Things changed drastically when I finally managed to say the name of the man I’d recognized doing the killing. I’d been off to the side with the detective at that point, the scene already buzzing with uniforms. Such a quick and effective response was only reserved for the rich.
The detective had been scribbling my statement in a notebook, until I said the name. Then he stopped, pen midair, frozen for a moment. His eyes met mine. They were no longer cold, jaded from years on the job. No, they were alert now.
“Are you sure? This is very important. Are you sure you saw Coleson Kitsch commit the murder?”
Something inside me told me to lie. I had no reason to, but there was a deep instinct that screamed at me to protect myself. Hide the truth amongst all the other hidden things inside me. Another lie wouldn’t mean much, I was good at it.
If I told the truth here, everything would change. It was an odd thing to think without all the information I’d later learn, but a woman’s intuition was nothing but somewhat magical.
Of course it would be a federal crime but I wasn’t overly concerned with that. Self-preservation was more important for a narcissist like me.
But something caught me. Was it the horrible stillness of death that would follow me around for the rest of my life? Was it a shred of decency inside me?
It didn’t quite matter why I uttered, “Yes, I’m sure.” All that mattered was that I did.
Things moved very fast after that.
The detective shut his notebook, stepped right into my personal bubble, and informed me not to tell anyone what I’d just told him. Well, apart from Andre, who was within eavesdropping distance.
Then we were taken to the station and men in decidedly more expensive suits took their time interviewing me. They weren’t so much concerned with the details of the murder but making sure I was absolutely sure it was Coleson whom I saw.
It seemed my intuition was right, this was a big deal. He was a big deal. Especially when there were talks of things like witness protection and Andre, of all people, talked the suits out of this because he’d made “other arrangements.”
My very expensive lawyer then handled the details so I was relatively ignorant, despite being interviewed for hours. As a competent, intelligent woman, I should’ve gleaned more details from the situation, if not demanded them. I was not scared to demand things. Not afraid to come across as a bitch.
In fact, it was the norm.
But things were not fucking normal right now. So I let two men—ones I paid handsomely—take care of things for me. Something I’d never done. However fucked up I was, however cold I was, I’d always been in the driver’s seat of my own life.
All it took was a gunshot to surrender the wheel.
Andre was cursing into the Bluetooth. The person on the other end of the phone was on speaker, but I couldn’t make out a single word anyone said. Everything was a dull roar.
Until we pulled into the parking lot. Until something pinged in my brain and I realized where I was. Who I might face.
I was in enough shock after the police station to actually get in the car with Andre when he ordered, and I didn’t even ask him where we were going. He was one of the only people that did that, stood up to me, ordered me around. Everyone else was too scared of me, rightfully so.
“No, she’s taking a break from filming indefinitely. She’s going to a retreat in fucking Bali to realign her goddamn chi. And if you don’t halt this fucking film you’re a fucking idiot. You know you’ll never get someone as good as Anastasia Edwards in your whole life,” Andre snapped. He hung up. Then regarded me.
He did not like what he saw.
Not because of my hair or outfit, or makeup, which considering the circumstances, were all impeccable. He was reading me much like a professor would read a textbook written by a first grader. He knew the fucker was wrong by the first sentence.
“I can see you’re all hyped up to argue with me,” he said. “Don’t. You’re in the middle of a fucking crisis right now. Not one that I can handle, I’m the best in the business of handling your scandals, your image. Your sex tape gets leaked? I’m your guy. You have an affair with a married man? I’m also your guy. You need to go to rehab and pretend you’re on a fucking yoga retreat, I’m most definitely your guy.”
He paused, a meaningful pause because Andre was all about impact, drama. He might’ve raised his brow if the amount of Botox in his forehead had allowed that. He wasn’t much older than me, but his skincare routine was about the same as mine.
His jet-black hair was pulled back into a tight pony, making all the angles of his face that much more pronounced. His caramel skin was smooth of any facial hair since he’d had it lasered off years ago.
That made his square jaw all the more prominent and masculine, as well as the fact he always wore ten thousand-dollar suits, in variations of black. He was in demand with every single person in LA. Men and women. We didn’t have the kind of relationship where we talked about our love life—mainly because he had to clean up the huge disaster mine had been—but Andre worked far too much to ever have one. He screwed when he needed to and didn’t bother himself with romantic entanglements.
Selfishly, I liked that, because he had more time for me. I’d never needed a man more than I needed Andre.
“Of all the fucked-up things I’m an expert in, I’m not specialized in the area of murder,” Andre said. “I’m not the best at making sure you stay alive to testify. Now, I will be able to keep your involvement under wraps for the time being, to the media at least. My contacts go all the way to the gutter, just not the underworld.” He grinned. There was something else to it, though.
Fear. The man who I’d never seen so much as frazzled was scared.
“I’m not gonna know if they’ve got word on you,” he said, quieter now. He didn’t need to tell me who “they” were. I’d figured enough to know that Coleson had contacts all over the city, on all sides of the law. The reaction from the cops showed me that.
“If they do have word on you, it won’t matter if you’re in your mansion with the world’s best security. They’ll find you. And kill you.” He paused. “And then I’ll have to find another job, which will be a pain in the fucking ass. So don’t give me your trademarked fork tongue. Just get out of the car and march those Choos into the fucking office.”
At the start of the speech, I was ready to argue, to get my trademark way with a trademark hissy fit. But by the end I was tired and scared. Andre’s fear was catching. He was the only person in the world I trusted. Mostly. He wouldn’t be saying this, we would not be here if he didn’t legitimately think I was in danger. So I got out of the car.
My heels clicked on the concrete and the sound was nothing like a gunshot, but it took me right back there. I smelled blood, fear, and human excrement.
People shit themselves when they died.
They sure left that out of the movies.
The parking lot was practically empty, but walking toward the elevators we saw a collection of cars. Trucks, mostly. Macho man trucks. A couple manly sports cars that somehow did not scream “midlife crisis.” Macho man sports cars.
I knew the men of Greenstone Security were all macho men, each more attractive than the last. They were so alpha you almost choked on the testosterone radiating out from their pores.