“Rock and roll. It’ll be like old times.”
Neil thought of the ones who didn’t make it home. Let’s hope not.
As much as Neil wanted to leave the acting to the man Karen had just married, he needed to step up and put an end to any romantic ideas Gwen had about him. He was going to play with her mind and break anything that might have been between them.
He had to.
His conversation with Smiley reminded him why men like Neil didn’t have normal lives. Look what love cost Billy.
Two hundred Taliban soldiers armed to their teeth, willing to blow themselves up for their cause didn’t take Billy out…but add a woman to the mix, and his friend was dead.
The chances of finding Billy’s wife alive were less than zero.
Being responsible for his own life Neil could live with.
Not Gwen’s.
Neil worked his way to the back of the estate and let himself in the kitchen. Mary sat at the kitchen table with newspapers and glue everywhere.
“What are you doing?”
“Not cooking. I can tell you that.”
The newspaper clippings were pictures of Karen and Michael from every tabloid in LA. He noticed one of Karen and Gwen eating in an outside café.
“It’s a scrapbook for Karen. Can you tell I’m bored?”
Mary was a good woman.
“Women like these things,” Neil told her.
Mary picked up a paper and looked at the one below. “Yeah, they do.”
Gwen was art at the end of a camera lens, Neil thought.
He looked closer.
The girls were standing beside Gwen’s car. Gwen had something black in her hand.
Neil grabbed the paper.
“Hey, you’ll mess up my system,” Mary scolded.
He read the caption bellow the photo. Lady Gwen isn’t as fragile as she looks as she clears a dead crow from Karen Jones’s path.
Every muscle in Neil’s body tightened. He twisted the paper in his hands. The article had been written a week ago.
“Jesus.” Dead crows…Ravens. Rick’s words filtered in his head. They found a dead raven shoved inside Billy’s coat.
“Neil? What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got to go.” He ran from the main house to his. He checked the monitors and Tarzana feeds. Saw Gwen wearing a bathrobe and cleaning dishes.
He picked up the phone. Saw her answer it.
“Hello, Neil.”
The backyard motion detectors were fuzzy again.
“Neil?”
“What’s going on in the backyard?”
“Not this again. Remember what we talked about? A simple hello goes a long—”
“Damn it, Gwendolyn. Skip it.”
“Do not cuss at me, Neil MacBain, or I will hang up the phone. There is nothing going on in my backyard.” Now she was pissed. Something he didn’t hear very often, but at least she answered the question.
“Are the neighbors in the Jacuzzi again?” There was a light glow from beyond the reach of the monitors.
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“Go check.”
“Neil, this is silly. We both know there isn’t anyone roaming my yard.”
His hand clutched the phone so hard he heard the case around it pop. “Please, Gwen. Just check.”
Gwen turned her back to the camera in the kitchen, tossed the towel in her hand on the counter, and marched upstairs.
“This is the last time, Neil. Next time the monitor goes nutty you’re just going to have to come over here and check it out yourself.”
Gwen walked into her room and out of reach of the video monitors.
Then she screamed.
Chapter Eleven
Gwen dropped the phone and backed away from the window.
Both her naked neighbors were floating facedown in the water. Lifeless. Her body started to shake.
She needed to help them. Pull them out of the water. Call 911. Something.
“Gwen? Gwen? Fuck, Gwen?”
She heard her name. Didn’t know where it was coming from.
The phone.
She dropped to her knees and the alarm in the house suddenly started to scream.
She jumped and turned toward the door of her room. Half expecting someone to be standing in it. It was empty.
“Gwen?”
Her fingertips found the phone. “Neil?”
“Jesus, Gwen.”
“They’re dead, Neil.” Her breath came in short pants.
“Who?”
“The alarm. My alarm is going off.” Her whole body shook. What’s going on?
“I tripped the alarm from here. The police are on their way. Who’s dead, Gwen?”
She looked toward the window. “The neighbors. In the Jacuzzi. I need to see if I can help them.”
“No! Fuck. No, Gwen, listen to me! Stay inside. Stay in your bedroom. Lock the door.”
“But I can help.”
“Damn it, Gwen, no. You have to trust me. Where’s your gun?”
Gun? Why do I need the gun? It was hard to think above the screaming alarm filling her house. Neil was frantic, which wasn’t keeping her calm. Didn’t she need to be calm?
As she asked herself those questions, she opened her bedside table, found her weapon, and grasped it. “I have it.”
“Is your bedroom door shut?”
She scrambled to it, closed it with a loud bang. “It is. Do you think someone is here? Is someone here?” Was someone in her yard? She’d felt a set of eyes on her for weeks now. Did Neil know something?