letter that had been handwritten to Br
andon. It read:

  Dear Brandon,

  It seems that I have something of yours that you will probably be needing. Let’s discuss what I should do about it. I would hate for something so important to get lost again….

  Paulette

  Reese turned the flash drive over in her hand, wondering what could possibly be on it. And why hadn’t Paulette just given it to Gillian or Brandon when she went out to L.A. instead of hiding it away in a safe deposit box? Given how sneaky Paulette could be, there was no telling what she had been up to. Reese tossed the letter and drive back into the envelope and then into her bag. She had her own problems to solve.

  Hours later, Reese met Chris in the library bar at the Hudson Hotel. After hearing about Lauren’s near-attack by Max, she decided that a public meeting was definitely in order; after all, maybe Chris did murder Paulette, and attempted to kill her. It was hard to believe that Chris would do something so brutal, but stranger things were happening.

  “You’re looking better,” Chris said, taking a seat in one of the bar’s club chairs. He, however, looked a little worse for wear himself. Chris appeared to have lost a good fifteen pounds, and looked like he had slept fitfully for weeks. Under the dire circumstances, it shouldn’t have been surprising.

  But it was. To Reese, Chris always seemed invincible, but a drug charge, threats of bisexual exposure, divorce, the loss of a multimillion-dollar deal, and rumors of a murder rap could strip the S from anyone’s chest. “Thank you. I feel a little bit better every day.” She could tell that he was studying the scars on her face, but trying not to. Everyone did. She was beginning to get used to it.

  He sat back in his chair and clasped his fingers together in his lap. “So, Reese, what did you want to see me about?” Chris was anxious to get down to business and get out of here. It was hard to miss a six-foot-five-inch basketball player, especially one as popular—and now notorious—as Chris was. He was beginning to notice other customers peeping, pointing, and whispering.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the settlement.”

  “That much I figured, but why not let our attorneys finish this up?” Before the car crash they’d come to a verbal agreement on the sum of $15 million. Knowing his conniving wife, she probably wanted to extort more money from him by threatening to turn the pictures over to the police, realizing that they would provide an even stronger motive for him to kill both Paulette and Reese.

  “I want to renegotiate,” she said. The light tone was gone, as was the air of vulnerability. Since her return to New York, Detective Harris had called her every day, insisting that she turn over the pictures and negatives of Chris.

  He rolled his eyes. It was just as he thought. “Reese, we already had a deal. And if you’ll remember, this will be the third time you’ve wanted to renegotiate.” The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I’m really sick of you extorting money from me,” he hissed, leaning forward, struggling to keep his voice down. People were openly looking now.

  Reese reached into her bag and took out the envelope that she’d gotten from Paulette’s safe-deposit box, and pulled out the pictures and negatives. “This is not about money,” she said, lifting the pictures. “This is about my son.” She tore the pictures in half, then tore the halves in half, before sliding them, along with the negatives, across the table to a stunned Chris. She’d just tell Detective Harris that she hadn’t been able to find them.

  “I’m not interested in hurting you or taking any more of your money,” she said earnestly. “In fact, I’m sorry for a lot of the things I’ve done in the past. But what I’m most concerned about right now is the future. I want joint custody of Rowe.” She sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

  Chris sat back too, stunned. He’d never seen Reese do anything as selfless as giving up those negatives without a fight—or a check; nor had he ever seen her so sincere. Maybe her head injury was more severe than he thought, or maybe somehow she was different. “Why the sudden change?” he asked. She’d never expressed any real interest in Rowe before, not since he was born.

  “I don’t blame you for asking that; you have every right to. I know that I’ve not been the best mother—or wife, for that matter—but I have changed. As painful as all of this has been for me, it’s taught me some very important lessons. I’ve learned the value of people—relationships and love—over money and material things.” Silent tears trekked down her cheeks. “Lying in that bed in such physical and mental pain, I realized that all of the money or medicine in the world could do nothing to make me feel as good as I did when I saw Rowe’s smile or heard his voice. I promised God then that if I recovered, I would make it up to him and try hard to be a better mother. So, that’s what I’m asking—that you give me that opportunity.”

  As much as he had grown to despise Reese in the past, Chris did sense a change in her, and even more important, he knew that being with his mother would only help his son, and he couldn’t deprive Rowe of that. “I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way,” Chris said. “I’ll have my attorney redraft the papers first thing tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  He held up the negatives. “And thank you.”

  When she got back to the loft, Gillian was packed and ready to leave for the airport. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” she asked Reese.

  “Absolutely,” she answered. She was still giddy from the outcome of the meeting with Chris. “Gillian, how can I ever thank you for all that you’ve done for me?”

  “Thanks aren’t necessary; just get well soon.” They hugged each other before Gillian turned to wheel her luggage out the door.

  “I almost forgot,” Reese said, reaching into her bag. “I think this belongs to you—or to Brandon.” She handed Gillian the envelope she’d retrieved from Paulette’s safe-deposit box.

  Gillian turned the package over, and could feel the outline of the flash drive inside. Relief washed over her in waves, but being the good actress that she was, she never let it show. “It must be something I left in Paulette’s apartment in L.A.,” she said nonchalantly.

  “Well, have a good trip, and call me when you get there.” Reese gave her another big hug.

  I certainly will have a good trip now, thought Gillian. This was exactly what she’d come hoping to find. She was so excited that she could have grown wings and flown herself back to Los Angeles.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Gillian could hardly wait to tell Brandon the good news. She’d finally found the flash drive that would save his company and his reputation! Anxiously, she called his cell phone on the way to the airport, but got voice mail. She was so excited she could hardly sit still. Finally she could relax and enjoy the huge success that was coming her way. In the back of her mind she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, fearful that Brandon would be indicted any day now, bringing her film career—and lifestyle—to a screeching halt. But now that she had evidence that the investigating agent was just a racist on a vendetta, she was as sure as Brandon was that it would be a thing of the past; after all, they had no hard evidence on him, only some loose connections and lots of speculation.

  When the plane landed at LAX she headed straight to baggage claim, where she found Charles already waiting for her. In short order her luggage made its way around the carousel, but this time, as was her habit these days, she looked carefully at the name tags before having Charles load the bags up.

  As she walked out of the airport doors, her thoughts also revisited the uncomfortable conversation she’d had with Detective Harris right after her last trip. She hadn’t heard from him since then, so she supposed that he’d come to the sane conclusion that there was no way that she or Brandon was in any way involved in Paulette’s death, for a very simple reason: They had no motive.

  On the way home she again called Brandon’s cell phone, and again she got his voice mail, so she decided to try his assistant, who informed her
that he was in back-to-back meetings, and probably wouldn’t be home until late. After arriving home herself, Gillian changed clothes and headed straight into his study. She wanted to pull up the video on the flash drive to make sure that it was still there and hadn’t been accidentally erased somehow. She plugged the device into the back of the computer and waited for it to pop up. She was giddy with excitement, envisioning how happy Brandon would be to see it.

  After a few keystrokes, the contents of the drive popped up on the computer screen. She expected to see a video file, but instead there were two Excel spreadsheets. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and sighed heavily. She was very disappointed that the drive didn’t contain the evidence to clear Brandon’s name. It was a good thing that she hadn’t been able to get in touch with him. She would have hated to get his hopes up, only to be dashed. Gillian was about to pull the flash drive from the computer in defeat, when a voice told her that she should look to see what she did have. She opened the first spreadsheet and saw what appeared to be a routine accounting of Sunset Records’ books. Nothing important there. Then she opened the second document and found another almost identical spreadsheet. It contained the same company name, same time frame, and same line items, but totally different numbers. That was when it dawned on her that Brandon had been keeping a double set of books. She wasn’t an accounting or legal expert, but it was clear—even to her—that Brandon must have been laundering money. Why else would he need to keep two sets of records or concoct such a far-fetched story about a video to cover up the contents of the flash drive? Gillian dropped her head into her hands to keep the room from spinning. She saw her future going straight down the drain, right alongside his. She had to calm down and think about exactly what this meant. The first thought that came to mind was that Paulette had known about this, which explained why the note she’d written had had such a strange, cryptic tone.

  A coat of perspiration covered her body as she also realized that this could have been reason enough for Brandon to murder Paulette. Not only would he have a really good motive, but he also had the opportunity, since her car was parked at his house when it was tampered with! Could Brandon have actually killed Paulette? Or maybe one of his gangster friends did it for him? At this moment she realized the explosive nature of the information she had.