No More Good Page 7

  How could she leave him? Carter had torn himself apart trying to figure out how he could have been so mistaken about her love for him. He’d felt it so strong himself; maybe it was that and his arrogance that believed no woman would ever leave him. He had gotten over himself as to how much of a catch he knew he was. He was marrying Avery, so what he meant to other women didn’t matter anymore.

  He had held on to the belief that no matter how awful what he’d done was, she would come back. She had promised to love him, take care of him, and be his forever. He needed her and yes, had made mistakes to make her his, but had done nothing but try to make her happy since the day she became his. He deserved better than what she had done to him: leaving as if what they had shared meant nothing. They had almost died together that night of the explosion at her salon.

  He ached for her as he touched the photo. All those nights he drank himself to sleep or tried to forget her by being inside another woman had done nothing to dampen the love he felt for Avery. Seeing her picture made him think he could be complete again. If he could just see her, touch her, hold her, maybe he could let go of the anger he felt all the time.

  Carter turned back to the hospital, trying to control the emotions taking him over. She was his and he had to have her back. There was no better time than now considering the pain she was in. She needed him. He opened the car door, prepared to face whatever barriers the family had set up to keep him out, but as he looked back at the picture, something caught his eye.

  There was something . . .

  “No.” He brought the picture closer.

  He had to be seeing things. It was the angle or maybe a reflection off the light. Anything other than what it looked like, because it looked like a wedding band on her left middle finger. It was. A simple gold band clearly visible as she held her hand out over her father’s chest.

  It couldn’t be.

  Carter was transfixed as he tried to convince himself he was making a mistake, but he knew he wasn’t. He looked around, unsure of what to do, think, or feel. He needed something . . . he had to . . . his mind was a mess. His insides were in pieces and still he told himself that there was an explanation. There had to be.

  He closed the car door, deciding against a confrontation right now. He was too mixed up. He needed more information before going forward. As he drove off, Carter felt rage growing inside him. This meant nothing, he told himself. He was still going to get Avery back and nothing and no one was going to stand in his way.

  Private Investigator Neil Owen held the envelope away as he studied it. He was shaking his head and Kimberly assumed that wasn’t good news.

  “There’s no way to know where it came from,” he said in his monotone, disaffected voice, “except that it was mailed out of a post office in Pasadena.”

  “Maybe that post office has video cameras?” Kimberly sat across from him, squeezing the Prada purse on her lap tighter and tighter.

  She knew she probably shouldn’t be here. It was Neil who helped her track down Paul Devereaux and bring him to L.A. to tear Janet and Steven apart. She had promised Michael she would never go to a private investigator behind his back again, but all bets and promises were off now.

  “Possibly.” Neil placed the envelope on his desk. “Wanna tell me what was in it?”

  “No,” Kimberly said. “I just need to find out who sent it. I think they want to blackmail me.”

  “Did they say they wanted money?” Neil asked, looking as if his sixty years had caught up with him, which wouldn’t be hard considering he had spent a considerable part of his life on secret missions for the CIA.

  “There were pictures inside.” Both of which Kimberly burned as soon as she got her head back on straight. “I’m sure they want money.”

  “Then they’ll tell you that,” Neil said. “My advice is to stay calm, keep a low profile, and wait.”

  Kimberly leaned forward. “I can’t wait. This could . . . this could destroy everything. You have to do something !”

  “Video is out of the question. This post office is probably huge and the person mostly likely picked a busy time when he couldn’t be singled out. If I could, by some miracle, get access to video from the date on the postmark, you would have to look at it. I can’t recognize who I don’t know.”

  “Try and get it anyway,” Kimberly said. “I’ll look at all of them. I don’t care. What else can you do? What about prints?”

  “On this?” He pointed to the envelope. “Not a chance. I used gloves, but you didn’t. Neither did your maid or the myriads of other people who could have touched this in between.”

  “Damn it!”

  “Now, whatever was inside is another story.” Neil leaned back in his chair. “If only you and the blackmailer touched it, then . . .”

  “It’s burned.”

  Neil nodded as if he understood. “Then like I said, you wait. If it’s money they want, they’ll give you a chance to give it to them.”

  Kimberly thought of the ordeal with Carter and Lisette McDaniel, which the entire family found out about after Avery left him. Carter had paid Lisette once, but she came back for more. He’d had to pay her again. When he tried to get it back, Steven made him give it up. He considered it suitable punishment.

  “They’ll come back for more,” Kimberly said. “It won’t stop.”

  “Unless you make it stop,” Neil said.

  Kimberly understood what he meant. “I’m willing to do anything.”

  “I can help you make sure this person doesn’t want to come back for more,” Neil said, “but I can’t help you make it impossible for them to come back for more. You’ll have to go elsewhere for that.”

  Kimberly wondered if she had the guts to get rid of someone. If she was still in the world she’d been in when she was a hooker, yes, she would have done it. She had wanted to kill just about every man she met in those days. But things were different now. She thought of her sons and what made her a good mother. She thought of lowering herself to be the person that Janet always told her she knew she was.

  “What is it?” Neil asked as Kimberly’s hand went to her chest.

  “I just thought of my mother-in-law again.”

  “That bad?” Neil laughed. “Mine gives me heartburn too.”

  You’ll slip up again were her words. Kimberly remembered them clearly. You’ll slip up again and that will be it for Michael.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this go away.”

  4

  As the waiter led her to the table, Leigh could feel people staring at her. They were wondering if she was somebody. Most realized that she wasn’t and quickly lost interest, but a few stares lingered. They were probably people who had seen her picture in the papers because of her family. It all made her very uncomfortable.

  “Is there a private table somewhere?” Leigh asked the hostess.

  The hostess, who had short, sandy blond hair with blue highlights, turned around and laughed. “Yeah, right.”

  “No,” Leigh said. “I’m serious. I feel exposed.”

  “That’s why people come to the Ivy, sweetheart. To be exposed.”

  “I don’t come here,” Leigh said.

  “You’re here, aren’t you?” She stopped at a table in the corner with a view of the front porch packed with people, many of whom Leigh recognized immediately from some movie or television show. “The food is great, but no one actually comes here to eat.”

  Leigh mumbled that this wasn’t her choice as she sat down. What was Lyndon up to? She had called him on the number he left on the script and agreed to meet him to share her feedback. Was he trying to turn it into some publicity stunt?

  She felt her beeper vibrating and reached down to check it. It was her mother, not the clinic. Just as she reached for her phone she saw Lyndon walking toward her and forgot all about her mother.

  Patiently taking him in, she noticed again that he was everything that was said about him: tall, fit, and ridiculously handsome. He played the
rugged, but not too rugged, part well. White linen pants and a beige shirt that hung on him as if it was made just for him, a fresh tan finishing the look perfectly.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he took a seat next to her.

  Leigh figured he was probably always late. That was what his type did, make an entrance. “It’s all right. I—”

  “What can I get you, Mr. Prior?” The hostess leaned forward, showing her recently purchased bosoms. “You like a Mojito, right?”

  “Sure,” he said, turning to Leigh. “You want one?”

  “It’s only noon,” Leigh said.

  Lyndon frowned as if he regretted asking. “You know what? Why not just bring a water with lemon?”

  “Two,” Leigh added.

  The hostess nodded and walked away.

  “Thanks for meeting me . . .” Lyndon smiled, showing white shiny teeth. “You look great, Dr. Chase.”

  Leigh couldn’t believe it. She was blushing. “Thanks. I enjoyed your script.”

  “It’s not mine,” he said. “The writer is a guy name Deke Minton. This is more or less his real life story. It’s a little exaggerated for Hollywood, but he’s actually a doctor in Philadelphia.”

  “He wrote this?” Leigh thought she would like to meet Deke Minton one day.

  “With some help.” Lyndon took the menu from Leigh just as she reached for it. “Please, get the crab cakes. I promise you, you’ll love them.”

  “Okay.” Leigh wasn’t sure if he was being controlling or gentlemanly.

  As Lyndon ordered two servings of softshell crab, she took a second to look around and realized that everyone was staring at them, or at least at him. There were a lot of celebrities here and she assumed all the noncelebrities were writers, directors, agents, and more.

  “I guess you’re okay with being the center of attention,” Leigh said, once the hostess took their orders and left. “You have to be.”

  Lyndon shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “You know all of this is fleeting. You have to enjoy it while you can. Being humble won’t make me rich.”

  “You’re already rich,” she said. “You made fifteen million your last two pictures.”

  “That’s chicken feed.” Lyndon pointed to the script Leigh placed on the table. “I’m getting more for that.”

  “I don’t need to know this,” Leigh said. “It’s rude to ask about money.”

  “In this business,” Lyndon said, “it’s rude not to ask. But you know all about money, don’t you?”

  Leigh shifted in her seat. “About your . . . this script. You mentioned exaggerations?”

  “The writer embellished a bit. You know, for effect. But mostly it’s true. What did you think? I’m eager to hear your opinion.”

  Leigh wasn’t sure if he was being genuine, but she offered her ideas anyway. He seemed to listen and even asked the waitress who brought their lunches for her pen so he could take notes on the back of the script. Leigh’s suggestions were all mostly superficial but all the little things that can add up to a lot.

  “This is good stuff,” Lyndon said as he put his pen down. “I’ll talk to the director about it.”

  “You don’t have to,” Leigh said. “It’s just small stuff you could do in the role without even telling anyone.”

  “It’ll make it look more authentic.” He nodded, seeming satisfied with his choice. “Dr. Chase, I—”

  “Call me Leigh.” She covered her mouth, filled with crab cakes.

  Lyndon smiled. “Cool, but I want you to know I really care about this role. I know what you think of me.”

  “I haven’t said anything.”

  “You don’t have to,” Lyndon said. “People always make assumptions based on what they think they know about me, have read about me. Like I’m sure people do with you all the time.”

  Before she could protest, she realized he was right. Because she was Leigh Chase, people assumed a lot. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t.” He shrugged, leaning back. “I did some research on you after I read that article. I know about your family, so I figured you might understand.”

  “Understand?”

  “That it’s just . . . you know how it is when people don’t believe you’re genuine because you have money or fame. They think everything is trivial to you, just for kicks. Like you couldn’t possibly understand anything other than your own circumstances.”

  “They assume you think the world revolves around you,” Leigh said.

  “It’s like, yeah, I am lucky and I’m not going to pretend I’m not.” Lyndon was talking excitedly, all of a sudden unable to sit still. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be genuine. I still work hard at my job.”

  “But unless you’re struggling to pay your bills,” Leigh said, “you can’t be a real person.”

  Their eyes caught and Leigh felt a spark rush through her. This was silly. There was no way she was actually interested in him. She was starstruck and starved for male attention. He was a professional flirt, always working whoever he was with. That’s all this was. Besides, he was probably handling a dozen women right now and her parents would kill her if she dated an actor, a white actor at that.

  “You want the truth?” Leigh asked.

  “Let me brace myself,” Lyndon said, placing his fork down.

  “The ending sort of bothered me,” she said. “I mean, he goes through all these horrible things, but it’s somehow tied to his lack of real commitment to the job. In the end, he realizes he loves this, it matters, and everything seems to work out. That’s not reality.”

  “You aren’t happy because of the clinic?”

  “You’re reading me wrong,” Leigh corrected. “We’re dealing with a deadly disease here, and at a clinic like this, the people who come in have so many other problems. It’s dangerous, it’s ugly, and it’s heartbreaking even when you’re committed. Most of the time, things don’t work out no matter how hard you try. Most days don’t have a happy ending.”

  “But you wouldn’t want to see that movie, would you?” Lyndon asked. “I mean, I get it. I know that the reality is different, but a movie has to have a happy ending or at least one that makes people not want to slit their wrists when they leave.”

  Leigh laughed at her own heaviness. “Sorry, I guess I was getting a little preachy.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said in a low, soft voice. “You do it well, Dr. . . . Leigh.”

  “You can stop working me, Lyndon. You’ve already gotten what you want. You can come to the clinic.”

  Lyndon laughed. “You think I’m working you?”

  “Aren’t you?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “Actually I am,” he answered, “but I really enjoy it, so can I keep it up a little while longer?”

  She rolled her eyes, thinking this was probably a big mistake.

  When she heard the bedroom door open, Kimberly looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was three in the morning. This son of a bitch!

  “Where have you been?” she asked, sitting up.

  “I was with Carter.” Michael had crossed his fingers she was asleep, but he was really too drunk to care that she would be angry right now.

  “You drove in that condition?”

  “No.” He closed the door to the master bathroom behind him, hoping she would get the message, but she was right behind him. “Kimberly, just go to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “How can you not call me?” she asked. “How can you not pick up your cell phone?”

  “I told you I was going to go by Carter’s.” He splashed some water on his face before trying to get out of his clothes.

  “Where did you go?” she asked, although she wanted to ask who did you see? She thought together with the alcohol, she smelled perfume. “What were you doing?”

  “We went out to the club for some drinks.” His shirt off, Michael started on his pants. “Can you get my shorts?”

  She reached up behind the door and tossed the shorts
at him. “Were there women there?”

  Michael laughed. “At the club? Um . . . yeah. What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “You know what kind of question it is, Michael. Carter can’t do anything these days but fuck whatever he finds. So what were you doing?”

  Michael’s grin faded as he looked at her. “You need to change your direction right now, Kimberly.”

  He sort of remembered making out with a woman near the bathroom, but couldn’t recall her name. He probably never asked. She had red hair and he liked redheads. They kissed for a few minutes, but as soon as he heard footsteps around the corner, he stopped.

  So what if he cheated? He was only a man and he’d done it only a few times. Those women meant nothing more than a one-night stand. No matter what, he loved Kimberly, and none of those women could make him feel the way she did. He wasn’t a perfect husband, but he was discreet.

  “Or what?” Kimberly asked.

  “I couldn’t leave him,” Michael said. “He’s a mess.”

  “He’s thirty-one years old! He doesn’t need a babysitter.”

  Michael slid into his boxers. “Avery’s back.”

  Kimberly paused at the news. “I knew she’d come . . . Did Carter talk to her?”

  He shook his head. “No, you have to talk to her.”

  Kimberly’s hand went to her hips. “Why? What are you up to?”

  “She had a wedding ring on her finger.”

  “No.” Kimberly would never believe Avery was married. “She wouldn’t get over Carter that fast.”

  “She hated him, remember? She left.”

  “She never hated him,” Kimberly said.

  “He saw it. She had a wedding band on and you have to find out what that’s about.” Michael approached her, trying not to sound so drunk. “You’re still her friend.”