Chapter Twenty
Beth and I made our way down to the foyer in silence. Just as we were turning the corner, she yanked me behind a large plant.
“What?” I asked. I followed her finger and saw what she was pointing at.
Shit. Gathered outside the front of the hotel were at least twenty photographers.
“Fuck,” I cursed.
“It’s okay. Come this way.” She grabbed my hand and walked back past the elevators. “There is a service entrance out this way that exits down the alley behind the hotel. That alley also connects with Eighth Street.”
I raised my eyebrows at her.
“What? When everyone knows who you are, you need an escape route for everywhere,” she said defensively. She grabbed hold of my arm and dragged me out the door.
This is insane. I’m running away from one disaster and into another.
Anyone who saw Beth just then would have known right away who she was. With no disguise, she was every bit the pop starlet that featured in all the gossip pages.
We pushed open the emergency exit door, and, upon noting the coast was clear, darted up the alleyway toward a little café just off Eighth. We sat down at a table in the far corner of the almost-empty shop.
“So,” Beth began, digging through her purse and pulling out a scarf. She twisted her hair up into a bun and tied the scarf around it. “Do you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Not really,” I mumbled.
She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Okay,” I replied. “That, up there, lying dead on the bed, was Melinda Diveno.”
Beth’s eyes bulged in shock.
I nodded grimly. “I fucked her to death, Beth! I think she had a heart attack. One minute we were laughing, and the next, she was . . . gone.”
“Holy fuck-stains,” Beth muttered, shaking her head slowly. “Shit, shit, shit.” She glanced at me. “What did the cops say?”
I shrugged. “That they believe it was a heart attack, they just need the coroner to confirm.”
“There you are, then,” Beth said, relief filling her face. “You’ll be fine.”
“But it’s not that simple,” I argued. “You saw those photographers. They have to know she’s dead, and they probably know how she died. How often does a scandal like this come along?”
Beth nodded, finally getting it. She pulled out her phone and began to click away. “Okay, so yes, you are correct. The top story is Melinda’s death, and yes, they do mention the presence of a sex worker. But there is no mention of you,” she added, hopefully.
“Not yet.” I ran my hands through my hair, pissed off with myself. “I’m so cautious about protecting my clients, Beth, but we’re talking about six years of this shit. There is bound to be someone who is going to leak this. Someone will want the money badly enough.”
Beth reached out to me, her hand covering mine.
“Relax, Coop. That might not happen. If it does, you’ll deal with it.”
“I have to tell my family,” I said. I caught Beth’s frown. “If they found out through the media . . . “
“So tell them, and then just let all this die down.” Beth was quiet for a moment. “What about your mystery girl?”
“What?” I had no idea what she was talking about.
“The one you like.”
Shit. Mia. Fuck. Oh, god.