A Jaguar, he was convinced. It was a very distinct and stylized decoration. Pushed further, she decided that the blanket of lights she could see from inside the car was possibly Studio City, and the road was almost definitely Mulholland Drive.
So when she heard Chase call Lucy and ask her impressive investigators to look into accidents involving Jaguars on Mulholland, she knew with absolute certainty that he believed her.
Just as she knew with absolute certainty that she loved him. Some things, she just knew.
She kept both revelations to herself as they drove to Cal Tech, timing their arrival at the Pasadena campus to coincide with the end of a class in behavioral biology, run by a teaching assistant—Eric Scheff.
On the way, they played out a few different scenarios, depending on where they found him—in a lab, in an office, in a classroom—and Arianna almost giggled with anticipation as Chase formulated various plans.
“You like this,” Chase said, shooting her a look from the driver’s seat. “You’re having fun.”
She patted her backpack—neatly zipped and tucked under her feet—where the e-mails were folded into the front compartment. “I want this bastard to stop bothering me. And I want to know if he was at the show. And if he shot at my trailer.”
“And if he didn’t?”
“Then we keep hunting.” She kicked off her clogs and folded her feet under her. “You’re right, it’s fun taking down bad guys. Of course, it’s easy to be brave when I’ve got my own personal bodyguard packing big-time heat.”
“You can pack heat,” he said, chuckling at the phrase. “All you have to do is get some training. I’d be glad to help you.”
“Yeah?”
“And then, you might feel safe enough to . . . do what your mother suggested. Assuming you want to,” he added.
It still stunned her when he knew her so well. “I do,” she admitted. “I always have, and my father has encouraged me—even though you’d think he’d hate the idea. But, now I have this show . . .”
“Do you like the show?”
“I like the idea of helping people,” she said. “But there are so many elements about it that I hate. The acting, the pickups, the aspects that make it ‘entertainment.’ ” She touched her hand, ready to say that wasn’t what her mother had intended, but she sucked in a quick breath instead. “Dammit! I left my ring at home.”
She could see it on her nightstand, where she’d taken it off last night.
“Do you need it? You’re planning to read this guy?”
“I like to have it. Just in case.” In case the freak was the one sending the black-and-white messages. In case someone needed her. In case her house burned to the ground. Even if she didn’t wear it, she always had it with her. “I feel naked without it.”
He reached for her hand and she half expected a comment about liking her naked, but he was sensitive enough not to make light of her ring. Another thing she loved about him.
They pulled into an underground parking lot on campus with a few minutes to spare. Before they got out, she tugged her hair through the back of an L.A. Dodgers cap and slipped on a pair of reflective Oakleys.
“Cute,” he said, tapping the brim of her hat when they came out into the sunlight.
“My standard disguise.”
“And I bet no one notices this.” He pulled her hair gently, then glided his hand down to give her backside a pat. “Or this.”
“Hey, this is California, Chase. Girls in tight jeans are everywhere.”
“Trust me, not at schools like this.” Glancing at his watch, he urged her forward. “Let’s go.”
He knew exactly where he was going, so Arianna just held his hand and checked out the student body as they headed toward a creamy, geometrically shaped building that had probably looked ultramodern when it was built in the 1950s.
As they approached, the main glass doors opened and a pack of students came pouring out, most wearing caps like hers, and almost all with various forms of earbuds firmly installed. Chase easily navigated through the crowd, parting the way to go against the flow. Arianna could feel him pick up the pace, as anxious as she was to get this over with.
Plan A was to ambush Eric Scheff in the classroom. And not to tip anyone off that they were on the hunt for him, in case it scared him off.
When they arrived at the auditorium-style classroom, there was no sign of Scheff, although a group of students sat in the back rows, deep in animated conversation using a language that might have been English, but was peppered with so much science jargon it could have been Greek.
Chase eased into the conversation, as natural as any grad student on campus. “Hey,” he said casually after a moment. “Anyone seen Scheff around?”
“He never hangs after class,” one of the kids said. “He’s so far behind on his thesis that he disappears the minute he can. Check his office.”
“On the second floor?”
“Yeah,” another said. “Two sixteen, right next to the lab.”
Back in the hall, Chase leaned close and whispered, “Plan B.”
That meant he would try to get Scheff out of his office—hopefully while on his computer—by claiming Chase was undercover security for MetroNet Studios. Then Arianna would go in his office, and check to see if he’d sent her the e-mails.
She hung outside, a few feet away from room 216, pulling the cap low and dropping her head to pretend to be talking on her cell phone. Chase knocked on the glass panel, then pushed the door open without waiting for permission. Her heart thumped as she squeezed the silent phone against her ear, mumbling, “Yeah, uh-huh,” when someone walked by, inching closer to the office to hear what was being said.
Something thudded hard against the wall, and Arianna’s eyes grew wide. Were they fighting? She heard a grunt, and another. Surely that little geek hadn’t overpowered Chase? She stood to the side of the door, the phone forgotten.
“Okay!” a man’s voice yelled, choked for air. “Stop!”
She threw the door open. Chase had Scheff pinned against the wall of the closet-sized office, dangling off the ground and struggling to breathe.
“Please, please,” he groaned, squirming like a helpless, trapped animal. “Let me go!”
“You don’t have to check the computer, Arianna. He sent every e-mail to you.” Chase shoved the guy harder.
“Why?” Arianna demanded. “Why did you try to scare me?”
“I want you to quit. I want the world to know you’re a fake.”
Chase’s expression darkened and he slammed the guy’s gut with a fist. “She’s not.”
Scheff moaned in pain, doubling against the wall. “Then my whole damn thesis is shot.”
“You’re doing this for a grade?” She choked. “Are you serious?”
He closed his eyes and whispered, “Yeah.”
She didn’t believe that, and from the force in Chase’s next shove, he didn’t believe the weasel, either.
“Okay, okay,” Scheff pleaded. “Please, c’mon, man. Put me down. I’ll stop bothering her. Put me . . .” He looked down at a small wet spot in his pants. “Aw, c’mon.”
Chase glanced at Arianna and she nodded. Slowly, as if it really hurt to do it, Chase slid him down the wall. Then he slammed his hands on either side of the guy’s head, getting so in his face, they almost touched. “Tell me the truth, you little motherfucker.”
Scheff held up his hands, as if that could stave off a six-foot-plus human wave of fury. “Okay, okay. There was some money involved.”
“Who?” Chase’s hands closed in, squeezing the narrow shoulders. “Who is paying you?”
“I don’t know.” At the look on Chase’s face, he shuddered. “I swear to God I don’t know. I got anonymous e-mails back after I sent her a few. I don’t know who it was, or is—I erased every one. But this guy started putting money in my PayPal account for every e-mail I’d send. And—” He clamped his mouth shut.
“And what?” Chase demanded, shaking him s
o hard his teeth cracked together. “And what?”
“And he-he s-s-said he’d give me ten grand if I could get her ring.”
Arianna gasped. “What? Who? ”
“Was that you in her trailer?” Chase demanded, thrusting Scheff’s shoulders against the wall. “Did you shoot at her? Search the trailer? Did you?”
“No!” His terrified look darted from Chase to Arianna. “I swear to God!” His voice cracked with a sob. “I’m not lying. I’ve never been to your show, I swear. I don’t own a gun. I don’t even know how to shoot. And I don’t know anything about your ring. And I don’t know who’s been contacting me.” Tears ran down his face. “You gotta believe me. I didn’t ask who it was.”
She closed her hand over the gold band, only to be smacked by the reality that it wasn’t there. And another reality, just as scary: Someone knew about her ring. And wanted it. Badly.
“We have to get home,” she said urgently. A horrible, black intuition swamped her. “Now.”
Chase stepped back from Scheff, who remained quivering against the wall. “You better not be lying—because I would really enjoy ruining your life for what you did to hers.”
“I swear,” Scheff repeated. “I don’t have any idea who sent the e-mails. I didn’t save any. I just hit delete, delete, delete.”
But there was a money trail, Arianna thought. Before she could voice that thought, Chase whipped out his gun and aimed at Scheff’s forehead.
He cowered and covered his face. “Oh, God, no!”
“Turn around!” Chase ordered.
He did, sobbing and falling to the ground. “Please don’t kill me. Please.”
“Shut up.” Chase yanked the power cord and tucked Scheff’s laptop under his arm. “And don’t even think about moving for half an hour, because I’ll be right outside your office, waiting to shoot holes in both your hands so you’ll never send another e-mail as long as you live. If you live,” he added.
Arianna pushed the door open, checked the hall, and ran with Chase. As soon as they were outside, all she wanted to do was throw herself on him and kiss him until she couldn’t breathe anymore.
No doubt about it. She was madly in love.
But first, she had to get home and make sure that ring was safe.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
“COME ON, ARIANNA,” Chase urged as they zipped down the on-ramp, only to come to a dead stop on the freeway. “Who do you know who would pay big money to see you fail?”
“I have no idea. None.” She slapped the dashboard. “Look at this traffic! I have to get that ring before someone else does!”
“Think,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle the traffic. You start going through those enemies you said you had. Who could get to Scheff?”
She whipped toward him, closing her hand over his arm. “You were unbelievable in there. You annihilated him, but didn’t really hurt him. God, you were awesome!”
He almost laughed at the unexpected compliment. “Thanks.”
“I have to say, that was . . . very hot.”
He did laugh at that. “Hot? What happened to my safe golden aura?”
She made a soft, sexy sound. “It turned . . . dangerous and crimson. Very sexy.”
“I was just doing my job. Yours is to think.”
“I am,” she assured him, rubbing her temples. “You know, Chase, whoever it is, I bet it’s the same person who’s sending me the black-and-white image on the cliff.”
He silently agreed.
His phone beeped to the tune of “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.” “Maybe she has some information.” He put the phone on speaker and held Arianna’s hand. “Talk to us, Luce.”
“In the last ten years, there have been sixteen incidents of fatalities on Mulholland between Coldwater and Laurel Canyon. One Jaguar, driven by a woman named Katherine Childress, in 2003. It was ruled an accident.”
Arianna released his hand and rubbed her arms as if she was freezing. “Katherine Childress? I’ve never heard of her.”
“A police file is being e-mailed in the next half hour,” Lucy said. “Will you be able to pick it up, or do you want me to call and read you my copy?”
“If we’re not back at Arianna’s in half an hour, I’ll call you.” He zipped through a hole in the traffic and floored the Porsche into a rare stretch of open freeway, receiving another squeeze of gratitude from his passenger.
They made it back in under thirty minutes, and Arianna practically threw herself out of the car before he had it in park.
“Wait!” he ordered, reaching over to grab her arm and stop her. “Let me go in first.”
Everything seemed normal. The gate was locked, the alarm was set even though he hadn’t been able to get the alarm company to change her code yet, and the door was still double-locked. He opened it and literally held her back from tearing through the little house to get her ring.
He pulled his weapon and held her a step behind him. As he passed his laptop on the counter he tapped a key to get his e-mail going, then continued down the hall, checking the bathroom, then opening the door to the little bedroom.
Everything was as they’d left it, the closet door open, showing him it was empty, the bed disheveled from their lovemaking, Arianna’s underwear and a T-shirt were scattered on the tile floor.
Unable to wait one more second, she barreled past him, leaped on to the bed, and threw herself at the nightstand.
“It’s gone,” she groaned, dropping her head in agony on the pillow. “Oh, my God, it’s gone.”
“Are you sure? Maybe it fell on the floor, or on the bed.”
“It’s gone,” she repeated. “Some things, I really do just know.”
• • •
Arianna made him leave the room, her pain was too intense. She appreciated that Chase wanted to help, wanted to search drawers and tear the bed apart to somehow make the damn ring appear, but she needed to sit on the floor next to her empty nightstand, and wallow in regrets. She should never have taken it off, she should never have left it home, she should never have accepted it in the first place.
She should—
“Arianna.” Chase opened the bedroom door, his voice low and quiet.
“What?” She wiped her nose and looked over her shoulder. “Please don’t ask me to think about who. I don’t know who.”
And without the ring, she never would. She’d never read anyone again. She’d never have a chance to fulfill her mother’s wishes—just when she’d stopped fighting the paralyzing fear and realized that they weren’t just her mother’s wishes, they were her own. Now she’d lost the power.
Chase sat next to her on the floor, draped his arm around her and opened his laptop. “I need you to look at something, sweetheart.” He tilted the screen toward her. “You need to read this file. It’s important.”
She sniffed, blinked back a tear that made the screen swim in front of her, and forced herself to read the digital reproduction of an LAPD accident report.
According to the file, twenty-four-year-old Katherine Childress, the daughter of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, had been driving a car that careened off Mulholland into a brushy, muddy area and was killed instantly. The accident happened on a rainy night in April 2003, one week before her wedding. The night was so rainy police were unable to find any evidence of what caused the accident. There were no witnesses.
When she finished, she looked up at him.
“Keep going.” He paged down to an obituary from the Los Angeles Times, with the picture of a pretty blonde. Something clicked in her head and she squinted at it, trying to think where she’d seen that face before. Her gaze darted over the words describing the brief life of Katherine Childress, a student intern at a movie studio, an aspiring filmmaker, a part-time actress. Then she stared at the last line, unable to breathe as the words sank in.
Childress is survived by her parents and by her fiancé, Brian Burroughs.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, her hand ov
er her mouth. That’s where she’d seen the face before. The picture on Brian’s dresser. In his wallet. “Katie.” The only woman Brian ever loved. “She was his fiancée, who died in a car accident four years before I met him.” She’d never heard him say her last name. Just Katie.
Chills exploded all over her. Was Brian sending the message? Had he killed his fiancée?
“It can’t be him,” she said, as though Chase was following her thoughts.
“Yes, it can.”
“No, no.” She held out her bare hand. “He’s not worried about my abilities—he doesn’t believe I’m for real. He thinks the staff gets information to me from secret interviews.” She looked at Katie’s picture again, trying but failing to reconcile any role Brian could have had in her death. It was impossible. It defied logic. “It’s not him.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Chase said. “The boyfriend or husband is always the number one suspect. Surely you know that, as the daughter of a cop.”
“He’s still grief-stricken. He couldn’t have killed her. And even if he did, he doesn’t believe that I could figure it out.”
“But he could be thinking about her death, sending you the message.”
She grabbed his arm, pulling him up. “Let’s go find him. He’s probably home by now. If he’s guilty, you’re the man to get him to confess. But if he’s not, and someone else on that set killed her, he has the right to know.”
“How far away does he live?”
She stared at him as realization hit even harder. “He lives on Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Right off Mulholland.”
• • •
A call to Burroughs Production confirmed that Brian was at home, as Arianna suspected. He was a creature of habit who always left the sets late in the afternoon, and returned if they taped with a studio audience at night.