Deadline, p.5
Deadline, page 5
Her mother answered on the second ring.
“Mom, it’s me again. I’m still parked at Hot Wired, and I haven’t seen Chris or Laura. I sent a couple of e-mails, tons of text messages, and I’ve called his house so many times I’ve overloaded his answering machine to the max. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. I’m sorry I hung up on you earlier. I feel like ...” She wanted to say she felt like her world was slowly falling apart, but refrained. She didn’t want to worry her mother or godmothers any more than she already had. Abby was certain they were more than concerned about the situation with Chris and the missing actress.
“Apology accepted. Now, it’s after one in the morning, Abby. Why don’t you call it a night? I hate the thought of you being out there all alone, with all this uncertainty.”
“I’m fine, I promise. But I am getting concerned about Chris. It’s not like him not to respond to text messages. I’ve sent so many of them, he’ll probably think I’ve gone stark-raving mad, like a stalker or something. He still hasn’t checked his e-mail, either, and that is really odd.”
“Do you want me to come to Brentwood?” Toots asked.
Abby had purchased a nice little ranch house in Brentwood. Before she’d been appointed editor in chief at The Informer, she had spent most of her free time remodeling her house. It had turned out quite nicely.
“No, it’s too far for you to drive. It’s late. I’m going home, Chester hasn’t had his dinner yet. I will be fine. I just wanted to check in and tell you I was sorry.”
“Promise to call me when you get home? I need to know you’re safe before I can even think about going to bed. Your godmothers are still awake, too.”
“Of course I will,” Abby said, then clicked off.
Her mother was just as concerned about Chris as she was though their lines of thinking weren’t the same. Abby was wondering about the possibility that Chris and Laura had taken off for a romantic holiday. As an entertainment attorney, Chris found himself escorting some of Hollywood’s most sought after actresses to all sorts of events. He’d told her more than once it was a job requirement that he wasn’t very fond of, but Abby wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. What guy in his right mind wouldn’t want a sexy starlet hanging on his arm? Chris denied any attraction to the women he escorted, telling her it was only work to him and that there were lots of other things he would rather do with his evenings, but Abby still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced. Yes, she and Chris had gone out on more than one occasion. Yes, she was very attracted to him. And she thought he was attracted to her, too. While neither claimed exclusive rights to the other, Abby was pretty sure Chris felt the same way she did. Abby sometimes felt like they were playing a game. You show me your feelings, and I’ll show you mine, yet both remained poker-faced, waiting for the other to make the first move.
As she pulled out of her parking place across from Hot Wired, she told herself that if she found Chris, she would tell him how she felt. Well, only if he wasn’t involved with the missing actress. If he was, she would continue in her role as nagging younger stepsister even though she’d never really had a sibling-like relationship with him. He’d gone away to college before Abby was old enough to get to know him. By the time he graduated from college, she was in college herself, studying for a career in journalism.
And now she was out searching for him like some lovesick teenager. The streets of Los Angeles had settled down for a few hours as the has-beens, wannabes, and were-nots partied in the dozens of clubs LA offered. The club-hopping traffic would only last for an hour or so more. Come sunrise, all the main highways would have bumper-to-bumper traffic and the infamous LA freeways would become elongated parking lots if a single car were to overheat, stall, or become involved in an accident. It was the perfect time for her to call it a night.
She wound her way through the back streets, heading toward the main highway to Brentwood. Chester, head on his giant paws, yawned. “When we get home, I’m making you bacon and eggs, Buddy.”
Poor Chester, Abby thought. He was the best friend a girl could ask for. Didn’t matter that he was a German shepherd, he was her family. He hadn’t made a sound all night, except for the one time she let him out to take care of business. He recognized the word home. Rising in the seat, he peered out the open window, searching for the house. When Abby pulled her bright yellow MINI Cooper into the driveway, Chester growled.
She unlocked the dog’s seat belt, and he bounced out of the car, running to the backyard. She waited at the gate while he did his thing. If it were daylight, Chester would be searching for squirrels, but for some reason, at night the desire to chase the bushy-tailed rodents completely disappeared.
Inside, with the doors safely locked and Chester at her heels, Abby flipped on several lights as she walked to the kitchen. The solid cherry floors she’d sanded herself glistened in the light, warm and comforting. She pulled down the shades on the French doors that led outside to an enclosed courtyard. She wasn’t going to give a Peeping Tom an opportunity, not that she ever had that particular problem, but with everything that was happening, she was on edge.
Her mother’s warning was ringing in her ears, and she had to admit it was possible there was someone out there abducting young women. That led to the thought that if there was, maybe he or she only went after Hollywood starlets. If so, she was perfectly safe and could relax again. Mentally kicking her butt for such a terrible thought, she tossed her purse and Chester’s leash on the small kitchen table.
“I promised you bacon and eggs, and I’m going to join you.” Realizing she hadn’t had a bite to eat since lunch, Abby removed a bright yellow bowl from the cupboard, along with eggs, bacon, and milk from the refrigerator. Using a cast-iron skillet that had a permanent place on the top of her stove, she sprayed the skillet liberally with cooking spray and turned the heat on under it, cracked five eggs into the yellow bowl and added a dash of milk. She whipped the mixture into a frothy pale yellow foam, carefully placed four slices of bacon on a paper towel, tossed it in the microwave, then poured the eggs into the sizzling skillet.
Chester stood beside her, his black nose twitching.
“Smells good, huh?” Abby said as she removed the bacon from the microwave. She stirred the eggs until they were plump and fluffy. “This has to cool, Bud; I like it hot, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wait a few more minutes.” She scooped a large portion of scrambled eggs onto a paper plate, along with three slices of bacon, and placed it inside the freezer.
She took her plate to the table, Chester still at her heels. While she waited for Chester’s dinner to cool in the freezer, she booted up her laptop, hoping against hope to find a reply from Chris. Her cell phone had died as soon as she’d hung up with her mother. Maybe Chris had tried to get in touch with her. She looked over her shoulder at the light on her answering machine, but the red light was as still as the night—not one single message. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
She removed Chester’s meal from the freezer and transferred it from the paper plate to his doggy dish. Chester was very finicky and would only eat from his dish. He wolfed down the bacon and eggs in a matter of seconds, then took several loud slurps of water from his bowl.
“I like a man with table manners,” Abby said to him. His noisy lapping always made her smile.
After she was finished eating, Abby checked her e-mail, still hoping for a response from Chris. She skimmed down the list. Nothing. Checking to see if he’d even read her e-mails, again she was disappointed when she saw the NOT READ icon on her screen.
“This is not good, Chester. It’s been three days since Laura went missing. If Chris was last seen with her, has he also been missing for three days?” Abby often spoke to Chester as though he could understand her.
As he always did, he tilted his furry head to the side, his deep brown eyes locking with hers. “Woof!”
“Whatever that is in doggy-speak, I agree.”
What Abby wished she knew was if Chris had been missing for three days, too. She hadn’t spoken to him in a week, so she had no clue. He worked out of his condo and didn’t have a secretary or an answering service he checked in with, so it was a distinct possibility that he was missing as well. Should she file a missing persons report? No, you had to be missing for twenty-four hours. For all she knew, Chris was kicked back on his patio watching the stars.
Maybe he’d removed himself from the world of instant connection for a few days. He and Abby had discussed that very thing at great length. While both admitted they did not know how they survived before the World Wide Web, both agreed it was sometimes too invasive. They’d talked about taking a break from the high-tech world, maybe going away for a few days without a cell phone or a laptop. But that was as far as they’d ever gotten, talking about it. Maybe Chris had taken the much-needed break. Maybe he was simply holed up in his condo with the telephone unplugged.
Deciding there was only one way to find out, she tossed her paper plate in the garbage can. “Chester, my friend, we are going to do a little wee-morning snooping.” Picking up his leash from the table, along with her purse, Abby headed for the front door. Chester followed. “I’ll pay you back big-time for this. When things calm down, we’ll go visit Coco.” At the mention of the little Chihuahua, Chester ran in circles, jumping up and down as though he were performing in a circus act.
“Soon, Buddy. Right now, I need your protection. Just in case.” With that, she left, not bothering to turn off the lights. The hell with the electric bill. Her salary had doubled since she’d taken the position of editor in chief. She could afford to leave the lights on for a few hours without worrying about the meter going crazy.
Back inside her MINI Cooper, Abby fastened Chester’s seat belt, then her own. She’d grabbed her cell phone charger on the way out and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. When she took her phone out of her purse and plugged it in, she saw the lightning bolt in the upper right-hand corner of the screen, indicating a positive charge.
Hoping she wasn’t embarking on another wild-goose chase in the same twenty-four-hour period, Abby sped off into the night to search for the man who, even though he wasn’t aware of it, held her heart in his hands. At least she didn’t think he was aware of it. But that didn’t matter. What did matter was that she find Chris. As the hours and minutes passed, she was becoming more creeped out than ever.
Chris’s condo wasn’t all that far from Brentwood. That time of night, or rather morning, it would only take twenty minutes to get there. Abby’s schedule was so screwed up, she knew she’d never be able to work a normal nine-to-five job. Writing for the tabloid press required one to be ready in a moment’s notice. Being in Hollywood meant most of the breaking news was late at night or in the wee hours of the morning.
Seventeen minutes after she left her house, she was pulling into the condo’s guest parking. Hooking Chester’s leash to his collar, she led him out of the car on the driver’s side. One door slamming that time of morning was enough. Hopefully, Chris didn’t have nosy neighbors.
Abby led Chester down the narrow sidewalk. Careful not to make any unnecessary noise, she practically tiptoed up the two flights of stairs. The sound of Chester’s nails clicking on the cement was magnified in the still night air. When they reached Chris’s condo, before knocking on the door, she peeked inside the small pane of glass at the top of the door.
She couldn’t see much. There were no lights on, but she could tell by the moonlight filtering through that the sliding glass doors were open. Smiling and ready to kick his butt and take names later for causing her to worry, Abby gently knocked on the door so she wouldn’t startle him. It was three in the morning, the witching hour, as Sophie referred to it, not the most appropriate time to pop in and say hello.
When there was no response to her light knocking, she knocked harder and was surprised when the door opened. “Chris?” She pushed the door to the side but remained outside. Seeing that she was right, and the sliders were open, Abby entered the condo. “Chris, are you here?” She waited for a minute, thinking he might be in the shower. When there was still no response, she pulled on Chester’s leash. “Come on, boy,” she whispered. “I don’t feel good about this.”
Carefully, she made her way through the living room without knocking anything over, though she had to admit Chris’s furnishings were sparse; there wasn’t much she could knock over except for a couple lamps. The moonlight illuminated the terrace. Two deck chairs cast dark shadows on the terrace. Abby dropped Chester’s leash to the ground, gave a hand signal indicating he should stay, then stepped outside.
And nothing. Two chairs, a glass-topped table between them. “What the hell?” she whispered. Two half-empty wineglasses were situated on the table. She picked one up, brought it to her nose. Red wine of some kind. She strained to hear something, anything, that would give her some clue if Chris was inside his condo. If he was in bed with one of those starlets he claimed to dislike so much, she didn’t want to be the one to catch him.
Heart pumping, Abby went back inside, down the hall, and peered inside the guest bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights yet, so she ran her hands along the inside of the shower door, checking to see if anyone had showered recently. Dry as a bone. She ran her hands along the vanity. What did she hope to find? A tube of lipstick? A hairbrush? A box of tampons? Anything to indicate Chris was inside with a lover?
Her search of the guest bath produced nothing. If she were brave enough to turn on the light—she wasn’t—she would most likely find the same ugly beige guest towels, a soap dish that had three soaps in the shape of a seashell, and a box of Kleenex. She remembered this from the last time she was here; she recalled thinking he could use a decorator’s services.
In the darkness, she couldn’t see anything out of place, so she continued her search. She knew Chris used the second bedroom as an office. Cautiously, she turned the knob, pushing the door open, and was greeted by total darkness. No wandering fish on a screen saver, no night-light, nothing, nada, zilch. Not even the moonlight filtered through the closed blinds. She stepped completely inside and walked over to his desk, which faced the wall opposite the window. His MacBook Pro and MacBook Air were on the desk. Abby knew Chris well enough to know that, as a rule, he didn’t take off without one of his precious Mac notebooks.
Weird.
She left the office, careful to close the door behind her. Next on her list, the master bedroom. She heard Chester’s collar rattling in the living room. Damn! She’d told him to sit, and Chester always followed her commands unless ...
She hurried back to the living room to find Chester waiting by the front door. “You’re kidding, right?” Chester never stood by any door unless he had to pee.
The German shepherd growled. “Okay. Just give me a minute. You stay,” she said before racing back down the hall.
She was taking a big risk by sneaking into Chris’s bedroom, but she’d worry about the consequences later. If she saw he was in bed alone, well, she might join him. Then kick his ass for causing her to worry. If he was in bed and had company, Abby knew her heart would shatter into a million little pieces.
She drew a deep breath once she was outside Chris’s bedroom. Maybe she should knock first, just in case he wasn’t alone. Maybe she should turn around and go home. Forget about Chris. Forget about Laura Leigh.
Abby’s reporter’s instincts were on high alert. She couldn’t walk out of there without some kind of answer. So, before she had a chance to change her mind, she took the brass knob in her hand, and slowly began to turn it to the right.
Before she could turn the knob all the way and thrust the door aside with the expertise of a professional prowler, a buzzing in her hip pocket almost caused her to have a heart attack. Quickly she took her cell phone out of her pocket. It could be Chris. She looked at the caller ID.
Shit, shit, and double shit!
It was her mother. She had to answer.
Chapter 5
Abby punched the bright green TALK button on her cell phone. In a hushed whisper, she said, “Mom, I’ll call you back.” She hung up, then turned her phone off. For all she knew, Chris and some skanky chick were in the bedroom laughing at her at that very moment. She’d explain everything to her mother as soon as there was something to explain.
That was when she remembered she’d promised her mother she’d call as soon as she got home. Poor Mom and the three Gs. They were probably imagining all kinds of terrible things. At least her mom knew she was alive. Content with that for the moment, she reached for the doorknob and, without a moment’s hesitation, turned it all the way. Pushing the door aside, Abby entered the room.
Bathed in silver moonlight, the master bedroom appeared empty. She walked over to the bed, saw it hadn’t been slept in, and breathed a sigh of relief, then shuddered at her thoughts. Just because his bed was empty didn’t mean anything other than he wasn’t in it at present. She looked inside the master bath and discovered that it, too, was empty. She yanked the shower curtain aside, just in case. Anthony Perkins’s role in Alfred Hitchcock’s blockbuster 1960 movie Psycho, which she had seen a zillion times on late-night TV, had left its mark on her. She rarely looked at a shower curtain without imagining someone behind it. Childish, yes, but still frightening. There was, of course, nothing in Chris’s shower except the usual array of items. Soap, shampoo, a razor, and a can of Edge shaving cream.
She spotted a night-light on the side of the vanity, and, without giving it another thought, flipped the switch. A warm, golden glow filled the bathroom. Abby looked around, searching for evidence of a female. She opened the medicine chest. A tube of Crest toothpaste, a blue-and-green-striped toothbrush, a bottle of Tylenol PM, and a small tube of Neosporin antibiotic ointment. Nothing mysterious here, she thought, closing the medicine cabinet and turning off the night-light. She glanced around the grayish black room. Chris was definitely not at home.
