Dirty Little Secrets(29)

Sydney shrugged and sat back. “No, but it doesn’t matter. That was just fucking. What we had, Alix, that was a real relationship.”

“I honestly don’t even know how to respond to that,” I said. “If you actually think that, then you’re more screwed up than I thought. So good-bye, Sydney. I’m not playing your games anymore.”

I turned when Syd spoke from behind me. “So I guess this means that you’ll be bringing me another payment in say . . . two weeks? I think twenty thousand should be more than enough. I don’t want to take all your money, you know.”

I turned back, shocked. “I can’t pay you more. I had to borrow this much just to pay you this time.”

“Well, you could always pay in other ways,” Sydney replied, his eyes roaming over me. “Say, twice a week? I mean, I know you’d hate to see those videos and photos on the web for everyone, including Derek Prescott himself, to see live and uncensored.”

I shuddered, repulsed by the idea. “No. You’re not going to whore me out.”

I turned to go when Sydney sprang from his seat on the sofa. He ran toward me and grabbed my arm from behind to stop me. “You don’t get it, do you, bitch?” Sydney asked, looking down at me with hatred and anger in his eyes. “Nobody says no to me. Nobody.”





Chapter 10





Kade




I was on the 405 heading north, skipping the more picturesque PCH in order to get back to Portland quickly while still bypassing the overcrowded center of LA. As much as I wanted to stay in Los Angeles, I had to get back to work. If anything, I had bills to pay and payroll to sign for. While Monica and Vince were good people, nobody sticks around a job where the boss takes off for a week, extends his vacation and then forgets to sign the paychecks.

I was in Northridge, just about two miles from merging back onto the 5 when my phone rang. My music, Creedence Clearwater Revival that was great for making the miles disappear, went mute as my in-dash system showed it was from Vince. “Yeah Vince, go ahead.”

“Hey boss, it sounds like you’re driving. You sure I’m okay?” he asked cautiously. “I don’t want you to get pulled over. I’ve heard the LAPD are a bunch of assholes.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’m on the Interstate, so the only thing I have to worry about is the CHP. And I’m on hands free, I just look like any other idiot talking to himself while he drives. What’s going on?”

“I’ve got more information for you. I tracked down a contact on one of those other people on Alix’s photo shoot, Karla McDonald. I gave her a call, and as soon as she heard who I worked for, she demanded to talk to you. I couldn’t get a peep out of her, but she sounded pretty frantic about it.”

“All right, I’ll give her a call. Give me a minute to get off the Interstate though, there’s an exit coming up in half a mile. Text me the number?”

“Sure thing,” Vince said. “Just be careful that you don’t get off in the wrong part of town.”

“Not an issue,” I said, hanging up. I took the exit and ended up parking next to a Catholic cemetery of all things, while in the meantime Vince sent my phone the number it needed. I quickly dialed the number, hoping that this Karla would be able to shed some light on the situation.

“Hello?” a voice with a definite Australian accent said.

“Miss McDonald? Hi, I’m Kade Prescott, my paralegal said he spoke with you earlier. I was hoping you had a minute to talk,” I said, while outside my window I watched a groundskeeper rake the grass on the other side of the fence. “I’m Alix Nova’s stepbrother.”

“I know your name, mate,” Karla replied, and it took me a second to get her accent through my phone. “Good onya to call me so quick. So from what your assistant was telling me, you want to know about the photo shoot last week.”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. When Alix came to our parents’ house, she was sporting what turned into a very large black eye. Now, she had a story about walking into some equipment. Is that true?”

“Hell no,” Karla replied, outraged and surprised. “I canna believe that bastard actually hit her though.”

“Who?” I asked, my emotions rising as I thought of Alix being the victim of violence. I had my suspicions, and for them to be confirmed . . . I kicked myself. I should have done more earlier. “Miss McDonald, please. Who are you talking about?”

“Sydney Hale,” Karla answered immediately. “He and Alix were dating up until a few weeks ago. He was the photographer for the shoot. I thought he’d been a bloody cunt during the shoot, but I never thought he’d . . . that fucker.”