Fade To Black Page 20

  So far, the only new clients who hadn’t returned to Blush within ninety days of their first visit both had that first visit less than a month ago.

  Melinda swiped from the first one-pager to the next then back twice before setting Nat’s tablet back on the desk and pushing it ever so slightly toward her.

  “You decide.”

  “But—”

  “I trust you.” Melinda shook her head. “When was the last time I disagreed with any of your choices? This is an inefficiency we should move past, anyway. I enjoy being involved with this, but I certainly don’t need to be. You know the girls and the clients better than me, and my earlier concerns about security are now non-existent. I marvel at what you do, Nat, so hopefully the next time I drop by, it’ll be so us girls can open a bottle and have a little chat. But today I need—”

  “I know. A couple of girls, plus some hard candy if I can manage it.” Nat sighed. This was just as ugly for her. “I do have leads on some girls, and the hard candy if it comes to that.”

  “Tell me about the girls first.”

  “We have three.”

  Melinda raised her eyebrows. That was excellent news. “Three of them?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “But none are willing to testify.”

  “What would they be testifying against?”

  “All three women say he either seduced or assaulted them. The exact language depends on the victim, but their stories are still remarkably similar, and each one has at least two verification points.”

  “Do you have names for me?” Melinda asked.

  “Not yet.” She shook her head. “I mean, I do, but that’s part of the problem. All three of our potential witnesses are of age now, but they were all minors at the time of their assault.”

  “Can you tell me how they originally came into contact with him?”

  “No surprise, each of the girls was acting in a Wentz production.”

  “Are any of these girls working now?” Melinda asked.

  “I see what you’re doing, narrowing the field of options, but I’ll answer you anyway. No, none of them. And one is an escort for Minx.”

  Blush’s biggest competitor.

  “How do we know these girls, and how did we get their stories?”

  “Through the planet’s most intimate grapevine.”

  “Come on, Nat. Can you please not feed my lines back to me? It’s insulting.”

  “Your orders.” She shrugged, following her pre-established directive but clearly having a good time doing so, or at least as much mirth as this ugly situation might allow. “Plausible deniability.”

  “Fine. I guess for now I’ll be grateful that we have two verification points per account. So what’s next? You said none of the girls is willing to testify.”

  Nat nodded. “Seems each of them will need a different sort of encouragement. One seems like it’s a cash payout or bust, but the other two probably just need assurances of protection. They’ve all seen what he’s done to Sloane and others. They’re all terrified of becoming his next target.”

  “Again, who are these girls? One works for Minx. Do the other two work for you? Friend of a friend of one of your girls? I can’t protect what I don’t—”

  “I have my eye on things for now. But—”

  “What about the hard candy?”

  “I found someone.” Nat nodded. “I’m not sure she’ll work, and I’ll keep looking in the meantime, but for now she’s the best I can do.”

  “Why the hesitation?”

  “She’s two months from turning nineteen, but still looks fourteen or fifteen. That’s still a bit too old for Wentz from what I’m understanding, but I seriously don’t think we’re going to do better than that. But more concerning, I don’t think she’ll be able to pull it off. Despite her looks, there’s nothing really innocent about this girl. Even if she’s acting …”

  Melinda finished the thought. “Claiming that innocence for himself is the main draw for a monster like Wentz, and it’s something he can probably sense more than see.”

  “Right. We’re talking about a core trait, and those are the hardest to fake, especially if we’re talking about pairing an artificial trait with a genuine need.”

  “Hopefully, we can do this without her. Right now we’re trying to cover our bases so that when the time comes, a jury won’t even blink before sending that child rapist to jail for the rest of his life.”

  Melinda stood.

  The women hugged and said their goodbyes. Then she left, feeling grateful for Blush.

  Melinda made the first of her two calls while waiting for the valet to bring her Tesla around.

  “Orson,” she said when he answered. “I need a favor.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I need you to call your friend at Hollywood Hunted.”

  “Who do you mean?”

  “You can play coy or dumb or whatever you need to,” Melinda said. “I respect that there are boundaries and privacy issues at play. But I still need you to make the call. Ask Ellis to dig up everything he can find, or deliver everything he already has, on Liam Wentz.”

  “Oh,” Orson said.

  “Exactly. Call me when you have a yes.” Then she hung up and dialed her favorite number. “I’ll text you when I’m five minutes away. I want you to meet me out front.”

  “Sounds like an adventure,” Dominic said. “Where are we going?”

  “To solve our problems.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sloane

  The day was almost done.

  Sloane felt productive but hollow.

  Just that morning she had felt so in control, so ready for anything.

  But that anything hadn’t included Liam Wentz. He’d liquified her bones the second she saw him. It was as if her skin itself needed to scream. Too many demons stirred into the front of her mind. Sloane spent the rest of her morning and all afternoon slaying them, down from an unrelenting horde to a restless minority — few enough to no longer feel like she was actively dying.

  The Shellys usually made everything better, but today she left their office feeling worse.

  The little girl in her wanted to believe that Orson was her knight in shining armor. But that was an unfair expectation, and this morning had already proved otherwise.

  Regardless of her inner misery, the day was still productive. Sunset’s best so far, and by quite a margin. It didn’t matter that Cassidy wasn’t on set. Either because of that morning’s incident or despite it, the cast and crew were all fully present and at peak performance. A beautiful thing to see when they were only now getting started. All that prep work really made a difference. Not just during her moment of quiet, but every accumulated day from the three projects leading into this one.

  And yet, Sloane felt no joy in her work.

  She missed Jolie something fierce and wanted nothing more than to slip away with her for a Mother-Daughter Day of Fun. At least a hundred times both before and after lunch she imagined calling fifteen minutes then breaking her baby girl out of her trailer and spiriting them away for a game of miniature golf. Maybe a movie, or a picnic, or whatever Jolie wanted to do.

  Too many elements of the project so far had revolved around keeping Jolie safe. It was hard to think about anything else. The nature of this gig gave her no choice, and it felt like repeatedly stabbing herself in an open wound.

  But at least the work was getting done.

  Sloane had an hour or so before she could finally go home. The day was done, but she wanted to prepare for tomorrow. Needed to, if she expected another successful run. The production wasn’t supposed to shoot on Saturdays, but there was a lot she could do without Cassidy around, and she intended to claw back some of Sunset’s battered schedule.

  She considered checking in with Jolie to let her know they would be going home soon — she promised no more than an hour! — but Miles told her he’d relieve Jake just a few minutes ago. He knew what Sloane was up to and would tell Jol
ie without her even asking him to. An hour with her father was a good thing.

  “That was a great day!” Lila walked toward her, beaming like a blue-ribbon winner. “You must be exhausted!”

  Sloane nodded. “I could sleep standing up.”

  “I already want to take a nap mañana. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

  “I’ll be going soon. I just have a few more things.”

  “Anything I can help with?” Lila asked.

  “No. I’m—” Sloane stopped.

  99 Red Balloons bleated on her phone. Miles calling, even though he was somewhere on set … with Jolie. The song kept on playing.

  “Are you going to answer that?”

  Sloane looked down at the phone. Of course she was going to answer.

  They were on their way to get dinner and wanted to know what she wanted. Miles was calling instead of texting despite knowing that she was trying to finish up and didn’t want any delays because Jolie had wanted to talk to her.

  In fact, it was probably — almost for sure — Jolie using his phone to call her mommy right now.

  “Hello?” Sloane answered, trying not to sound frantic.

  “Is Jolie with you?” Miles asked, sounding frantic enough for both of them.

  “I thought she was with you!”

  “She’s not in the trailer and neither is Jake.”

  “Where have you looked?” She asked with a lump in her throat.

  “Just in and around the trailer. That’s why I’m calling, in case you know something.”

  “I don’t know any—” She stopped talking and hung up the phone when she saw Miles walking toward her, phone to his ear.

  He dropped the phone in his pocket and continued his approach.

  “What’s going on?” Lila asked. “Is this about Jolie?”

  OF COURSE IT’S ABOUT JOLIE!

  But this wasn’t Lila’s fault.

  “Yes,” Sloane said, the word like a brick. “Lila, I need you to gather anyone still around. I’m sure Jake and Jolie are somewhere close and we’ll all be laughing at ourselves in a couple of minutes, but—”

  “Got it.” Lila nodded and skirted away, more sober than Sloane had ever seen her. “I’ll start by checking the security footage.”

  But there wasn’t anything to look at because the cameras had been turned off.

  Not that they needed the footage to find Jake. One of the grips who had still been hanging out just because found him stuffed in the far stall of the men’s room. Beaten to hell, naked, and thoroughly unconscious.

  “Call the cops,” Sloane said to Miles. “And have them bring an ambulance.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I’m calling Melinda.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sloane

  Sloane was going totally out of her gourd.

  She wanted to believe Miles that everything would be all right, but that was impossible. He had comforting words in a quartet of languages, but that didn’t make a single one of them true. He was just guessing, same as she was. Their daughter could be in mortal danger and there wasn’t a single goddamned thing they could do about.

  Sloane had dialed Melinda three times already, but there was no point in even trying a fourth. Melinda always answered when she could and got back to her when she couldn’t. Same for Dominic, and he wasn’t answering either. Right now, Sloane had to do the hardest thing in the world — exhibit patience and try to believe that Miles was right.

  Everything would be fine.

  The police would arrive in a minute or two, then the manhunt would begin. She could hear Dominic in her mind, promising Sloane that this was a good thing. That Liam Wentz had made his final mistake. That they would find Jolie, and thanks to this overly aggressive blunder, Liam Wentz would spend the rest of his life publicly shamed and getting raped behind bars.

  Her phone rang and she was flooded with relief, despite hearing the generic chime of a private caller rather than Beyonce’s Run the World she used for Melinda.

  “Hello?”

  “Good. You answered.” The voice of Liam Wentz poisoned her cells. “Are you in a place you can talk?”

  “Where’s my daughter?” she asked through gritted teeth.

  Miles put a hand on her shoulder, looking furious as the concerned stragglers gathered around her.

  “I’m not referring to privacy when I ask if you’re in ‘a place you can talk.’ I mean are you in the proper mental state to hear what’s good for you.”

  “The police are on their way, asshole! Where’s my daughter?”

  “You’re going to start listening like a good little girl, do you understand me?” He paused for her response, but since he apparently wanted to hear her voice, she wouldn’t even use it to ask her question again.

  He cleared his throat and continued. “I’ll assume that’s a yes. Of course it is. You’ve always been smart enough. Surely you understand what’s going to happen if you don’t start behaving.”

  Another chance for Sloane to respond.

  More silence as she looked to the people around her for support, her gaze fixed on Miles longest of all.

  “I suppose I’ll have to spell it out.” Liam Wentz gave her a long sigh that sounded a little too gleeful. “If you don’t start acting like a good little girl, then your Jolie will have to become one of my good little girls instead. Do we understand each other?”

  “No,” she whimpered.

  “I think we do.” He laughed, sounding angelically natured, as if he had just finished delivering the punchline to a perfectly wholesome joke. “You’re going to shut down the movie, abandon the book, and scurry back to London. You do that and I’ll leave you and your little girl for good. You do that“ — his voice turned lecherous — “and she never becomes my little girl.”

  A pair of officers walked side-by-side through the door. Lila ran to greet them.

  Miles tightened his hand on her shoulder.

  Sloane said, “The police are here.”

  “Tell them I said Hi.”

  “Where. Is. My. Daughter?”

  “She’s at the Pirate Pizza in Burbank.” Liam Wentz insulted her with an insidious sounding laugh. “She loves that place. Says she wishes she could go there more often.”

  “You’re done,” Sloane said. Then covering the receiver and whispering to Miles, “She’s at Pirate Pizza.”

  “Likewise, kitten. You’ve been warned.”

  Then Liam Wentz was gone.

  Sloane was already pocketing her phone and running toward the exit with Miles right beside her.

  “Ma’am!” One of the officers called out to her. “We’re going to need—”

  “Lila’s got it! I’ll be back!”

  “Want me to drive?” Miles asked as they ran.

  “Absolutely.”

  Either one of them would drive like a maniac right now, but Miles might manage to do so while still getting them to Pirate Pizza alive.

  Neither of them spoke, but the cabin was thick with Beethoven and heavy breathing.

  Nineteen minutes that felt like an hour, with most of it spent wondering if Liam Wentz had sent them to the right place or on a goose chase. Maybe a few minutes from now they would find men in white coats waiting in the Pirate Pizza Parking lot, ready to drag her away in hysterics.

  Miles pulled up to the curb and Sloane bolted out of the car without waiting for him to kill the engine. She exploded through the double-barreled entrance to find herself lost and looking around, hoping for the best but dreading the worst.

  She was supposed to check in up front and would be called out by some pimply faced kid for not doing so, but there was zero chance that she would even stop at the line, let alone wait in it. Instead, she plowed her way past the front and marched into the general area, ignoring a shouted reprimand from the eyepatch-wearing cashier up front, feeling a sweltering panic as she raced from one area to the next without seeing her daughter.

  Jolie l
oved both the ball pit and skee-ball, but she wasn’t in either place. Ticket games always captured her attention, but Sloane didn’t see her at any of the machines, including the ones that always spit easy easier payouts.

  Miles burst through the entrance just as Sloane was making her way back.

  “I’ll keep looking around. Can you stand in line and ask if anyone’s seen her?”

  He nodded and got in line without a word. She wanted to yell at him to cut his way to the front — THIS WAS AN EMERGENCY! — but instead she dashed back into the general area.

  The ball pit and skee-ball were still a bust, same for the party rooms. But rounding the corner back toward the game area, Sloane finally saw her daughter.

  She wasn’t alone.

  But it wasn’t Liam Wentz or some other adult male or obvious danger.

  “Hey there, Mom,” Jolie said, in a voice her mother had never heard, surrounded by a trio of girls she had also never seen.

  “Jolie.” Sloane didn’t know what to say. She had been disarmed without warning. There was something happening here that she didn’t yet understand. The other girls were all slightly older, twelve or thirteen, all standing slightly behind her. She had to say something fast, wrestle control of this suddenly delicate situation. “Who are your friends?”

  Another unexpected slap as Jolie rolled her eyes, tipping her head an inch, apparently to indicate the mystery trio, before she delivered her response in a disaffected mumble. “Hailee, Pipa, and Chloe.”

  “Nice to meet you.” It absolutely was not, but Sloane smiled at the girls anyway.

  All three of them giggled. Their makeup made everything worse. So did the fact that they were all holding phones, two of them staring down at their screens, while one appeared to be mindlessly scrolling.

  Sloane didn’t know them, so yes, she was being judgmental, but Jolie had gone missing and in that context, she was handling things damn well. She couldn’t help thinking these three girls were exactly what she hated about this town, and the number one reason she hadn’t felt like returning. Of course London had its share of the same behavior, and much of it worse for the blood being bluer at Jolie’s private school, but what was considered exclusive in the UK felt more pervasive in the States, and downright permeating in Southern California.