Once they were back at the house, Nicole decided to do something about her wardrobe. If she was going to stay at Josh’s for a while, she needed more than a single pair of jeans and a T-shirt. What better use for the money the firm had given her? She still had seven thousand dollars left and no more intention of giving them back than she did of ever working there again. Besides, once Albee’s story came out, the firm would face so much fallout, she doubted it would survive.
Josh had to go to his office for a few hours, so she borrowed his credit card and got busy on her iPad, going straight to the Bloomingdale’s website. She treated herself to some high-end casual separates: a couple of pairs of designer jeans, some T-shirts and blouses, a cashmere cardigan, and an oversized, zip-front hoody. Then, getting into the spirit of things, she picked out some frilly bra and panty sets, a couple of stunning nightgowns and—most expensive of all—a gorgeous coral, orange, and white print robe of lightweight cashmere. She added slippers, boots, colorful running shoes, a dozen pairs of socks, and a small Kate Spade bag.
When the total reached $3,200, she decided she was done. She was just filling in the payment and delivery information when she heard a distant ringing. It took a moment for her to realize it was her disposable phone. She got up from the table and rushed to the hall closet, where she’d left her backpack with the phone inside.
It was Albee, and he sounded excited. “I talked to the editor. He’s really jazzed about this story. I’m going to work directly with him. We had to add three investigative reporters. But don’t worry. They’re real pros, used to keeping their work under wraps. You don’t have to worry about a leak.”
Nicole felt let down. She’d hoped the story would be limited to Albee and a single editor. “Okay,” she said. “If you’re sure no one will find out I’m your source.”
“No worries on that score,” he said. “But I do want to level with you: This is a big investigative story, and we can’t just run it. We have procedures. As you know, we have to verify the information you gave us. Then legal has to go over it, and we may have to go back and dig up more information. Before the story runs, we also have to ask the police chief, Pizer, and his lawyer for a response to what we’ve written about them.”
“A response?” she said. “For heaven’s sake! They’ll deny everything! They’ll threaten to sue you!”
“This is the process, Nicole,” he said. “That’s why we have to verify the information and have our lawyers take a careful look at the article before it appears. The truth, backed up with the proper documentation, protects us against libel. Even if the people we’ve written about deny everything, we can run it. We print their denials or say they refused to comment. Then we’re covered.”
“You realize, don’t you, that my life is in danger?” Nicole said. “People want me dead because they’re afraid I’ll tell what I know. They have no idea I’ve already done that. At this rate, I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to see this in print.”
“All you have to do is stay out of sight,” he said. “No one knows where you are. Even I don’t know. Believe me. It’s going to be okay. I’ll remind the team how urgent this is, and we’ll get it out as soon as we can.”
“All right,” Nicole said, but she felt like crying. She hadn’t realized investigative reporters moved at such a glacial pace. If this was the way they worked, it was a miracle these stories ever appeared in the paper.
“I’ve already set up an interview with Sargosian,” Albee went on. “He wants to meet late tomorrow night as far away from his office as possible—some dive in Carson. You were right about him. I had to call three times before his secretary would put me through. But when I finally got him on the line, and said you told me to call, he was falling all over himself to cooperate. Of course I had to promise not to mention his name in the paper. Thanks for putting me in touch with him and thanks for the story.”
“Did you call Reinhardt?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t pick up. I had to leave a message. I’m hoping he’ll get back to me soon.”
“Thanks for the call, Greg,” she said.
After Nicole hung up, she stood in the entry hall, her stomach churning with anxiety. She forced herself to go back and finalize her online purchases––at least that was something concrete she could accomplish. Then she called Reinhardt and was put directly through to voicemail. This gave her pause. She hoped he hadn’t gone back to England and disappeared into another assignment. She left the number of her disposable phone and asked him to call her as soon as possible.
The next morning, when Josh went out to get the paper, he brought in a huge stack of boxes, her purchases from the day before, which she’d arranged for overnight delivery. After breakfast, Josh went into his study to work, and Nicole brought the packages up to the bedroom so she could try on her new clothes in front of the mirror.
Her phone rang, and this time it was Reinhardt.
“I got your message,” he said. “I just landed at Heathrow.”
“Were you called back to work?”
“No,” he said. “I decided seeing L.A. by myself wouldn’t be much fun, so I’m back in London.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
“Did you call the Times reporter?”
“I handed it over to my contact,” he said. “He’s looking into the matter. He’ll be in touch with the reporter. He said it would just take a day or two to get the information.”
“Good,” she said. “I really appreciate your help.”
After a long moment’s silence, she realized there was nothing left to say.
“Goodbye, Ronald,” she said, “and thanks for everything.”
“Goodbye, Nicole. Good luck.”
There was a click, and he was gone.
The next four days passed slowly. After all she’d been through, handing off the investigation to someone else left her feeling helpless and depressed. She was itching to be part of the action. Instead, she was not only confined to the house, but completely out of the loop, with no idea what was happening.
While Josh was at his office for a meeting, Nicole wandered aimlessly around the house, hardly knowing what to do with herself. She tried getting back into the novel she’d been reading but was unable to focus. When she found herself reading the same page over and over, she closed the book and put it back on the shelf. She went into Josh’s office and sat down at his computer. Even though it made her feel guilty, she took another look at his email. With a start, she noticed that Elle had sent another message the day before. Josh had already opened it and she could tell, from the icon next to the message, that he’d sent a reply. Elle’s message was short: “Call me,” it said. “Please.”
Josh’s reply was also short. “Don’t hold your breath,” it said. “I’ve met someone else.” After reading it, Nicole flushed with pleasure and, for a few minutes, forgot her worries.
She gave up trying to do anything that required concentration. She watched daytime TV, something she’d never done before, at least not as an adult. She also called her sister, sometimes several times a day, and they chatted. When Josh was free, they talked and played cards, as well as old games he’d squirreled away in a closet: Scrabble (at which she beat him), Monopoly (at which he beat her), and Operation (which was a draw).
They took up running after dinner, when it was dark. She pulled her hoodie up to avoid being recognized. And they spent a good amount of time upstairs in bed. Those runs and Josh’s companionship kept Nicole from going stir crazy. But underlying her thoughts was the constant worry about Albee’s story, when it would appear, and whether it would have the effect she was hoping for. Another concern had begun to eat at her: Even if the police chief and Pizer were exposed, would the hit man be called off? And how could she be sure?
The tabloids had pretty much gone silent about Robert Blair since the police had identified the man they claimed was responsible for the murder. Never mind that he was the wrong man. For all intents and purposes, the case was closed. And, since the supposed killer was dead, there wasn’t even a trial for the media to speculate about.
The Times ran a brief story about the investigation into Earl Murray’s death. The Inyo County sheriff had released a statement that the evidence—fingerprints and gunpowder residue—wasn’t consistent with suicide. Nicole read the story several times.
The article didn’t go into detail, but she was pretty sure why the coroner would have doubts. Earl hadn’t been shot at close range, as he would have in a suicide. She’d been four or five feet away when she shot him, so there wouldn’t be gunpowder residue where the bullet entered his head. Furthermore, she’d wiped the gun clean before placing it in his hand. That would be another red flag. The coroner would expect to see the gun covered with fingerprints, since it was Earl’s service weapon, and he would have handled it daily. Since he had used his second gun to shoot the man who knocked at the door, Earl would have gunpowder residue on his hand. But investigators would wonder why he’d used two different guns. This evidence would confuse anyone. Even if Inyo County law enforcement had suspicions, she doubted they’d ever be able to figure out what really happened.
Nicole’s disappearance had dropped out of the Times altogether. The tabloids were still running briefs, tracking the number of days she’d been missing, but this had shifted toward the bottom of their websites. XHN had taken down the reader discussion topic “Missing Nicole,” which had served the purpose of accepting news tips and reports from readers who claimed to have seen her. Apparently the tabloids, the paparazzi, and their readers had lost interest. Headlines now focused on an old comedian, long retired, who was accused of child molestation, and a couple of divorcing movie stars in the throes of a bitter child-custody dispute.
On the fifth day, Albee called her from the airport. He was on his way to Florida to talk to Pizer’s first wife. “The research is going well,” he said. “Your English friend really delivered on the police chief. We’ve got that pretty much written. Now I have to nail Pizer. He’s the biggest fish in this story. If I can get him—” He paused, and she could hear a voice on a loud speaker in the background. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “My flight is boarding.”
It was another three days before Nicole heard from Albee again. “Sorry I’ve been out of touch,” he said. “It took me a long time to convince Angie Pizer to give me what I’m looking for. She’s one smart cookie. When they first got divorced, she hired a forensic accountant, who assembled a paper trail of Pizer’s financial dealings, including those with the mob. She keeps it in a vault—I’m talking about a vault in an actual bank.”
Nicole was quiet.
“You wouldn’t believe the security she has in her house,” Albee continued. “An alarm, of course, but also a bodyguard and dogs. Thing is, she wouldn’t let me remove the documents from the vault. She had a couple of dozen key pages scanned for me. With the rest, I had to take notes by hand. But now I’m done and heading for the airport. So I’ll be back at work, finishing up the research and getting ready to write the story.”
“How long do you think it will take?” Nicole said.
“It depends on what the other reporters have dug up and whether legal has any objections. It might be as soon as next week or maybe ten days. I can’t say for sure. This story is going to blow the lid off,” he said. “The editor thinks it could win a Pulitzer.”
“When I gave you the story, Greg,” she said, “I knew you couldn’t just run it in the paper the next day. But I’m in terrible danger here, and this is taking too long.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that this story has to run pretty soon or I’ll take it elsewhere.”
“Listen Nicole,” he said. “Please! Just sit tight. I’ll see what I can do.”
Not long after Albee’s call, Nicole and Josh had their first argument. Nicole was in the room when Josh’s mother called, and she overheard his side of the conversation.
After an exchange of affectionate greetings, he was quiet, listening. “I can’t come for dinner tomorrow night, Mom,” he said, “I’ve got a date.”
He was silent another few moments, then said, “The weekend isn’t going to work, either. Um—I’ve met someone. We’re going to Laguna.”
Josh’s mother was so excited that she almost shouted, “That’s wonderful, Josh! Tell me all about her!” Her voice was so loud even Nicole could hear her. Josh held the phone away from his ear and rolled his eyes.
“This isn’t a good time, Mom,” he said. “I have company.”
Another silence on his end. Then, “Yes, she’s here now. We’ll talk later in the week, OK?”
After he hung up, Nicole said, “You really should visit your family, Josh. I’ll be fine here on my own.”
“I’m not leaving you until I’m sure it’s safe,” he said. They argued about it until he said, somewhat testily. “You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do with my family.” His jaw was set and there were spots of pink on his cheeks.
Nicole regarded him with surprise. She’d never seen him angry before. Was the sweet nature he always displayed just courtship behavior? Or was she being too pushy? That had been one of her ex-husband’s complaints.
“You’re right,” she said. “You know your parents, and I don’t. Thanks for taking such good care of me. But I can’t imagine what your family will think when they find out who your new girlfriend is.”
“They’ll be thrilled,” he said. “They’ll love you.”
She wasn’t so sure. Ever since the paparazzi had set their sights on her, she’d felt as if her reputation was forever tarnished. She thought of her various misadventures—becoming heir to a murdered man’s millions, getting kidnapped and having to kill a man to escape. There was the photo of her that appeared in the tabloids, the one in a barely-there bikini—courtesy of expert photo manipulation by the tabloids—sunning herself with Reinhardt. The media had also revealed that her ex-husband was a jailbird.
She thought about her earlier experience that had somehow escaped the British tabloids’ notice—her previous year’s escapade in the UK. These kinds of things didn’t happen to other people. Had she just been unlucky, or was there something about her that invited trouble?
In this case, the tabloids had done a pretty thorough job of making her out to be someone who was “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” She couldn’t imagine that Josh’s parents would be pleased to find out he was mixed up with her. If she were Josh’s mother, she wouldn’t be happy about it at all.
Late in the afternoon, Josh told her he had to go in to the office to meet with clients. “I’ll be back at 5:30 at the latest,” he said.
“Do you want to go for a run before dinner?” she said.
“Sure. This shouldn’t take long.”
But at 5:45, he called and said that the clients were ready to sign the final contract for the house he’d designed, and he probably wouldn’t be back before 7:00. “Why don’t you go ahead and eat,” he said.
“No, I’ll wait,” she said.
“Promise you won’t go for a run without me. It’s too dangerous. I don’t want to come home and find you gone.”
“I promise.”
After they hung up, Nicole looked at the clock. She was dying to get out of the house. It was so tempting. How good it would feel to take a run in the crisp evening air.
No. I can’t do that. I promised, she thought, She just had to suffer through until this damned story ran. She went upstairs and changed out of her running gear. Leaving the bedside lamp on, she lay down on the bed, and tried to think of a way to endure this interminable wait. She’d dozed off when she heard a car pull up in front. Her first thought was that it was Josh. He was early. They could go for a run after all. She got up and looked out the window. It was too dark to see out with the lamp on. She turned it off.
The car was a dark SUV. She couldn’t make out the color, but it looked like the one that had been following her. The doorbell rang. She tiptoed downstairs and into the living room. The lights were off and the blinds closed so no one could see in.
There was a knock at the door. A man called out, “Federal Express.” She tiptoed into the entry hall and looked out the peephole in the front door. The man outside was under the porch light. She recognized the large, shaved, bullet-shaped head she’d seen in her rearview mirror when the SUV tried to run her off the road.
Somehow he’d tracked her down. Her car was parked out in front, a tipoff that she was here. The bell rang again. Nicole quietly opened the hall closet door, reached into her backpack, and pulled out Sue’s gun. The man knocked several more times, repeating that it was Federal Express, and that he needed a signature. When this produced no results, he disappeared from the peephole. What was he going to do now? The backyard was secured by a six-foot fence. There was a gate the gardener used to get in. It was padlocked, but how hard would it be for an expert to dispose of that obstacle? If he managed to get into the backyard, though, the house was fairly burglar-proofed. Somehow she doubted he’d smash a window or kick in a door. From what Earl had said, the hit man was under orders to make her death look like an accident.
Her hands were shaking as she picked up the phone in the entry hall and called Josh’s cell. When she heard it ring in his study, she realized he’d forgotten to take it with him.
She peeked through the slit at the side of the blinds in the living room. The SUV was still parked across the street, but the man had disappeared. She walked back upstairs, hoping to spot him from the bedroom window. Just then she heard a scrambling noise and a thud. She stopped just outside the bedroom door and peeked in. Through the French doors that led to the small deck outside the bedroom window, she could see a man’s silhouette. She’d stepped out on the deck earlier in the day and hadn’t engaged the deadbolt. She could hear soft, clicking sounds as the man worked on the lock. He’d make short work of that.
Nicole turned and ran downstairs. When she’d looked outside before, the neighboring houses were dark. She could leave the house by the front door, but where would she find safety? She doubted she could grab her car keys and make it to her car before he caught up with her, and she had no way of knowing if any of her neighbors were home. She had to find somewhere in the house to hide. Then she remembered the storage closet under the stairs. The wall was finished with white-painted vertical boards. When Josh had showed it to her, he’d explained he was going for a seamless look. Instead of a doorknob, he’d used a latch that popped open when it was pushed. This made the door almost invisible. Nicole slipped into the closet, carefully moving aside the vacuum cleaner to avoid making any noise.
She silently closed the door. Waiting in the darkness, she fought a tickle in her throat, barely daring to breathe.
Nicole could hear the man walking around upstairs, opening doors, looking for her. Soon he came downstairs, searched the kitchen and laundry room before heading toward the front of the house. Her heart was beating in her throat when he passed the closet where she was hiding.
Just then, she heard Josh’s car pull in the driveway. Her terror escalated. What would happen when Josh walked in? Was this man going to shoot him? I have the gun, she thought. I’ll come out with it pointed at the intruder and distract him before Josh opens the front door.
Nicole heard the jingle of Josh’s keys and reached for the closet door. At that moment, the man reversed directions and dashed back up the stairs. She could hear him run through the bedroom and onto the deck. Just as Nicole stepped out of the closet, Josh walked in and flicked on the light.
“What are you doing in there?” Josh said. “And what’s with the gun?”
“I don’t know how, but he found me,” Nicole said. “He broke into the house through the deck outside the bedroom. This was the only place I could think to hide.”
“Holy shit,” Josh said.
“Look outside,” she said. “He was driving an SUV. He parked it across the street. It’s the same one that almost hit me the day we met.
They both went to the front door and looked out the small window. The intruder was just getting into his car. He revved the engine and, with a screech of tires, sped off. His lights were off, making it impossible to see the license plate.
They retreated into the living room and sat on the couch in stunned silence. Josh put his arm around Nicole. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“What do you think made him run away?” Josh said.
“When I was kidnapped, I heard Earl talking about the hit on me. He said the killer was instructed to make it look like an accident. When you showed up, I guess that ruined his plan. How could he invent an accident that would explain two dead bodies?
“We’ll have to call the police,” she went on. “I didn’t want them involved, but I don’t see that we have much choice.”
“Wait a minute,” Josh said, “I just thought of something. I know a guy who works as a bodyguard. I should have called him days ago.”
“Who is it?” she said.
“Carlos, my personal trainer at the gym. Big guy who does security for visiting celebrities, stuff like that. He’ll either take the job himself or find someone else to do it.”
He got out his phone and made the call. It took him a while to explain the situation.
Meanwhile, Nicole went in the other room and put in a call to Greg Albee.
“What’s up?” Albee said. In the background was the sound of a busy newsroom, a low roar of voices and the clatter of people moving about.
“The hired killer has found me, Greg. I can’t wait for you to vet this story. Something has to run now, tonight, or I’m taking it to XHN.”
“Please don’t do that, Nicole. You can’t trust those—”
“I don’t care. I’ve talked to David Griffen. He’s dying to get my story. XHN is just irresponsible enough to run it without checking it out or asking the chief and Pizer what they have to say.”
“Please!” Albee sounded desperate. “Just give me a little time. I’ll call the editor and see if we can make it happen. Maybe we can get at least part of the story in the paper right away.”
“It has to be enough to get the hit man to back off,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I’ll give you an hour. It’s 8:15 right now. You’ve got until 9:15.”
“An hour!” he complained. Then, “Okay, okay, I’ll get back to you.”
When she rejoined Josh in the living room, he said, “Carlos is on his way.”
Nicole told him about the call she’d put in to Greg Albee.
“Good,” Josh said. “I never could figure out what was taking so long. Those guys are slower than the department of building and safety.”
In less than ten minutes, the doorbell rang again. Josh went over to look out the window, then opened the door. A huge Latino man in his late thirties nodded at Josh. He was at least six-foot five and built like a truck. “Hi, bro,” he said.
Nicole stood up, and introductions were made. Then Carlos walked around the house, inspecting the locks on the doors and windows. He went outside and looked around. When he came back, he said, “The gate to the back was open. That lock on it is pretty lame. You’ll have to pick up something better.” At Josh’s invitation, Carlos sat on a big upholstered chair near the couch. The men started talking sports, and Nicole tuned out their conversation.
She glanced at her watch. Forty-five minutes had passed since she’d talked to Albee, and she was beginning to think she really would have to put in a call to XHN.
It was another five minutes before Albee finally rang. He was a little breathless. “We’re running the story about the chief on our website late tonight, and it will be in the morning paper,” he said. “Legal is giving it a final once over. The story gets the police chief, Pizer, and his lawyer. It proves they’ve been bribing the chief on a regular basis. We’ll keep working on Pizer’s mob connections and, hopefully, have that out in a few days. This story will say that it’s the first in a series, and that we’re continuing to work on information about Blair’s other blackmail targets.”
“Thanks, Greg,” she said. But her enthusiasm was muted. Why in the hell hadn’t they done this in the first place? The story could have run a week ago, even before Albee went to Florida.
“Now, there’s just one piece of this story I’m missing, and that’s what I want to talk to you about,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“My exclusive interview with Nicole Graves. The story in your own words. How you found out about Blair, the attempts on your life, everything you’ve been through. Remember? You promised you’d do that when you first contacted me.”
She had forgotten, but she said, “No problem.” She put her hand over the phone and whispered to Josh, “He wants to interview me. Is it okay if he comes here?”
Josh nodded.
Albee agreed to come to the house, and she gave him the address.
“I’ll have to bring another reporter with me and a photographer,” Albee said. “Is that all right with you?”
“Sure,” she said. Mention of a photographer grabbed her attention. As soon as they hung up, she got up from the couch and, with renewed energy, hurried upstairs to change.
By the time Albee and his crew arrived, it was 10:00 p.m. Carlos and Josh both went to the door. Josh looked out and, recognizing Albee, gave a nod to Carlos before opening the door. Albee greeted Nicole and Josh enthusiastically, pulling her into a hug and shaking Josh’s hand. He introduced his photographer and the other reporter.
Then Albee looked at Josh. “Are you going to tell me your name this time? Or do you still prefer to remain anonymous?”
“I’m Josh Mulhern,” Josh said. “This is Carlos Rodriquez, Nicole’s bodyguard. I’m Nicole’s—uh—significant other.” This made Nicole laugh. He looked at her in mock seriousness. “Have I misunderstood the situation?” he deadpanned.
She flushed and patted his arm. “No, silly. It’s just such a ridiculous phrase.” Then she turned to Albee and said, “I’d rather you not use Josh’s name in the story.”
“Hey!” Josh said. “Why not?”
“You’re not going to like it when everyone you know reads that you’re connected to some very unsavory events. Seriously, Josh, you don’t need that kind of publicity.”
“And I’m saying I want to be with you on this.”
When she saw his jaw set in the way it had been during their argument, she realized she was stepping on his toes again.
She gave Albee a shrug. “If you think it’s relevant.”
Josh went to get chairs out of the dining room for the photographer and the second reporter. Meanwhile, Albee sat on the couch next to Nicole. After he put his phone on the coffee table and turned on its voice recorder, he started asking questions. He wanted to know about Robert, her relationship with him, why she thought he’d left her the money, and what she planned to do with it once she got it. On the last point, she simply said she didn’t know.
During the interview, Carlos kept getting up to look out the windows, checking to see if anyone was out there.
Albee asked Nicole how she’d found Robert’s computer. Then, backtracking, how she’d discovered the safe room in the first place, and how she’d gotten into the house. And, finally, where she’d been since she’d disappeared ten days before.
At this point she veered from the truth. She told him she’d been kidnapped by the man police later found dead at Robert’s cabin and another man whose name she didn’t know. She said the two men had fallen asleep after consuming several six-packs of beer. She’d taken the car keys and escaped. She didn’t mention Rick because she’d promised him she wouldn’t. Nor did she say the man found dead in the cabin wasn’t actually Robert’s murderer. From what she’d gathered, Robert had been the target of the same hit man who was after her. Maybe this would come out. But there didn’t seem much point in going over it. Nor did she admit she was the one who’d shot Earl, that he hadn’t committed suicide.
She told Albee that Josh had picked her up at the truck stop and that she’d been staying with him ever since, avoiding going out in public.
“Do you mind if we take your picture?” Albee asked her.
“No, not at all,” she said.
The photographer then swung into action, taking a couple dozen shots of Nicole from various angles. Then Albee said, “It would really add to the story if I could get a photo of the two of you together.”
“Fine with me,” Josh said.
“I don’t know, Josh,” Nicole said. Even if it annoyed him, she felt obliged to point out the downside of having his photo in the newspaper, especially with her. “What about your parents? How are they going to feel when they see you in the paper? And your clients? What will they think?
“They’ll be fine about it,” he said. “I haven’t done anything wrong, and neither have you.”
“What is it you do for a living, Josh?” Albee said.
“I’m an architect,” Josh said. “I mostly design family homes.”
“Listen buddy,” Albee said. “This will be the making of you. When those ladies see the photo of a good looking guy like you, and read how you rescued a damsel in distress, they’ll beat a path to your door.”
Josh and Nicole laughed, and the photographer quickly snapped some shots.
“Just one more thing,” Nicole said. She checked her watch. It was 12:00 a.m. They’d been at it for two hours. “What time is this story going to run?”
Albee paused for a moment to do some calculations in his head. “I just have to get back to the office and write up this interview. I’d say it will be up on the website at 3:00 or 3:30 a.m., at the latest.”
They said goodbye to Albee and his crew. After he was gone, Carlos continued to monitor the windows, pacing around the house. His watchfulness—not to mention his size—made Nicole feel they were in safe hands.
Then she remembered Josh’s family. “You’d better call your parents and tell them about all this,” she said.
“They’ll be asleep,” Josh said.
“I know,” she said. “But think how they’ll feel when they read about you in the morning paper.”
He looked at her a moment, then nodded and picked up the phone.
While he was doing that, she went on his computer, looked up the top ten tabloid websites and the phone numbers for their “tip lines.” She also found numbers for the TV channels who’d sent crews out to cover her earlier. She noted the information on two sheets, eight on each list.
When Josh hung up, he looked less than happy.
“How’d they take it?” she said.
“It was a bit of a—uh—surprise,” he said. “But they’ll be fine. They just have to meet you. That’s all.”
Nicole wondered if that was true. But there wasn’t time to worry about it now. She asked Josh for his cell phone, then quickly downloaded an app that could make his calls appear to be coming from somewhere else. She selected Bishop, California, in the Owens Valley. She’d already done the same to her phone.
She told him what she had in mind. “We’re going to call tabloids and TV stations, say we live in the Owens Valley, and that the LAPD has been up there digging near Robert’s cabin. We’ll tell them there are a bunch of vehicles, including two coroner’s wagons. And that people are saying they’ve located two bodies, including mine. The TV and tabloids will send their people up there, and the paparazzi will follow. They’ll be two or three hours out of town before Albee’s story appears.”
“You want to send them on a wild goose chase,” Josh said.
“Right,” she said. “Payback. They made my life a living hell after Robert died and left me his money. This will make sure most of the paparazzi are several hours away when Albee’s story hits.” She looked at him. “Are you up for it? They’ll still be able to make a huge deal out of this story. We’ll just slow them down—and stress them out a little.”
“Perfect,” Josh said.