She laughed, though the sound was bitter as she glanced out the window to the parking lot and grounds, where less than a week before a throng of Jonas’s fans had gathered. She saw her reflection in the glass, a ghostly image, but she refused to be haunted. Not anymore. She’d do whatever it took to find her way back to a life she was supposed to live, a life her sister had tried to preserve for her all those years ago. Her heart twisted when she thought of Marlie and tried to take solace that finally she was at peace.
She rapped on the wooden window sill for good luck, then turned around to face this new man in her life. “About those fans,” she said, “I guess you’re just not popular.”
“Fine by me.” He quirked a dark eyebrow. “And how are you doing?”
She wanted to say she was okay, that she was doing great, but that would be a lie, and they both would know it. “Managing.” She walked closer to the bed. “Still camping out at your place. My house is still a center for the gruesomely curious, those who love the macabre. So I thought it would be best if Rhapsody and I could crash at your place until all the media hype slows down. If it’s okay with you.”
“It’s fine. Great. When I get out of here, you can be my nurse.”
“In your dreams. But you can be my shrink.”
“Oh. God. That’s a dark thought.”
“The worst,” she agreed but scared up a smile. They had been few and far between in the last couple of days. She’d been shattered on the mountain, losing both Jonas and especially Marlie, but she’d tried in the last couple of days to pull herself together, to ignore the press, to turn off the TV and her phone, to concentrate on the fact that now she knew the truth, as grisly and ugly as it was, and now she could move forward.
With Tate.
Without Tate.
Whatever it took, she would pull herself together.
Somehow.
“So will it?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. “Will the hype slow down?”
“God, I hope so. Faiza has been all over my case, begging me to stay with her, at the house in the West Hills, but I think that would only be worse. She’s already hooked up with someone in Hollywood who wants to do another story, or a sequel to what happened twenty years ago or something. She’s all excited. Over the moon. Her boyfriend Roger found the guy, apparently went looking for him the very day you and I were dealing with Marlie and Walter. He hopped on a flight to LA and connected with a producer one of the guys in his band knew. Since then the producer has talked to Alex Rousseau, the attorney, and Mia Long.”
“So are you going to do it?”
“With Auntie Fai?”
“Yeah?”
“She sure wants me to. The producer has called, but I think I’ll pass.” She sidled closer to the bed, thought about how her aunt had used and abused her over the years, but again, pushed those conflicting thoughts aside. For now. “I’ve got a problem with working with her. You see, I’ve already committed to a book deal with this reporter. He’s a little on the shady side,” she said, and saw one side of Tate’s mouth lift. “I think he would even go so far as to pretend to be run over by a half-crazed female just to get a story, but there’s just something about him that makes me think I should throw in my lot with him.” She squinched up her face as if she was thinking really, really hard. Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh, now I remember! Maybe it’s because he took a bullet for me.” At that thought, of Tate leaping in front of her as Walter had fired, she felt tears collect in her eyes and her throat caught. She cleared it. “Anyway, I think I might . . . you know, go with him. We had a deal.”
“We did,” he said and his own voice sounded gruff. “Kara,” he said, his voice low. “Stay at the house. Stay with me.” His grabbed her wrist, his fingers firm and warm. “We’ll figure everything out.”
“Everything?” She laughed. “I don’t know if it’s possible.”
“Let’s find out.” His eyes held hers. “What did your doctor say?”
She, too, had spent two nights in the hospital, where she was examined, physically and mentally, and where a psychologist talked to her, a psychologist who had tracked down Dr. Zhou and her associate. Antianxiety drugs had been prescribed and she’d been released, though she was still under a doctor’s care. But she played it down. “My doctor?” she repeated. “What does she say? Hmmm. Well, mainly the usual, you know. That I have anxiety issues, and that I should be on medication, that I’ve been through all this trauma and . . . well, it’s nothing I haven’t heard all my life, it’s just fresh. New stuff to deal with.”