“So I got a call,” Laney said, “while I was in the bath.”
“You have your phone?”
“Even bought a car charger for it in case you called.”
He shook his head. “All this time.”
“Yeah. Anyway, it’s good news.” She took a bite, chewed a moment before continuing. “It was a girl I knew a little bit, back in Chicago. I’ve been trying to reach her all week. She knew Bennett too.” “Really?”
Laney nodded. “I saw her at one of those parties in the hills a couple of years ago. Back then neither of us wanted anything to do with the past, so we didn’t talk. But I got to thinking, maybe she knows something that could help us.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she has a picture. Or maybe he forced her to do something too, something that we could use.”
“Is it safe to talk to her? You’re supposed to be dead, and you said Bennett will be watching everyone.”
“I don’t think he knows she’s here.”
“Why don’t we just go to the police?”
“No,” she said.
“Why not?”
“They’ll arrest you.”
“For what? You’re alive.”
“But you ran from them.”
“Big deal. I don’t really care at this point.”
“Okay, but what happens if they arrest you? Bennett will still be out there. And I’ll be alone.”
The thought brought him up cold.
“Look,” she said. “I’m not saying let’s not go to the police. I’m just saying, let’s not go to them yet. Let’s keep our options open.”
“Okay,” he said. “Fair enough. I’ll call down for a cab for us.”
“No,” she said. “I have to go alone.”
“No chance.”
“Daniel, she’s freaked out. The only way she’ll help is if it’s just me.”
“So I won’t go in with you—”
“Yeah, because a strange man in a cab at the end of her driveway is going to be reassuring.”
“Laney—”
“I have to do this alone.”
He drummed his fingers together. He’d just found her again, and nothing in him wanted to be parted for even a minute. On the other hand, Laney wasn’t some useless woman in a horror film. She’d been alone for the last week. And let’s not forget that she’s not the one with a broken brain. “How long will it take?”
“An hour. Maybe two.”
“You’ll be really careful?”
“Of course.”
“If anything at all seems suspicious. If someone follows you, or the girl seems like maybe she’s hiding something.”
“Trust me. I’m not going to take any risks.”
Daniel set his sandwich down, grabbed his beer, walked to the window. Stared out at the city beyond.
“I think this is the right thing to do,” Laney said from behind him. “But if you really don’t want me to, I won’t.”
It’s a big city. Bennett can’t watch all of it. And she’s right—if you go to the police, there’s a good chance that she’ll be truly on her own. Not for an hour or two, but for days, maybe weeks.
None of it did much for the fear in his belly. He raised the bottle to his lips, realized it was empty.
“Take the gun,” he said.
5
Before she left, Laney called Robert. It took her two minutes to convince him it was really her, and another five to calm him down. Finally, she cut in. “Robert, I promise, I’ll tell you everything, everything, but later, okay? Right now I need your help.”
“Of course, sorry. I’m just so . . . god, I don’t even know what the word is. What can I do?”
“Lend me your car?” Neither she nor Daniel knew how long the police would be at the Farmers Market, but it hardly seemed worth the risk. And she trusted Robert to keep quiet.
“Sweetie, you can have my car.”
Laney smiled. “Can you do me a favor and bring it to me?” “Where are you?”
“The Beverly Wilshire.”
“Wonderful place to be dead. We’re between takes, but I’ll play
the diva card.”
“No, no need. Just bring it when you’re done.” She gave him their
room number. “Leave it with the valet?”
“Wait, what? I want to see you.”
“I know. Me too. But I can’t risk it.”
“Why not?”
“We have to stay out of sight—”
“We?”
“Daniel and I.”
“Daniel.” Robert might have been saying “hemorrhoids.” “Yes. My husband?” She knew that he and Daniel had some friction. Male territorialism, heightened by the fact that the three of
them worked together. “Listen, now’s not the time. I just need your
help. Will you help me?”
“Of course. But why the secrecy? Can you at least tell me that?” “I’m sorry. I can’t, not right now.”
There was a long pause. “Are you all right, Laney?” “No,” she said. “But we’re working on it.”
By the soft lighting of the bathroom, she reapplied her port wine
stain, steadily painting on a false face. Afterward, she showed Daniel the full charge on her cell phone, the almost-full magazine of
the Sig Sauer. She rose up on tiptoes to kiss her husband. Then she
walked out of the suite and down the hall and took the elevator to the lobby and stepped out into the cheery sunlight of another
perfect Los Angeles afternoon.
All without letting one hint of the lie show on her features. You’re no longer Laney Thayer. You’re Elaine Hayes. The first
name was your mother’s; the last is your husband’s. You’re the
private side of a public person, the one who would rather spend
Saturday night playing Scrabble and splitting a bottle of red than
playing starlet and strutting a red carpet. You stand straight and
look people in the eye, but you don’t pose or preen. Your sunglasses
are regular size.
She’d repeated it to herself as she walked the streets of Beverly