Poor Little Bitch Girl Read online

  “Do you still have your gun room downstairs?” I continued.

  “Huh?” Felix said, quite startled.

  “Excuse me?” said Ralph, also somewhat surprised.

  “Your gun room,” I repeated.

  “What gun room?” interrupted Felix, almost spitting out a mint.

  “How do you know about that room?” Ralph demanded, shooting me a very action movie-star-ish suspicious look.

  At least I finally had his attention. “Your daughter Annabelle and I used to be friends,” I volunteered. “We were at school together.”

  Now it was Felix’s turn to shoot me a look – a look that said, “How come I’m only just finding this out?”

  “You and Anna were friends?” Ralph asked as if to say, “How is that possible?”

  “Yes, we hung out for a short time.”

  “And you came to my house?”

  I noticed he said “my house,” not “our house.” Interesting.

  “That’s right,” I said, feeling that I was the one being questioned.

  “So you’re saying that my daughter took you into my private gun room?” he went on, his tone verging on outraged that she would do such a thing.

  “She was probably showing off on your behalf,” I answered. “You know how kids are.”

  Ralph shook his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

  I took the time to study his face. It was definitely a face meant for the big screen. Larger than life and craggy, with a strong jawline and enormous white teeth. Ralph Maestro was handsome in that older action movie-star kind of way. He possessed a Harrison Ford, Bruce Willis vibe. Kind of sexy if you’re into older dudes. Actually I’m not. I prefer them young and way hotter than this old guy.

  “Showing off on my behalf, huh?” Ralph said at last.

  “Well . . .” I ventured. “Like I said – you know how kids are.”

  “No, I don’t,” he sneered, curling his lip. “How are they?”

  Ralph Maestro was being facetious. His beautiful wife was lying dead upstairs, and he was behaving like a major asshole without anything on his mind except being pissed at a couple of kids who’d invaded his privacy years ago.

  I shut up, because I knew if I said anything more I’d be history. And I wanted to be involved in this case – it had major potential.

  Later in the day, the press descended. Not that they could get in the house or even up the long, winding, fake-snow-decorated driveway. But the security cameras showed that they were out on the street with a vengeance. TV camera trucks, on-air talent with hand-held microphones and plenty of pissy attitude, paparazzi darting around like a trail of furtive ants, with their long-lens cameras at the ready.

  Bad news travels fast, and this happened to be a juicy story. A brutal shooting of a beautiful woman. Two mega movie stars. Money. Fame. Hollywood. Oh yeah – this one’s a surefire headline grabber.

  I’d better remember to call my parents. There is nothing they like less than catching a glimpse of me on the TV news without fair warning. My dad was horrified when I became a highly paid defense attorney. He thinks I should have followed the path of righteous prosecutor and eventually become a D.A.

  I obviously didn’t agree with him.

  Defending people is a challenge, and I always get off on challenges. Besides, my dad is a civil prosecutor – an excellent one – so when I decided to study law I did not want the comparison. There is nothing more soul-destroying than attempting to follow a member of one’s family into the same profession.

  The thing is, I love my dad – but doing the same thing? No way.

  As we walked down the winding driveway on our way out, Felix gave me one of his long penetrating looks. “Well?” he asked, clearing his throat. “I always rely on your intuition. What do you think, Denver? Did he do it or did he not?”

  I took my time answering because I honestly wasn’t sure. And whether or not Ralph Maestro had killed his wife really didn’t matter, since we were the defense team; we had a job to do, and that was to protect Ralph Maestro at all costs.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered hesitantly. “He certainly doesn’t seem at all broken up.”

  Felix popped another mint, still not bothering to offer me one.

  “They won’t arrest him,” he said knowingly. “Too many connections.”

  “She must’ve had connections too,” I pointed out.

  “Ah, but she’s dead.”

  Oh really, who would’ve guessed?

  “We’ll keep a sharp watch on this one,” Felix added. “Be on alert. I gave Ralph your cell-phone number. Told him he can reach you at any time of the day or night.”

  Thanks a lot! Why am I on call? What’s wrong with your cell phone?

  “The press’ll go to town on this one,” Felix continued. “But I can guarantee that Ralph won’t be arrested.”

  Note to self: If I ever decide to murder someone I must first become famous, then make sure to commit the crime in Beverly Hills. Movie stars can get away with anything. Or so it seems.

  The crowd of press people jumped when they spotted us emerging through the imposing wrought-iron gates. Felix is well-known to the media, and since my two high-profile cases, I like to think that I am too. However, I always follow my boss’s lead, and his lead is to hold up a firm hand and announce in sonorous tones, “No comment, people. Kindly back up.”

  I know it’s shallow, but I kind of get off on seeing my photo in the newspapers.

  “Hey, Denver,” one of the on-air reporters called out. “What’s your opinion on this?”

  I did a fast double-take. I’d been checking this guy out on TV for the past few weeks. He was new to the L.A. job from a popular news show in San Diego. Now here he was in the flesh. And I have to admit that the flesh was quite tempting for a girl who’s been on a sex-starvation diet. He’s Latino with a buff bod, smoky eyes and a cocksure grin. Even better, he felt comfortable enough to use my name – and that boosted my ever-needy ego.

  I decided that he’s probably great in bed. Latino men usually are – or so I’ve heard.

  Hmm . . . perhaps the time has come to put it to the test.

  “Sorry, I don’t have a take yet,” I replied, incurring a disapproving glance from Felix, who would prefer me to stay silent.

  “When you do, how about giving me a call?” suggested Mr Latino, swiftly handing me his card.

  We’d reached Felix’s car, a conservative black Bentley. My boss got in, and with a terse, “See you back at the office,” he took off.

  I turned around and headed for my four-year-old silver Camero, a twenty-first birthday present from my parents.

  “Nice wheels,” Mr Latino murmured, trailing me curbside.

  I took a surreptitious glance at his card. Mario Riviera. Quite a memorable name.

  I couldn’t help wondering if there was anything else about him that was memorable, what with sex being on the missing list and all.

  I think I need it – in fact, I damn well know I do.

  “Thanks,” I said casually, aware that he smelled of grass and sweat, a potent combination. I imagined that he must’ve been running or lifting weights when he was called to work, and he’d not taken the time to shower.

  The very thought turned me on.

  “How about we get together for a drink later,” Mario suggested, moving closer. Obviously he was as into me as I was to him.

  Hmm . . . a drink – isn’t that a euphemism for sex and “Let’s get it on”?

  Of course it was – so why not? Because I am certainly ready, especially as Josh has moved on like a freaking express train, and here I am fast becoming a nun!

  Enough is enough. I’m ready for action, and plenty of it. So bring it on, Mister Reporter.

  “Sure,” I answered casually, thinking, He’s way hot, I’m horny, and we’re both available.

  Or are we?

  I quickly checked his hand. No ring.

  Okay then – as far as I’m concerned it�
��s a done deal.

  Chapter Seven

  Carolyn

  Carolyn Henderson drove to her apartment in a happy daze. She’d told him. She’d actually told him.

  It was such a relief. And the greatest news of all was that Gregory had agreed with her that it was for the best and that he would finally inform his wife of their affair – an affair that would eventually culminate in marriage!

  Well . . . he hadn’t actually mentioned marriage, but she was sure that when his divorce came through, and he was a free man, and their baby was born . . . that yes, marriage was definitely in their future.

  She smiled to herself, almost running a red light.

  God! She was so excited. She’d been sleeping with this man for over a year, and during that time he’d made countless promises to leave his wife, never keeping one of them. Soon it was about to happen, and she was dizzy with anticipation.

  Of course, she wasn’t naïve, there was always the possibility that he could break his promise yet again.

  But this time she was positive he wouldn’t. This time there was a baby to consider, and the fact that she was carrying his child made all the difference.

  This time she was home free.

  * * *

  “Fucking devious cunt!” Gregory Stoneman muttered under his breath as he got into his dark-blue Lexus and set off on his drive home. Did Carolyn honestly believe he would leave a woman like Evelyn for a snip of a girl like her? She might possess a great set of tits, but Carolyn Henderson was a nobody, a nothing – whereas Evelyn was cultured, a woman of great style, a well-established Washington hostess, and even more important, she hailed from a powerful and extremely affluent family, the Bamberrys.

  Evelyn’s father was a Judge, her mother the heiress to a textile fortune. The Bamberrys represented old money and excellent breeding.

  Gregory would never give that up, especially as he came from more modest stock. His father was a car salesman, and his mother was a former nurse. Quite frankly he regarded his family as an embarrassment, and the less he saw of them the better.

  Meeting and marrying Evelyn had boosted his political career no end, allowing him to move into social circles that before Evelyn had been beyond his reach.

  Apart from that, he had his children to consider – eleven-year-old Clarence and seven-year-old Miranda. The two shining stars in his otherwise complicated life.

  Well . . . only complicated because of his needy assistant pulling the oldest stunt in the business. “I’m pregnant,” she’d said – the words no man wants to hear from a woman he’s banging on the side.

  What to do now?

  Offer her money for an abortion?

  No, he understood Carolyn well enough to know that she would never agree to an abortion.

  Set her up in an apartment, wait until she gave birth, and have the baby adopted?

  No way would she accept adoption.

  What then?

  Carolyn Henderson wanted him to leave Evelyn and marry her. He had no doubt that was exactly what she expected him to do.

  She’d maneuvered him into a corner and now there was no escape.

  Or was there . . .

  * * *

  “Hi,” Kerri Tyson called out as Carolyn passed by on the way to her apartment.

  Carolyn stopped short. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed her neighbor emerging from the apartment opposite hers.

  Kerri was half-African-American and half-Asian. Plump and pretty with short curly hair and an appealing personality, she was a legal secretary who went through boyfriends, most of whom she found on-line, at an alarming rate.

  “You look as if you just won the lottery,” Kerri remarked. “Either that or you’re getting royally laid.”

  As Carolyn considered her answer, she wished she could tell Kerri everything. They were friends – not close – but they’d been out to dinner a few times, hit a couple of bars, exchanged ex-boyfriend horror stories.

  “Wouldn’t that be nice,” Carolyn sighed. “But unfortunately, it’s not true.”

  Kerri raised an eyebrow. “No new stud on the horizon?” she inquired. “’Cause you got the glow goin’.”

  “It must be my new make-up,” Carolyn answered modestly. “NARS Blush. It’s called Orgasm. It’s obviously working.”

  “You bet your ass it is,” Kerri giggled. “Got to grab me some of that. If you’re free tomorrow, maybe we can hit the mall. Whaddya think?”

  “I’ll have to let you know,” Carolyn replied, stalling. Now that she’d told Gregory she was carrying his baby, she expected things to change. Even if he didn’t tell his wife immediately, he would probably want to spend more time with her.

  “Call me,” Kerri said, heading for the stairs to the street. “I’ll be home later.”

  “I will,” Carolyn said, unlocking the door to her apartment.

  God! She was so excited, she had to tell someone. But whom could she trust? Not her mother, who wouldn’t approve. Certainly not her father, who’d be shocked and disappointed in his little girl.

  Then how about Denver, her best friend since school?

  Unlike most people, Denver could keep a secret, and she’d be totally thrilled, although she’d also be major surprised since Carolyn had never mentioned that she was involved in a hot and heavy affair with the Senator.

  Oh my God! Carolyn thought excitedly. I cannot keep it to myself any longer! I’m going to tell Denver. I’ll call her tonight.

  * * *

  “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Miranda squealed, hurling herself against her father’s legs.

  “How’s my girl?” Gregory said, bending down to sweep his cute little daughter up into his arms.

  “I had a fun day at school,” Miranda announced, stroking his cheek with stubby, slightly sticky fingers. “Did you have a fun day, Daddy? Didju? Didju? Didju?”

  No, I didn’t! he wanted to scream. I had an impossible day. The worst! Although he couldn’t discount the world-class blow-job Carolyn had managed to bestow on him. Satisfying at the time, but now he regretted allowing her to touch him, because as far as he was concerned it was over, even though she did not know it.

  Just then, Evelyn floated out of the living room into the front hallway of their well-appointed house. His wife always appeared immaculate, not a white-blonde hair out of place, not a wrinkle in the chic Valentino black cocktail dress on her slim, toned body. At forty, Evelyn was a handsome woman. The problem was that she wasn’t twenty-something, and that’s what Gregory required for sex – a twenty-something girl who worshipped him. A girl who’d put his cock in her mouth and suck him dry. The same girl he’d married twenty years ago, a woman who wouldn’t dream of indulging in oral sex now.

  “How was your day?” Evelyn murmured, and without waiting for an answer she announced that they had a fundraiser to attend and he’d better shower and dress.

  The interaction between him and Evelyn was never personal. They were hardly ever intimate, as he imagined most married couples might be. The sex when it happened was becoming less and less frequent, perhaps once every two months. And it was always the same. Evelyn flat on her back with a pained expression on her face, while he did all the work.

  Evelyn never reached orgasm.

  Evelyn thought oral sex was perverted.

  Evelyn considered penises ugly and disgusting, and never cared to touch him down there.

  The truth was that Evelyn hated sex, so who could blame him for getting his kicks elsewhere?

  Nobody, that’s who.

  * * *

  Carolyn practically danced around her apartment she was so elated. Fantasy names spun around her in head. Senator Stoneman and his lovely wife, Carolyn. Mrs Gregory Stoneman. Carolyn Stoneman. They all sounded so perfect. She was ecstatic.

  Today is a magical day, she thought. Today is the beginning of my new life. I love Gregory so much, and we will be so happy together.

  Picking up her cell phone, she called Denver in L.A.
/>   No answer. Voicemail requested that she leave a message.

  Hmm . . . this was not any kind of news to announce on voicemail.

  “It’s me, Carolyn,” she said at last. “And I have something major to share with you. If you want to hear what it is, call me back. I can’t wait to talk to you, so hurry!”

  She clicked off the phone, a big smile on her face. Gregory couldn’t get mad at her for telling one person.

  Besides, he’d never find out.

  Chapter Eight

  Bobby

  Frankie had an urge to visit a strip club. Bobby didn’t. M.J. was prepared to go either way. He was a crowd pleaser.

  “Why’d you want to go see a bunch of fours in Atlantic City when you’ve got a ten at home?” Bobby said, thinking of Annabelle and how much she was into Frankie.

  Frankie was not thinking of Annabelle. He had banned all thoughts of Annabelle and her dead mother. Fuck it, he was out to have a blast.

  “Jeez, Bobby, sometimes you sound like you’re fifty years old!” he complained.

  “Yeah,” Bobby retaliated. “Maybe it’s ’cause I’m smart.”

  “Says who?” Frankie said, pulling a face.

  “Says me,” Bobby replied, throwing a playful fake punch at Frankie’s stomach.

  “Can you two pull it together an’ decide what’s happenin’?” M.J. insisted. “I’m freakin’ starvin’ here. Let’s go Asian.”

  “Good thinkin’, ’cause I’m really into Asian pussy,” Frankie leered. “Didja know that Asian girls are screamers. I likee!”

  “You likee if it has a pulse,” Bobby deadpanned.

  “And you don’t?” Frankie countered.

  “Got a hunch I’m more discerning than you,” Bobby said, grinning.

  “Yeah, so discerning you only go for the ones you can’t have. What’s that about?”

  Bobby decided to ignore Frankie’s veiled comment.

  “You’re such a privileged prick,” Frankie muttered, only half-joking.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Bobby responded good-naturedly.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Frankie sighed, taking no offence. “If only I could it’d make life so much easier.”

  “C’mon, guys, we’re in a casino,” M.J. said. “You got a choice – gambling or food, so somebody make up their freakin’ mind.”