Poor Little Bitch Girl (45 page)

The not-mentioned speech was standing between us like an elephant in the room, except we weren’t in a room – we were in a limo on our way to the airport and Bobby’s private plane.

He is
so
not me – what was I thinking?

* * *

Ever since Bobby realized that he had a certain power because of his heritage, he’d managed to gain control over most situations. He’d learned from both his parents, and even though he was a child when Dimitri passed, he’d studied his late father in photos and on videos, and noted the way he acted. Dimitri had always conducted himself with immense charm, compassion and unwavering control. The three C’s.

Lucky had her own particular way of handling things, and it always seemed to work for her.

Both his parents were tough, loyal and driven, they both knew what they wanted, and they’d always come out on top.

Bobby desired the same for himself. He realized he’d been born into great privilege, but he’d never allowed himself to get carried away with all the trappings of enormous wealth, and he’d certainly never traded on his exceptional good looks. He’d made a concentrated effort to make it on his own, and he’d succeeded.

One of the things he prided himself on was that he’d always treated women well – making sure to let them down easy when things didn’t work out. He’d endeavored to be a good guy.

Now Zeena had managed to make him look like her dumb-ass little plaything. And he was furious. At Zeena. But most of all at himself.

From the moment the words had slipped from Zeena’s scarlet lips, Denver had begun to treat him like a vague acquaintance with whom she was being forced to spend time. Sure, she’d agreed to a ride on his plane, but that was out of an urgency to get to Washington, not because she wished to be with him.

He didn’t know what to say to her. Should he try explaining?
Uh
. . .
Denver, here’s the deal – Zeena came into my shower unexpectedly, I never invited her, and uh, yeah, she did give me head, but
. . .
uh
. . .

Shit! Where could he possibly go with this?

The first girl he’d liked in a long time, and Zeena had crushed any hope he had of taking it further.

The limo pulled up at the airport, and a special services escort smoothed their path to the plane.

Once aboard, Denver noted where Bobby was sitting, and deliberately chose a seat across the aisle. Gitta, one of the attractive flight attendants, asked her if she needed anything.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks anyway.”

“You know,” Bobby said, leaning across the aisle, “there’s a bedroom aboard, so if you feel like sleeping . . .” He trailed off. Mentioning a bedroom sounded suggestive in a ridiculous kind of way, almost as if he was coming on to her. Which he wasn’t. Not at all.

But he’d like to. Oh yes, he’d definitely like to.

The problem was that Zeena had put paid to any chance of that.

* * *

It’s strange. When something dramatic happens in your life, everything else seems unimportant. Two hours ago, I’d been kind of obsessed with Bobby, but right now I couldn’t care less. Had I
really
been running around spending all my salary on a sexy designer dress and shoes? Getting my hair done? Enduring the discomfort of stupid false eyelashes and too much make-up? Silly me. I must’ve had a brainstorm.

Now all I could think about was Carolyn. Where was she? Had she been abducted as George Henderson seemed to believe? How did one even begin to search for her?

I didn’t have any answers, and for someone who has a need to be on top of things, that’s frustrating.

I started thinking about the recent texts I’d received from her. Fortunately I store everything in my phone memory – just in case. Was there a clue somewhere?

Pulling out my phone, I began going over them. The last text I’d received from her was on Monday.
We must talk! So much is happening!

What did
that
mean? Was she back with Matt, her ex? Had she met someone new?

It had to be about a man, I was sure of it.

I glanced over at Bobby. He was slumped in his seat, probably exhausted after his late-afternoon blow-job from the scary-looking superstar. Zeena reminded me of Vampira – a superwoman from another planet.

Still clad in my far too revealing red dress and uncomfortable heels, I grabbed the shopping bag that contained my original clothes, undid my seatbelt and stood up.

A pretty Hawaiian flight attendant who’d introduced herself as Hani, rushed to see what I needed. “I’d like to change clothes, Hani,” I said. “Is that possible?”

“Certainly,” Hani replied with a polite smile. “Follow me.”

I followed her into a fully decorated bedroom. A bedroom! On a plane!

There was a queen-size bed, flatscreen TV, a closet, and a full en-suite bathroom complete with a walk-in shower!

I wondered if Bobby had given Zeena a ride on his plane.

No, she probably had her own 747. Mega-rich people lived in a different world.

I didn’t care. All I cared about was finding Carolyn.

* * *

Denver shut herself in the bedroom and emerged fifteen minutes later dressed in the clothes she’d worn earlier: loose-fitting beige pants, a crisp white shirt and a slouchy jacket. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she’d removed most of her make-up.

Bobby thought she looked glowingly beautiful. This girl was a natural beauty, she didn’t need all the trimmings. He quickly recalled the great time they’d had in the bar at the Cavendish earlier. The two of them had experienced such a strong connection. He knew it wasn’t his imagination, they’d really had major chemistry.

Damn! Why did Zeena have to come along and screw everything up?

“Uh . . . did you find everything you needed?” he asked, feeling totally off his game, which wasn’t like him at all.

“I wasn’t looking,” Denver answered coolly. “Is there a phone I can use?”

Summoning Gitta, Bobby asked her to show Denver where the phone was located.

Denver picked up the phone and turned her back on him.

He was dying to know who she was calling. She’d said she didn’t have a current boyfriend, but who knew?

He tried reversing the situation in his head. Male singing star announcing to the world that he’d just gone down on Denver. Not a happy thought. It was no surprise she’d closed ranks on him.

He made an attempt to look at the positive side. At least she’d accepted a ride on his plane. Maybe there was some way he could make amends.

Then he thought,
No chance in hell.

He had a strong hunch that Denver was not the kind of girl who forgave easily.

T
he fear was so overpowering that Carolyn was finding it hard to breathe. Taking desperate short gasps of air, she attempted to pace herself and stay focused, for she knew that whatever distress she was in, it was not going to stop her from doing what she had to do. And what she had to do was get the hell out.

Heart pounding non-stop, she was resolute in her determination to run from this loathsome place where she’d been treated as less than sub-human.

Yanking the window open as far as it would go, she was hit with a heavy sheet of rain. Summoning all the strength she had left, she managed to climb up onto the sill.

Stopping for a moment, she took a deep breath. “One step at a time, one step at a time,” she muttered to herself, as somehow or other she managed to fit her body through the small space, almost getting stuck – but with one supreme effort forcing herself out.

As she hit the ground outside, her bare feet sunk into thick mud, and the heavy rain that had been falling all day, started pounding her body, soaking her within seconds.

She had no idea where she was. There were no street-lights and the night was deadly black. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a dog howling, and the incessant drone of a far-off helicopter.

Forcing her survival instinct to kick in, she began desperately running.

* * *

Muttering and cursing, Benito tried to shake off Ramirez’s phone-call and return his attention to the porno taking place on the TV screen.

His fuckhead brother had always tormented him, ever since they were kids living in a one-bedroom slum house with a drugged-out mother and no father in sight. It was Ramirez who’d forced him into gang-life at the age of twelve, and by the time he was thirteen, Ramirez had him out on the street selling drugs.

Ramirez was a hard-core bad-ass who’d suddenly changed tracks and turned into a self-righteous, hypocritical son-of-a-mo’fuckin’-
bitch
. Benito hated his guts.

Staring at the TV screen, he tried to block out memories of when he was a kid.

It took a while, but eventually
Fat Black Pussies
had the desired effect, and his dick began getting hard again – a combination of the raunchy sex he was watching, and the hatred and anger he felt toward his brother.

Soon he decided it was time to show the Senator’s bitch who was really boss.

Abruptly he got up and strode purposefully toward the bedroom door.

“W
hat do you mean, they’ve made an arrest?” Frankie said, scratching his forehead.

Annabelle had jumped on him the moment he’d arrived back at the hotel, not giving him a chance to tell her about their new manager-to-be, and how full of innovative ideas Fanny Bernstein was.

“Switch on the TV –– it’s on every channel,” Annabelle announced excitedly.

“Who’ve they arrested?” Frankie asked. “The stalker?”

“What stalker?” Annabelle said, staring at him blankly.

Annabelle Maestro was something else. Apparently she had not been following her own mother’s murder case.

“There was mention of a stalker,” Frankie told her. “Some over-zealous fan from New Orleans who came to town to worship at Gemma’s feet. The cops had him pegged as a person of interest.”

“This time they’re not saying who it is; all they’re saying is that an arrest has been made.”

“You must be relieved,” Frankie said, pulling a Diet 7up from the mini-bar.

“Maybe it’s Daddy Dearest,” Annabelle suggested with a wicked chuckle.

“Jeez, Annabelle, if it
was
Ralph, we’d all know about it,” Frankie said, quite disgusted that she was not taking this seriously. “And if you’re interested in hearin’
my
take on it, even
thinkin’
that Ralph could’ve done it is pretty sick.” A beat. “You might wanna see a shrink about that.”

“And
you
might want to see a shrink about your vile coke habit,” Annabelle retaliated, once again thinking that maybe she was making a mistake sticking with Frankie.

“Listen, babe,” he said, backing down from a fight, “there’s someone you’ve got to meet. The woman’s a freakin’ powerhouse, an’ she’s the one who’s gonna get us out of this mess.”

“Exactly
how
is she going to do that?” Annabelle asked with a look of disbelief.