Kissed Blind (Hot Pursuit #2)(80)

“Sure,” I said, closing the magazine and tossing it back on the table. I stood and smoothed the creases from my pants.

“Maybe I should go, sir, and Diana can stay here,” Vance offered.

I hoped my stare would scald his skin.

“No, I’d rather have you here,” Oliver answered. “Diana, you look even better than I’d imagined.”

I glared back at Vance with a cynical smile as I stepped around the table toward Oliver. “Thank you.”

“Vance, Camille should be upstairs for a while. I’m going to try to be back before she knows I’m gone.”

Vance nodded.

“Diana,” Oliver said. He led me through another wing of the house, through a series of doors, and out into a six car garage. “Which one?”

“What?” I looked at him, confused. At least one of every type of car was parked in a neat row: a Mercedes Jeep, some kind of SUV, a long sedan of some kind, and a few sports cars. “You want me to pick what we’re going to go out in?”

“Absolutely. What would you like?”

I smiled and immediately knew the one I wanted. “That one.” I pointed to an antique-looking silver sportster. It had a diamond finish, and the interior was a rich toffee colored leather. It was like something you’d only see in a movie, so it was an easy choice.

“Great. She’s one of my favorites. Hop in.”

I walked over to the convertible, noticed the steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car, and then went over to what would normally be the driver’s side. Oliver got in and reached across my lap to get into the glove box.

“Here, you’ll want to put this on so your hair doesn’t get messed up.” He handed me a thin scarf. I placed it over my head and tied it under my chin. “There now,” he said with a smile. “You look like you fit right in.”

The garage door opened at the push of a button, and we backed out.

“Where are we headed?” I peeked in the side view mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself.

“My lawyer’s office. I need to pick up some papers.” He turned the radio up, and we pulled through the gates to his house.

As soon as we left his community, a car pulled in behind us. Nothing about it struck me as odd other than it was following too closely.

“We have a tail.” Oliver adjusted his rear view mirror while looking behind us.

“A tail?” I unzipped my jacket and reached for my gun.

He stopped me. “That’s not necessary. It’s just the paparazzi. I knew they’d be on us like glue with the event going on today. I was just hoping I’d at least be able to do this without attention.”

I dropped my hand to my lap but didn’t zip my jacket back up. Pictures of Princess Diana’s crumpled car flashed in my head. That crash that had been caused by an aggressive photographer. I may not have been seasoned in the ways of Hollywood, but I wouldn’t let something like that happen to Oliver when I was at his side.

We drove through a few more residential streets and approached the freeway.

“Hang on,” Oliver said, shifting the car into a higher gear and slamming on the gas.

I was thrust back in my seat, and we zoomed down the road, leaving the car tailing us in our dust. I watched them in my mirror. They tried to keep up for a short time, but Oliver lost them.

“Wow, well done.” I shouted for him to hear me over the wind. My scarf flapped in the breeze, and I tied it in a tighter knot under my chin. “You’ve done that once or twice.”

“Yeah,” he shouted at an equal volume. “I’ve taken a few stunt driving courses for some of my movies. It’s paid off a time or two.”

I chuckled. “I guess so.”

We drove along and pulled off the highway into a business district. He stopped in front of a sign that read, “Reichel and Weinbaum, Attorneys at Law.”

“We’re here.” He put the car in park.

I untied my scarf and dropped it on the seat as I exited the car. I walked to his side and allowed him to lead the way.

He began to pull the door open but stopped. “If you’ll wait for me out here, I’ll just be a second.”

“Oh, of course. Take your time.”

Oliver entered the building, and it felt like I stood there for half an hour. In the time I waited, the car that had followed appeared across the street. I stayed poised with my hands behind my back and watched the window go down and a large lens extend out. Shot after shot was taken of me.

When Oliver emerged from behind the door, he saw him. The man behind the camera got out of his car and walked toward us.

Oliver clutched a package of papers in his hand and leaned into my ear. “Walk toward the car and say nothing. Get in and we’ll go. I’ll lose him again.”

I nodded, and as he led us to the car, the man began to shout questions with his camera raised. “Is this your new girlfriend, Oliver? Where’s Camille? Why were you seeing a lawyer? Are you and Camille getting divorced?”





Twenty-Seven





It was question after awful question. I extended my hand and pushed the photographer back when he got too close to Oliver.

“Hey! Hey! You can’t touch me,” he shouted.

“Back off,” I said with one hand on my weapon and the other on his chest.