Even Villains Go To The Movies Page 9

  “Okay, I’ll see you tonight. Get to the back door of the center by nine and I’ll pick you up.”

  Angela picked up her discarded jeans and shimmied into them. “You realize how hard it’s going to be to break away, right?” she asked as a piece of paper drifted to the floor.

  “Make it happen. Love you.” Delilah hung up.

  Sometimes having a Type A personality sister was a real pain in the B. She picked up the scrap and unfolded it.

  FRIDAY 11PM – I’LL FIND YOU

  Downstairs Luiz honked the horn. Who was she meeting tonight? Besides Arktos, who she wasn’t meeting because she’d be in the wrong state. She took the stairs two at a time trying to think of names. She hadn’t worn the jeans to work, just dancing...

  The memory of Tyler’s hand fondling her brought a cold flush to her skin. A hot dance. His fingers caressing a part of her body they had no business touching. The wink as he walked away.

  Damn.

  He probably thought she’d check her pocket as soon as she left the dance floor.

  “Hey, AJ,” Aaron said as he passed her on the stairs.

  She shook herself back to the moment. “Hey.” Aaron was headed for the bike. “Where’s Luiz?”

  “She and Mikey left a couple minutes ago,” Aaron said as he reached for his helmet. “They had to stop and see his parole officer before they went to the airport.”

  Angela checked the time on her phone. “I guess I’ll have to pay for parking. There’s no way she’s going to make it back in time to give me a ride. Dang it.”

  “I can give you a ride,” Aaron’s brother said, his voice muffled by the helmet.

  “Oh?” She blushed. “It’s okay. You need to get him home. I’ll be fine, thanks.”

  “It’s no problem!” Aaron rushed to say. He practically threw the helmet at her. “You go. I’ll go study with Mia some more.”

  Angela wagged a finger. “Uh-uh. Luiz would flip out if you were here without adult supervision.”

  “We’ll sit on the front steps. Promise. It only takes an hour or so to get to the airport and back. We’ll be good.”

  Aaron’s brother sat on the bike contributing absolutely no support for her arguments. “I don’t know.”

  “Please?” Aaron begged.

  “If anything happens, I will help Luiz bury your body,” Angela warned.

  “You’re losing plausible deniability,” Aaron’s brother said. “Hop on. We’ll call it payback for the tutoring.”

  “Payment,” Angela corrected automatically. “Payment is when you reimburse someone for services rendered. Payback is when you get even with them.”

  He held out a hand. “Payback, because when you tutor my brother I spend the whole time racking my brain for a decent pickup line. You always leave me tongue-tied.”

  “Have you come up with a good one yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Try two tickets to the Shakespeare festival next month. They’re doing Much Ado About Nothing.” She put on the helmet and climbed on the back of the bike, her clothes secured in her suitcase-slash-backpack.

  “And wilt thou have me?” Over the helmet intercom his voice still sounded muffled, but she detected a note of Aaron in there. When the kid’s voice dropped another octave he’d probably be a double of his big brother.

  “Aye, and twenty such.”

  “I’m a unique man. You might have to settle for just me.” He switched lanes. “That’s all you need for a weekend getaway?”

  “I hope it’s two dresses too much.” She wrapped her arms around his waist as they coasted down the street. “Why can’t people wear jeans to parties?”

  “Not fancy enough,” he said as they merged onto the highway.

  She leaned her head down, trying not to look at the traffic all around them. “I hate not driving myself.”

  “You should have said something earlier.” He chuckled.

  It was a soothing sound. The bike was moving fast enough to create a breeze and for the first time in days she felt her skin prickle into goosebumps. Angela sighed happily.

  “You’re supposed to hold on.”

  “I am holding on.”

  “Hold me tighter.”

  She did, and they made record time to the airport.

  Aaron’s brother pulled up to the curb. “So, we have a date next month?”

  “Do you have tickets?”

  “I can have them. You’ll go even though you’ve never seen me?” He shifted nervously in his seat. “I mean...you know.”

  “Aaron talks you up a lot, but if it makes you feel better, we can go as just friends.” She held the spare helmet out. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “AJ?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “What if I want us to be more than just friends?”

  She hesitated, then smiled. “Then we’ll see how the date goes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Mom,

  Airports...have I mentioned how much I hate them? I managed to stuff all my luggage into a backpack so I could avoid check-in, but still, there’s no food. I’m starving and everyone is looking at me like I’m a lunatic because I mentioned stopping at a restaurant before going to get dressed for the thing tonight. Dinner isn’t being served until eight and we have to be ready at five for the step and repeat (whatever that is). I’m hungry now! Maybe the hotel has a minibar with candy I can steal. I can always dream.

  Your ravenous daughter,

  Angela

  Angela held her breath as Amarilla tightened the last strap of the lime green dress in place on her arm. “It’s official, I’m a walking advertisement for the carnival.”

  “I’m wearing bright orange.”

  “It suits you.” Angela twisted a few times. “You can’t see any naughty bits, can you?”

  Amarilla tilted her head. “In that dress it’s all naughty, but there’s no nip slip. Relax.” She rested her hands on Angela’s bare shoulders. “It’s just dinner.”

  “Plus a million people with microphones and cameras.” She tried to tug the bust line up a little. “If I lean forward I’m going to fall out. This dress was not designed with any regard for my personal modesty.”

  Amarilla grinned and shrugged. “Don’t lean forward.”

  “Ladies.” Jacob walked into the room without knocking and spun around in his raspberry-colored suit. “Aren’t we a delicious looking confection?” He winked at Amarilla and then gave Angela a once-over. “I would love to see that dress rumpled on the floor.”

  “So would I, but not next to your suit,” Angela muttered. “Where are my shoes?”

  Amarilla grimaced, wiggling a foot. “The cute white ones with the low heel?”

  Angela glared down at Amarilla’s feet. “You stole the only decent shoes. That’s mean!”

  “Here.” Jacob tossed her a pair of silver T-straps with six inch heels.

  “Ha.” Angela threw them back on the floor. “No. Not only would I tower over everyone in those, but I would fall and break my ankle.” She dumped the contents of the studio-provided shoe box onto the bed and picked through the designer torture wear. “Does anyone who designs these things actually wear them?”

  Amarilla sat on the edge of the bed and held out a pair of canary yellow shoes with fake feathers. “I don’t think so.”

  “Executive decision time,” Angela said. “I’m wearing flip flops.”

  “You can’t wear flip flops on the red carpet!” Amarilla protested.

  “My skirt will cover my feet,” Angela replied stubbornly. “It’s flip flops or barefoot.”

  Jacob stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Go barefoot. If someone gets a picture they’ll say you’re quirky. Flip flops will get you in trouble.” He clapped his hands. “We’ve got to go or we’re going to be late.”

  Angela grabbed her purse. “I feel like a zoo exhibit. All we need is a parrot and my day will be complete.”

  They were ushered down a roped-off sidewalk into a netted pavilion
in front of the conference center. Someone had done their best to turn a quarter-acre of urban environment into a flower-strewn meadow, complete with babbling stream. Butterflies flitted under bright lights.

  Jacob bumped her shoulder. “Don’t stare. Last year they constructed a huge aquarium so that it looked like we were under the sea.”

  “Lots of mermaid gowns,” Amarilla added. “I’d just signed my contract so I wound up in this hideously bright pink sequined thing.” She shuddered in mock horror.

  Jacob took her hand and squeezed gently. “This is easy. We stop at each station, smile, chitchat with whoever is standing around, and then move to the next. When we get to the door we can go inside and relax.”

  “Why are we doing this again?” Angela tried to pull herself in, fighting to ignore all the emotions swirling around her. This was a noisy group, a mob fueled by obsessions and hate. Her head started throbbing. She squeezed Jacob’s hand tightly. “I don’t want to do this.”

  “You’ll be fine. Amarilla and I will protect you from those mean ol’ cameras,” Jacob said as he put a hot hand on her back.

  She pulled away from him as she started to sweat. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Amarilla rearranged the strap covering the scar on her arm. “Fake happy. Big smiles, eyes wide open. Fake it.”

  Angela allowed herself to be swept along in the stream of starlets being photographed. She smiled as she burned under the lights. When the cycle of photography finally led to the main entrance, she went looking for the director. Patrick and Geoff Swendon were taking advantage of the open bar on the foyer. “Mr. Swendon?”

  Both of them turned to her. Patrick, the director of Fractured, smiled. “Did you survive?”

  “No, not at all, I feel so sick. Can I go home now?”

  “Oh?” Patrick fixed a flyaway hair. “It’s just dinner.”

  Time was ticking and Delilah was probably tapping her toes with impatience. “I have a killer migraine and—” She covered her mouth with her hand and grimaced.

  Swendon frowned. “All right, we can cover for this. We’ll shuffle people around at our tables a bit so no one notices a gap. You need to be back here by ten forty-five, and no later. Get changed into the gown you’re wearing for the party tonight. The studio sent everyone a couple of choices.”

  Angela bit her tongue on her first response. The studio had sent her a hideous yellow leather corset and mini skirt for the first red carpet. It probably went with the canary shoes. “Yes, sir. I’ll be back. I just need to close my eyes for a little bit. All those bright lights...” She trailed off into a shrug.

  “Let’s get you out of here without a fuss. There must be an activities facilitator somewhere nearby.” Swendon pulled her into a back hall and scanned the crowd of tuxedoed waiters, most of whom were wearing their designer clothes better than the talent waiting to be served.

  Cutting through the mob like a shark was a woman in a pristine chocolate brown suit and a conservative updo. She approached them with a tight smile. “Can I help you?”

  “Miss David needs to go back to the hotel for an hour or so. Health concerns. Hush hush. We’d rather it be a discreet exit and reentry.”

  “Naturally,” the woman said. “This way, Miss David.”

  Angela followed after her sister with relief. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it in.”

  “Oh ye of little faith.” Delilah eyed her up and down. “Are you shorter than me?”

  “I’m barefoot.”

  Delilah twitched an eyebrow up in condemnation. “Somewhere in our ancestry I’m sure there’s a savage who’s proud you’ve kept up the old ways.”

  “Amarilla stole my shoes!”

  Delilah pushed open a back door and motioned to a waiting cab. “In. You can change in the backseat.”

  “Won’t the cabbie notice?”

  “Freddie? He might, but he’s my minion so it’s not like it will matter.”

  Angela climbed in and peeked at Freddie, who was indeed a warty green minion from her father’s lab. “How’d you rate a minion?”

  “I asked.” Delilah shoved a box at her. “Clothes. Put them on. Including the stockings, please. We’ll fix your hair and makeup after.”

  Angela eyed the new outfit dubiously. “I have to go back to the party.”

  “One bridge at a time, sister mine. One bridge at a time.” Delilah handed her a sheaf of papers. “The judge was taken to a party and there’s video. He looks drugged, but either way the scandal would ruin his career and marriage. Oddly enough, I think it’s the marriage that he’s most worried about losing.”

  “A nice change.” Angela sorted through the paperwork as Delilah fixed her hair. “What’s this? The earring stuff?”

  “I told you Tyler Running Fox was the one who bought it. I was able to find surveillance footage.”

  Angela turned on the dome light so she could get a better view. “That’s not Ty,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Looks like him to me. The computer made a ninety-five percent match.”

  Angela shook her head. “This is his stunt double.”

  “And you know this how?” Delilah leaned over to scrutinize. “I thought Running Fox wasn’t a person of interest in your love life.”

  “He’s not, but I’ve worked with him.” She put the papers down. “Do you ever just run on a hunch? No evidence. No data. Just... I’ve got this feeling.”

  Delilah lifted an eyebrow in distaste. “Not if I can help it.”

  Angela studied the picture again. “I’ll find some evidence then.”

  “You think Running Fox is a good guy?”

  “I don’t think he’s a criminal.” She handed the picture back to Delilah. “That’s Mikey, my next door neighbor. He promised his sister that he would clean up his life. There was a new job, something big. It was going to make everything better. Luiz is dirt-poor, she’s counting pennies from the couch just to make ends meet. She’s saving everything she can to send her daughter to a better school. Mikey promised her she wouldn’t have to anymore, and then he was arrested for a DUI.

  “The same week the three bandits became the two bandits. I’m willing to bet Mikey was the bagman and the laundry runner. He’s Tyler’s stunt double. Someone who’s only seen Ty in the movies would probably buy it, and someone coming in with that kind of cash, it makes sense.” She shrugged. But what did it all mean?

  The taxi slowed to a stop in front of a grim detention center. “Freddie, circle the block and check for watchers,” Delilah ordered her minion.

  “Problems?” Angela asked, shucking out of her lime green pseudo-dress.

  “Everything about this screams trap. The Company has done everything in their power to draw you out. Have you checked your social media accounts?”

  “I saw. Everyone hates me.”

  “Did you see the, ‘I’ve known she’d do something like this for years!’ comments?” Delilah asked. “You met all those people in September when school started, but their accounts say differently. Someone wanted you to come and defend your good name.”

  “So why are we going to a detention center instead of meeting the judge somewhere safe?” She shimmied into the pencil skirt Delilah had given her and pulled on the blouse.

  Delilah checked herself in the mirror and smiled. “The judge was blackmailed into not giving Travys a trial by jury. Tricky, but sometimes sentencings don’t need juries. That didn’t keep The Company from presenting evidence. Travys was locked away because the judge believed he was guilty. I promised to make the blackmail disappear if he gave us a fair hearing. Presenting you as alive and well, plus the testimony of Travys, should solve everything. Off the record. On the record is a whole other mess, but I have my team working on the paper trail.”

  Angela frowned, pausing halfway into the suit coat. “I need minions.”

  Delilah handed her a makeup compact. “When we get in there, stay calm but talk fast. And don’t cling to Travys. The Company made serious accusat
ions about your relationship with him. Act distant.”

  Angela nodded, pulse hammering. Hold on, Travys. I’m coming for you.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dear Dad,

  How does Delilah rate a minion chauffeur and all I ever have are spies? I need minions who listen to me. Preferably, some that can blend in with a classroom environment.

  Going back to school soon,

  Angela

  Freddie pulled up beside the gate.

  “Show time,” Delilah said as she checked herself in the taxi mirror one last time. “Let me do the talking to start with.”

  The walk to the side door of the detention center was as dark and foreboding as the red carpet had been bright and forcefully cheerful. Angela followed her sister like an obedient puppy, eager to get in and be done. Travys could have his life back, she could have her life back, and everything would finally be over. She’d give The Company the slip and get back to what she loved.

  Delilah held the door for her. “Any weapons I should know about?”

  “I never was interested in them.”

  A night guard looked at their IDs and ran Delilah’s purse through a scanner, but he seemed unsurprised by the late hour visit.

  The judge waited for them in a small, bare room with cracked linoleum and water stains on the ceiling. “Miss Samson,” he said, holding out a hand to Delilah.

  Delilah took it and shook perfunctorily. “Judge Bronson, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for accommodating such a late meeting.”

  The judge made a dismissive gesture. “I’m old. I don’t need sleep as much as I need my curiosity assuaged.” He studied Angela as he sat down. “Is this the evidence you said you had?”

  “Indeed,” Delilah said. “This is Angela Smith, the teacher Travys Freeman was found guilty of murdering.”

  “Hello,” Angela said, braving a small smile.

  “Where have you been?”

  Delilah rested a hand on her shoulder. “She was recovering from the shock at her parents’ home in Texas. It wasn’t until my firm called her parents about the details of her burial that Miss Smith even knew there was a problem.”