A Deep and Dark December(96)
“Or more likely Davy is an incompetent idiot who couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map!” Crosby shouted. Crosby was always shouting. It had taken Mi three weeks to stop flinching every time he opened his mouth. Crosby turned on Davy. “Did you even put batteries in it?”
Davy bobbed his head. “Yes, sir.”
Without wavering his glare at Davy, Crosby barked, “Check it, Mi. And so help me Davy.” Crosby pointed a finger at the young man. “If four double A’s don’t pop out the bottom of that thing your ass is grass.” Someone’s ass was always grass or otherwise in jeopardy with Crosby.
Mi picked up the Multiple O and opened the bottom of it. Four batteries sat there, nestled properly with the plus and minus ends exactly as they should be. “Davy’s right. There must be something wrong with the batteries.” She tipped the device upright and switched it on. Still nothing. “Or the vibrator.”
Crosby threw the sheaf of papers in his hands, sending them floating down around him. “God damn it! Somebody get me some goddamned batteries that work! Of all the incompetent, backwoods, inbred—”
“Crosby?” Mi interrupted. “Why don’t I just take the batteries from one of the other—”
“Davy can do it!” Crosby stood up. “Take five, everybody. When I get back every single one of those goddamned things better work. Or your ass is hitting the pavement. Hear me, Davy? And somebody pick up those goddamned papers.” He turned and stormed off in the direction of the studio offices. “Mi! With me.”
Mi handed the Multiple O to Davy with a mumbled apology. Even though there was often no good excuse for Crosby’s bad behavior, she still felt like she had to apologize for him.
Davy waved it off as most did when she made the gesture, his long blond hair hanging like a curtain as he bent over his task. “Ain’t your fault, Miss Mi. Better catch up before he starts threatenin’ you, too.”
Mi turned to follow Crosby and caught sight of a man she’d never seen before, standing against the wall just out of the reach of the stage lights, his face fully shadowed. He was large, well over six feet tall and as broad as a doublewide. Something about the way he stood—still, yet humming with energy—caused an answering rhythm to thrum from deep inside her. Her pulse kicked up, generating a near fight or flight sensation that sent her senses into overdrive. Who was he? What was he doing here?
“Mi!”
She jumped, her focus flickering to Crosby, then back to the man. “Coming,” she answered, keeping her gaze on the man.
She rounded the end of the stage opposite him and stepped down. The man made no move, but she knew he watched her. Turning down the hall after Crosby, she should have felt relieved to be out of the man’s sight and yet she instantly missed the extra beat his attention had caused.
Crosby sat at his desk, pulling a long drink from the flask he kept in his bottom drawer. He wiped away the bright pink drop from his bottom lip, but not before Mi had seen it. He thought he was fooling everyone by putting stomach medicine in a container meant for alcohol. And he was. Everyone, but Mi.
He looked up at her with blurry, red eyes. “Third time this week.” He held up a hand. “Before you say it, I know. It’s not Davy. But goddamn it, I hate this shit.” He leaned back in his chair and waved for Mi to sit down, so she did. “The police don’t have one single lead and I know you’re not going to like it, but Sellers hired you a bodyguard.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off.
“Goddamn it, don’t fight me on this. It’s a done deal. With Lucy out on maternity leave, you’re all we’ve got. And there’s no way Sellers is going to stop shooting the show for one single goddamned day. You got me? You’re cash in the bank. Ratings haven’t budged an inch since Lucy got too big to hock dildos, proving you’re the real draw, not her.” He waved an idle hand around. “Must be that ancient Chinese secret thing or something. Hell, I don’t know. All I know is that Sellers protects his investments and right now, you’re investment number one.”
Mi would have corrected him that she was one-quarter Japanese and not at all Chinese, but she knew he didn’t care. That wasn’t the point. A bodyguard. She didn’t like the sound of that. A bodyguard meant real danger and she didn’t think a handful of threatening letters and one or two random acts of vandalism warranted a rent-a-cop.
“But Detective Rolls said it was probably a couple of over zealous members of that religious group, C.A.L.M. Unless something’s changed that I don’t know about.” She searched Crosby’s face and instantly knew she hadn’t been fully informed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Shit.” Crosby dropped his gaze to a paper on his desk, pausing for a moment like he was making an important decision. “I don’t want to scare you, kid, but I suppose you’d find out about it sooner or later.” He lifted the top couple of papers, then carefully slid out an envelope and handed it to her. “These are copies of what was handed over to the police.”
Mi didn’t comment on how much his hand shook when she took the envelope from him. That small tremor sent her nerves jangling. If Crosby was this upset over what was inside the envelope, then it had to be bad. Very bad.
She braced for it, but the reality of what she had to face was worse than she ever could have imagined. She flipped through the photos, one after the other, caught by the snippets of her life that had been well documented on film. Her unlocking her car in front of her house, in the produce section of the grocery store, in line at the dry cleaners, sitting in a church pew, holding a box of tampons in the drug store, having lunch with Lucy. And the final one—the one that had her clutching at her chest—was of her and her mother, feeding the ducks in the park under a hot Texas sun with the baby stroller parked close by.