Lovegame(94)

“For the most part, it wasn’t bad. I got to see the world at an early age, I didn’t have to go to school like a normal kid. They even made sure I had proper supervision—a nanny and or a bodyguard with me at pretty much all times. My parents weren’t around much, but someone always was.”

Ian has gone from relaxed to stiff behind me, and I pat his leg absently, soothing him and myself as I gear up to tell him the rest of the story. The part that I’ve never talked about to anyone before.

“Of course, they’d swoop in at weird times—whenever they remembered it had been a while since they’d seen me or, more often because they needed me to be in publicity photos that would make them look bad if their daughter wasn’t with them. Hard to be parents of the year if your kid is always left to fend for herself.

“And I mean, it was fine. For a long time it worked out well for all of us. I didn’t have a lot of friends because of the not-going-to-school thing, but other than that, it was okay. And then, when I was eight, my longtime bodyguard left because he was getting married and she wanted a husband who was actually around. So I lost Tad, who had pretty much been a fixture in my life from the beginning—more so than my nannies because they were always having falling-outs with my mother, who, looking back, was always paranoid about them wanting to sleep with her husband.

“But Tad, Tad had always been my constant. From as far back as I can remember, he was there, watching over me. When he left my dad hired a new bodyguard, a man by the name of William Vargas. And that’s when everything kind of went to hell.”





Chapter 27


I need to tell her.

Right now, I need to tell Veronica that I know who William Vargas is and that I had originally sought out the Vanity Fair interview specifically because I wanted to talk with her about him. I need to come clean before she spills all this and things between us are never the same.

Fuck. Just f*ck.

I really thought I’d have more time. Really thought I could figure out a way to deal with this without it blowing up in both of our faces and ruining everything.

But it’s already too late for that. I’ve already missed whatever chance I had to tell her the truth before it got ugly. Because she’s already talking, her nerves strung taut as a violin string. And short of gagging her right this second, there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing I can do about any of it except listen. And pray. Because if I interrupt her now I don’t think we’ll ever get back to this place and that is not a risk I’m willing to take. Not with her. Not with us.

Because she needs to be able to talk about that son of a bitch, but she also needs to know that she can trust me. The fact that right now those two needs are running counterintuitive to each other is just something I’m going to have to deal with. Because there’s no f*cking way I’m leaving her alone in this. Not anymore. Not ever f*cking again.

I pull her closer, hold her as tight as I can. She feels so small, so fragile, so goddamn breakable in my arms that all I want to do is shelter her. To keep her safe. I know I’m already years too late for that, but that doesn’t make me want it any less. All it does is guarantee that I’m not going to say anything about Liam Brogan and the Red Ribbon Strangler. If I do, I’m afraid I’m going to break her wide open. And with the peace between us so new, so fragile, the last thing I want to do is put any stress on it. Not now, when it feels like the slightest misstep will shatter us to pieces.

And so I do the only thing I can do. I wait and listen and hope to God that I’m not destroying us before we even have a chance to start.

“My mom liked William on sight. He was a charmer, you know. Always flirting with her, always complimenting her, always making her feel special. In case you haven’t figured it out already, my mom’s a woman who needs to feel special.”

I nod, because I have figured it out…and because anyone who’s been around Melanie Romero for longer than five minutes can’t help but do the same.

“My dad was good at making her feel special, too, but when he was busy shooting or promoting his latest film he’d get wrapped up and forget what she needed. That’s when they would fight. And then Mom would go out and find a guy who made her feel what he didn’t. It was usually only for a night or two, because Dad would wake up to what was going on. They’d fight for a couple days and then make up and things would be good between them for a while. Until he got wrapped up in something else and started to ignore her all over again.”

Jesus. The profiler in me is fascinated by the whole relationship—and by how William Vargas had fit into it. Already, new avenues to explore are opening up in front of me, new threads to yank on and unravel. But at the same time, I’m horrified. Not to mention disturbed by the terrible and macabre love triangle I can see unfolding right in front of my eyes.

“You knew this at eight?” I ask, not even trying to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

She laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “I think I came out of the womb knowing it. But yes, I definitely knew it by the time I was eight.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “It is what it is.”

It’s funny that she says it that way, when I’ve used that phrase over and over again through the years in reference to this case. It is what it is. Not what it could be, not what you can make it, but what it is. Some might see it as acceptance, but I can’t help hearing the utter devastation in that phrase when she says it. The utter heartbreak.