“Wasn’t worth it by then. That cunt was gonna get me tossed in jail. And the daughter’s all fucked up. A fuckin’ spaz. There’s something wrong with her. She’s some kinda retar—”
He breaks off, eyes flicking to my upper lip, which is curling into a snarl I can’t control. I have to turn it into a laugh that comes out harsh and braying.
“You don’t say.”
“Yeah.” Randall takes another swallow of beer, face closing up, sitting back in his chair again.
I tipped him off. Couldn’t keep hold of myself. I’m fucking sloppy.
Where’s the old Cole when you need him?
I take a long, steady breath. Deliberately slowing my heart rate. Shelving all thoughts of Mara sleeping peacefully back at the hotel. Crushing my fury, and the sickening sense of disgust that threatens to overwhelm me every time I look at Randall’s smug face.
I clear my mind of everything but the goal.
When I do, the old Cole is right there waiting for me.
Hello, old friend.
The room sharpens. The babble around me separates into distinct conversations. I smell the hops in Randall’s beer, and note a pine sap stain on his left sleeve—evidence that he’s been out in the woods sometime recently.
I can practically hear his heart beating.
I lean forward again, taking off my cap and running a hand through my hair.
“You might be right,” I say in a conspiratorial tone. “I know one fucked-up thing about her. My boss won’t let me print it, which is a fuckin’ shame.”
Randall can’t resist this. He leans forward on his knees, too, piggy eyes glittering.
Everybody loves a secret.
“What is it?”
I look around as if making sure nobody can hear us. I already made damn sure this booth in the corner was out of sight, but it gives the proper effect.
“Guess Mara needed some cash a while back. She filmed a porn.”
“She did?”
Randall’s trying to play it cool, but I hear his breath catch. I see the way his thick hand clenches around his beer bottle.
“Yeah. Some nasty, dirty shit. She bought it back from the studio, doesn’t want anybody getting their hands on it, but you know the internet never forgets.”
“You found it?”
I grin, molars grinding in the back. “You’re damn right I did.”
Now I sit back, triumphant, sipping my own drink. Waiting for what I know is certain to follow.
Another long silence from Randall. Then the low, urgent mutter, “You think you could send that to me?”
“I’ve got it on a flash drive back at the hotel.” I take another drink of my beer, letting him squirm. Watching the flush rise up his neck. Then I put out the real lure: the one he can’t possibly resist. “Some crazy shit in some kinda schoolgirl outfit …”
He needs it now. He has to have it.
“You can send me a copy, can’t you?”
“It sounds like we’re negotiating.” I give him a smile with just enough sleaziness to seem genuine. “You got something for me? What about Mara’s dad—you know where he lives?”
“I don’t even know his name,” Randall grunts. “Tori never said shit about him.”
Damn it.
“Well, I need pictures for the article. Any old photographs, yearbooks, letters …”
“I didn’t keep any a that shit,” Randal scoffs.
“Too bad.” I pretend to give up on the idea.
Randall can’t let go of the prize. He’s licking his lips, clenching that beer like a grenade. Then he thinks of something.
“I got a picture of her mom fuckin’ some Nazi.”
I grin. “That sounds like a trade. Bring it to my hotel room.”
“Nah.” Randall shakes his head. “I can’t drive that far. I got a cabin fifteen minutes from here. You can follow me up.”
“Even better.”
15
Mara
Cole wakes me up nice and early, already looking bright-eyed and freshly showered. He doesn’t seem tired at all, but invigorated.
“Get up, sleepyhead,” he says. “Time for your TV debut.”
He’s already got blueberry scones and a latte waiting for me, both warm and fresh.
“What time did you wake up?” I say, stumbling out of bed.
I’m still a little groggy from the Ambien, though my body feels warm and relaxed.
“I didn’t sleep at all,” Cole says.
“What? Why not?”
“No point when we had to get up this early. I’ll catch a nap later if I feel like it.”