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Libby falls asleep against my chest sometime before the credits roll, and I carry her to my bed. Then I discuss the Priscilla incident with Hal, who doubles as my driver as well as my head of security. It seems at some point Priscilla—or one of her friends—rewrote my system’s security protocols to admit her 24/7. Hal has reset the system, and he’s called in his brothers, Jake and Gilly. I have him post both outside my door.
As I dress, I think about everything that's transpired between Libby and I. Everything that's been said. And I wish, for the first time, that I was a free man. Really free. I wish that I could have her. Not just for a night. She's not that kind of woman. And the crazy thing is, when I'm with her, I'm not that kind of guy.
I think about all the food I cooked for her for breakfast. I never cook. I never want to. But I want to feed Libby. I think about how I let her touch me with her eyes open. I let her look at me, and I didn't feel anxious like I do with other women. In fact, it's the opposite; I like looking into her blue eyes. I think about her up there in my bed, and I'd give anything to be there with her. Kiss her. Fuck her. Fly around the world with her. I'd like to take her to New Zealand. The Alps. Some place that's as beautiful as she is.
Instead, I get my gun and call Marchant to see if any of our people have a lead on Priscilla’s location. He tells me no one has she's still M.I.A.—so I head out to try to find her. I check out with Hal and open my front door, already thinking about how I'll get the little recorder stashed in my glove box and put it in my pocket, just in case I actually find Priscilla and can get her talking.
I lock the door, turn around, and jump as a slender arm encircles my waist.
“Hunter.”
Priscilla! Now that's a surprise. She’s standing in the nook where a huge potted palm blooms, right beside my door. The porch light is on, and in the amber glow, her hair looks white, her eyes almost black.
“Priscilla,” I growl. I want to throttle her right here and now, but I need the recorder to make any of this worth while. I push her against the side of the house, pressing my palm against her ribcage, and look into her coy face. “You and I need to go talk. Somewhere not here.”
I guess she sees the rage twisting my face, because her eyes widen, and she arches up against the stone wall. “I didn't pick you, Hunter,” she says quickly. I try not to let my surprise show as she leaps right into a confession. “Not for anything but sex. I wanted you beside me on screen. We look great together. That’s all I cared about.”
“So it was all Lockwood?” I murmur.
She leans up to kiss me, but I move my hand from her chest to her throat. “Don't try that shit,” I hiss.
She sticks her hands up like I'm holding her at gunpoint. She’s worried, and I’ve never seen her worried. Is this a game? Why is she here? Why is she talking? “He knew I had drugged you that night, and he wanted to fuck Sarabelle. She never took him as a client. He didn't like that.”
“So he—what? What did he do to her?” I need to know, but I don’t want to know, and that just stokes my anger. I wrap my fist around Priscilla's blouse and tug her down the stairs, toward my truck. She slips and falls, but I'm not thinking clearly. I don't care if she gets scraped up. I jerk her forward.
“Hunter, stop!” She shrieks, and it's loud enough to wake the fucking dead. “Listen to me! Listen to me!” She wraps her arms around a rock that's in the flower bed by the bottom stair and looks up at me with her mouth hanging half open. “I can't control what he does, Hunter!”
“What did he do?” I growl.
“He slipped into the room. She was asleep and you were out. I think he knocked her out and then he—” She swallows. “It's disgusting—I know it is, but I had nothing to do with it!”
“And then what?” “You can't expect me to tell you anything extra,” she says, haughty again. “You've made your bed, and now you'll have to lie in it. You took her out to the car and put her in! I asked you to, and you did it without question!”
“No I didn't.” That's ridiculous. “I would never do anything like that! You're a goddamned liar.”
“You did it,” she snaps.
“Because I was fucking drugged!” I lunge down and grab her by the wrists, dragging her toward my truck.
“I recorded you on my camera phone, and I’ve already delivered a copy of the file to Lisa from the FBI. She has your cuff link, too! Did you know that? And your real mother? Roxanne the escort? The Los Angeles Times knows about her, too. In fact, about now they should be learning a lot about you, Hunter West. I came upon a whole stockpile of your history.”
“You bitch.” I want to slap her, but I'm so shocked, my hands stop working and I let her go.
She dances out of reach, blonde hair flying around her face. “It was so easy,” she laughs. “What I told you was true—we didn’t plan this. But Lockwood has a cousin on the police force. Once he heard that they were really going to make a case out of this, he remembered how you helped us that night and he reached out to me. At that point I was pissed off.” She gestures at her body, laughing shrilly. “If you think you're too good for me, I'm too good to help you, so I helped him set you up.”
I lunge forward, grabbing her wrist, and she shrieks again as I drag her toward my truck. “Let me go!”
I fumble with the “unlock” button on my key as I try to keep her talking. “I still don’t understand why you’re helping him at all.”
“Who?”
“Lockwood! Are you in love with him?” I know she's not before she snorts, and I'm correct that the ridiculous question will elicit an elaboration.
“In love with that disgusting boar? Of course not!”
I swing the door open, tightening my grip around Priscilla's forearm. I'm going to get this shit recorded if it kills me.
“So it's the governor,” I murmur as I jerk her toward the cabin.
