Winter Wolf (7 page)

I shrugged, kept quiet about my misgivings, and did as I was told. Cooperation with the police would keep them from suspecting me. While I wanted to, telling Harding to shut up wouldn’t do me any good.

“Thomas,” I answered in my worst rasp.

There was a pause and someone—a man, judging from the deepness of the tone—drew a surprised breath. "May I speak to Nicolina Desmond, please?"

I froze at the sound of my real name. I didn’t recognize the man on the other end of the line. “Who? I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number,” I replied, preparing to hang up. Harding stopped me with a wave of his hand.

The silence stretched on for several long moments, giving me a little time to think. Who had found me? I stared at the ruins of my car. Why would anyone want to find the me from years ago, the girl who had rose to limited fame for her voice, and then disappeared like some modern-day Elvis.

I was supposed to remain an unsolved mystery.

“I do?” More than a little surprise laced the man’s question.

“I’m afraid so. Who were you looking for again?”

“Nicolina Desmond,” the man replied, his tone confused and uncertain.

“Definitely the wrong number. There’s no one here by that name.”

“Oh, I was told this was her number.”

I scowled. “Well, you were told wrong. Sorry. Have a—”

“Wait. I’m positive this is the right number. Do you know her? I really need to talk to her.” There was a hard edge to the man’s voice.

“No, I don’t. Wrong number.”

Before I could say anything else, Harding took the phone out of my hand and hung up on the mystery caller. He turned to stare at me with narrowed eyes. “Do you know who that was, Miss Thomas? Or who he was trying to reach?”

“I don’t know him. As for Nicolina Desmond? Well, sure. Who doesn't?” I replied, flipping my hair over my shoulder. It was a question I never wanted to answer, but I had prepared to answer it—to a degree. There was a trick to knowing how to answer a question naturally versus having it come out as a memorized response. It took a little effort on my part to add the appropriate pause and keep my tone speculative. “She was that singer who up and vanished a few years back, wasn't she? Made quite the stir when she did it, too. Probably got herself killed.” I shrugged, eying my phone, which was still in Harding’s hand. “First time anyone has ever called my phone looking for her, though.”

“Yet another unsolved mystery of the rich and famous.” Harding bounced my phone in his hand. “Do you mind if I keep this? Look through your call records, see if there's anything unusual on it? There might be something important on your phone.”

I pursed my lips together. “If you think it'll help. Laura did make a call on it, as I told you before, but she deleted the number from my phone.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about that. I’ll take care of it,” Harding promised.

I flushed and muttered a denial under my breath. He didn’t seem to notice.

I really hoped the rumors that the Inquisition had spies and agents in law enforcement were just that: Rumors. With luck, they wouldn't think twice about my odd assortment of apps. Then again, with my unpleasant relationship with Murphy and his wretched law, I suspected they'd see something suspicious about so many programs with high battery usage.

If the rumors of the Inquisition having infiltrated law enforcement were true, I was in a lot of trouble. A shiver ran through me, and I rubbed at my arms to drive away the chill.

I was spared having to say anything as a pair of cop cars drove up and parked next to Harding's. Two cops emerged, circling my car and taking in the wreckage.

“Have a full forensic done on this car,” Harding ordered. “Dust it for prints, and see if you can figure out what they wanted. I want a full report on my desk, ASAP.” With the same no-nonsense demeanor, he shoved a clipboard with a few forms attached to it into my face. “Fill this out.”

Paperwork was something I could handle. I leaned against Harding’s cruiser, writing my information down. Later, I expected he would scrutinize everything, checking into my background to find out who would want to potentially target me and why.

With a grim smile, I capped the pen and handed him the clipboard back. All he would find was a picture perfect existence; a pair of dead parents, no siblings, and a very quiet childhood and adult life.

Being Nicole Thomas had its perks sometimes.

Chapter Four

Harding dropped me off in front of my apartment complex and didn’t leave until I made my way inside. The nighttime security guard, Greg, stared at me with wide eyes, leaning over his desk to watch the cruiser as it pulled away.

“You must have had a hell of a night,” he said, his tone as calm as always. His eyebrows lifted towards his receding hairline. “Dare I ask?

“Better not.” I pulled out my key card for the elevator as I trudged my way across the shiny marble floor. Greg was a nice guy, and the last thing I wanted was to get him involved with me, not so soon after Scott’s death.

“Are you okay?”

At the concern in his voice, I turned towards him and forced a smile. “I wasn’t the one who was hurt.” My words weren’t entirely true, but I didn’t have the courage to say otherwise.

The dead couldn’t feel pain, but I sure could. If it hadn’t been for me, he’d still be alive.

“That’s a relief, Miss Thomas. If you need anything, call the desk.”

In an effort to pretend everything was all right, I tapped my card against my leg. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Nicole, Greg?” A little laugh—a faked, pleasant one—bubbled out of me. “If I need anything, I will.” It was another lie, but I doubt Greg recognized it for what it was.

He nodded and went back to monitoring the security cameras, although I caught him glancing at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I used my card to unlock the elevators and pressed the down button.

The doors slid open, and I retreated inside. I punched the button for the basement floor. The presence of the security camera taunted me. Was Greg watching me, wondering why there was dried blood on my face and caked in my hair? The older man was too polite to be pushy, but there had been questions behind his gaze. Greg, being Greg, would say nothing, but he’d make his curiosity known one way or another. If I did want to talk, he’d listen. He’d been working the night shift as long as I’d been in the building, and had earned himself a bit of a reputation for eccentricity due to his love of late hours.

The door dinged and opened to my floor. I had the only actual apartment in the basement, sharing a wall with the parking garage on one side and with the storage units on the other. It was more of a hike across the complex than I liked, but the place had its perks, and no noisy, nosy neighbors numbered among them. If anyone lived directly above me, they were quiet.

I fumbled with my keys and unlocked the door after a few tries. Sparse, open space greeted me. My 1970's rejected couch, complete with red velvet and a built-in sound system, offered a splash of color. I peeled out of my leather boots, which had fortunately been spared from the night’s horrors. The rest of me, however, was a different story altogether. Dried blood caked my shirt and sweater to my skin, and it took several yanks before I managed to shed my ruined clothes.

“Burn,” I commanded, focusing all of my attention on the fabric in my hand.

Some problems could be solved with fire, and with a little concentration on my part, the cloth burst into white and blue flame, crumbling apart in my hands. I let it fall.

Nothing but a fine white powder and a faint hint of smoke remained. With a tired sigh, I stared at the empty space of my apartment, through the opened door to my bedroom, which had a single dresser and a minuscule bed. But first, I needed a bath.

Then I needed answers.

~~*~~

After an hour of scrubbing in the shower, the water was cold, and I doubted I'd ever feel clean again. I wrapped myself up in a towel and trudged my way out of the bathroom, pausing long enough in the entry to pick up my copy of
Among Us
. I removed the dust jacket and tossed it next to my other books.

I flopped down on the couch and set my feet up on the coffee table. It took all of my will to keep my eyes open. Without my phone, I wasn't even sure what time it was, but the last thing I wanted was sleep.

Sleep, however, would bring nightmares. I had them often enough, but instead of the faceless terrors I usually experienced at night, Scott would haunt me. Maybe he would blame me for my failures.

Maybe he wouldn't.

I wasn't sure which was worse. At least if he blamed me, I could live with my guilt.

Muttering curses at my cowardice, I flipped the hardback open. The first few pages stuck together, which I peeled apart. I didn’t want to read a book dedicated to zombies--dead bodies that refused to stay dead. Dominic would forgive me, if I told him about Scott’s murder. I doubted I had the courage to, however, which meant I needed to read or face his wrath.

Then again, it only mattered if I managed to meet up with him in the afternoon, which I doubted. With luck, by the time sleep did catch up with me, I would be too exhausted to dream. I settled down to try to read, but the words blurred on the page, adding to my growing headache.

I didn’t need to read the book to play my role, be it a zombie or a victim on the screen.
Among Us
could wait, couldn’t it?

Surviving Dominic’s displeasure should have been the least of my concerns. However, the book had brought me to the store, which had been the sole reason I had met Scott. I couldn’t ignore
Among Us’s
connection to Scott’s murder, even if it was innocent of wrongdoing. Reading the book wouldn’t change anything. However, it would ensure I wouldn’t forget what had happened at the bookstore.

And no matter how much I wanted to deny it, I needed any job Dominic could find me. My rent ate away at my savings, and it wouldn’t be long until I would have to resort to desperate measures, digging into my emergency money. I didn’t want to think about those funds, hoarded away in an off-shore account for a rainy day. Moving and changing identity had been hard enough the first time. I no longer had any connections with anyone who could set me up with a false identity and falsified past.

I hoped I would never need that money.

Sitting up, I forced myself to read.

~~*~~

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but a knock on my door woke me. Blinking the grit out of my eyes, I grabbed my towel, secured it around me, and stumbled across my apartment. I peered through the peep hole, sucking in a surprised breath as my agent lifted his fist to knock again.

I pulled open the door. My agent froze. His almond-shaped eyes, almost black in color, widened as he looked me over from head to toe. As always, he was clad in a carefully pressed suit. One day, I swore to myself, I’d find a wrinkle in his clothes.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, his gaze settling on my face; he didn’t quite look me in the eyes, but he was very careful not to be caught staring at anything below my chin.

“Good morning, Dominic.” Keeping a firm grip on my towel and my dignity, I once again rubbed at my sore eyes. “My phone is currently occupied. Can I take a message?”

The corners of Dominic’s mouth twitched, but I couldn’t tell if he was suppressing a smile or a scowl. “I see. It’s afternoon, by the way, and you were supposed to meet me an hour ago.”

Oops.

I ducked my head, letting my hair fall over my face. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”

He graced me with a faint smile. “I’ll forgive you this once. Can I come in?”

Panic fluttered through me. Would Dominic notice the blood on my boots? I didn’t remember cleaning them. Had Detective Harding called him? Would Dominic, in his infuriating way, press at me until I told him everything he wanted to know?

Swallowing back my anxiety, I stepped aside. “Sure, come on in,” I mumbled. Under my breath, I cursed myself for giving him my real address instead of my PO box. “Sorry for the mess.”

Dominic laughed. “What mess? If this is a mess, you could teach my housekeepers a thing or two about cleanliness. You’re as frugal as ever. Live a little, Nicole!”

He made himself at home, kicking off his shoes. They tumbled to a halt near my boots, but if he noticed the dark, flaking splotches on the leather, he ignored them. Whistling a tune, he crossed my apartment and plopped down on my couch, dropping his briefcase on my coffee table.

I glared at him, but didn’t reply.

“You’ve been booked for an audition,” he said, pulling out a sheet of paper from his case and slapping it down next to him. “Here are the details. You’ll like this: It’s a closed audition, and the director and producer want to meet you.”

“Already?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. I relaxed a little, following him to my couch. I sat on the far arm, watching him as he settled in. He closed his briefcase up, leaving out the sole sheet of paper.

In the past, he would have strutted into my kitchen, complaining I didn’t have a state-of-the-art espresso machine available for his use. Then again, I didn’t typically answer my door wearing nothing more than a
towel,
either.

“It’s your lucky day, Nicole. They’re rather interested in you for the role. It should be simple for you to secure this contract.” With a smug, flippant shrug and one of his million-dollar smiles, he gestured to the sheet of paper. “Everything you need to know is there.”

I didn’t move, staring at him with narrowed eyes. After years of competing for roles and contracts, I wasn’t quite willing to believe it could be that easy for me to secure a place in any film. I’d earned my other appearances with a lot of effort.

In Los Angeles, nothing was easy
or
free.

When Dominic frowned, I nodded to acknowledge his words. “When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“How unusual,” I murmured, staring down at the sheet of paper on my coffee table. The text was too small for me to read from my perch on the side of my couch, which didn’t fill me with confidence. What sort of audition had so many little details without a script?

“Where’s the script?” I asked suspiciously.

Dominic sighed, leaning back and stretching his legs out under the coffee table. “You’ll have it tomorrow, at the audition. It’s at four.”

“That’s not helpful, Dominic. How can I audition properly without a script? Where is it at?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage. Anyway, it’s at Silver Moon. They seem to like you over there,” he replied, his tone wry.

Shock kept me silent, and for a moment, all I could see was the photograph of the three young men who had been murdered. The hope that I could put their deaths behind me crumbled away. I drew a shaking breath and forced myself to focus on Dominic and the film audition. Dominic was bringing me an opportunity, and I couldn’t sacrifice it—not for anything. Silver Moon was a good studio, even if it was a small fry when it came to Hollywood.

But even as I struggled to force my attention on my work, I couldn’t forget about Scott, not entirely.

When I didn’t reply, Dominic made a soft, amused sound. “You’re so subdued when you just wake up. I’ll pick you up at two, just in case. Dress casually; they’re providing costumes. Expect screen tests. I trust you can memorize lines better than you can keep your appointments.”

The well-aimed jab for missing today’s appointment jerked me from my thoughts. Instead of apologizing, as I should have, I stuck my tongue out at him.

He laughed.

“I don’t forget my lines,” I replied with a dignified huff, letting some of my annoyance creep into my tone.

Dominic’s grin wasn’t friendly. “How would I know?”

“Do you want to die?” I whispered. The edge in my voice so sharp that Dominic sat straighter, his eyes widening a little. He didn’t move, as if I were some predator who had caught sight of prey.

Then he started to shake, doubling over. It wasn’t until he made a soft snorting noise that I realized he was laughing. “I yield,” he choked out.

“You better.” I paused before I continued, “Don’t worry, I won’t forget my lines.”

What was there to forget? In most cases, I only had one or two lines. Lines were easy. Silent roles, where my body language and expressions had to speak for me, were the hardest.  I always found lines easier than speaking without words.

In either case, I’d manage.

Dominic relaxed, flashing me another one of his perfect smiles. “See to it that you don’t. At two, then.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, and Dominic shook his head and laughed again. Then, without another word, he rose, grabbing his suitcase. He stuffed his feet into his shoes and left, offering me a waved farewell before shutting the door behind him.

I scowled down at the paper he’d left for me. Maybe I had deserved his aloof, better-than-thou attitude for missing our appointment. I had reason, even if I hadn’t found the courage to tell him what had happened.

He’d find out soon enough, once Detective Harding called him. I hoped the police wouldn’t follow up with my agent, but I doubted my luck would hold that long. When Dominic found out, I suspected he’d be more than a little angry with me.

At least I didn’t have to worry about my agent bailing out on me until
after
the auditions. A good agent in Los Angeles was hard to find, and Dominic was among the best. He didn’t give up on his actors and actresses, not without just cause, and not until a project was over.