Private L.A. (Private 6)

“Jack, Justine,” Terry Graves said, exuding the deepest sincerity. “Jennifer and Thom would be saying these things themselves, but they’ve been advised by their surgeons to speak as little as possible.”

Justine glanced over at the actors, whose eyes locked with hers a second. She saw every shade of pain in them, and fear, but it did not change her opinion of the Harlows. Not one bit.

Terry Graves went on, saying, “We, all of us at Harlow-Quinn, Jen and Thom, are eternally grateful to you two and to Private for the courageous acts that saved the Harlows and brought them home to us and to their children.”

Justine had to bite her tongue. For the first four hours after their rescue, long into the flight back to Los Angeles, neither Thom nor Jennifer Harlow had mentioned their children. Granted, they’d been doped up on painkillers.

But not once?

Dave Sanders picked up the pitch from the producer. “We’re all grateful for your discretion, as well, in keeping your promise of client privilege regarding what really happened in Mexico.”

“And why,” Camilla Bronson said, glancing nervously at Thom and Jennifer, who’d taken to inspecting the wood grain on the table.

“Yes, well,” Terry Graves said, and coughed. “But the important thing is that the Harlows are home, and soon they’ll finish their masterpiece. And they, we, wanted to thank you.”

Graves reached over and handed Jack an envelope. Jack took it, opened it, looked inside, and then showed it to Justine. A check for five million dollars.

?

??We trust that’s enough for you to ensure bonuses for all the good people at Private who were involved in the rescue,” Sanders said.

“Sure would be,” Jack agreed. “But Private’s not in the business of taking money from starving orphans to save degenerates from a just reward.”

Chapter 130

A SILENCE SO complete took the room that I swore I could hear the pounding heartbeats of Jennifer and Thom Harlow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Camilla Bronson said in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice.

“It means that this is not going to be the typical Hollywood scandal complete with requisite cover-up,” I said. “For once, this is going to unwind with justice being served.”

Sanders’s face turned almost purple. “You and Private have a legal obligation to—”

“No, Dave, we don’t,” I said calmly. “That obligation went south the day you fired Private. What we did in Mexico, we did on our own. So we’ll be the ones who decide just compensation and penalty.”

“You—you’ll get nothing if you expose them,” Camilla Bronson sputtered.

“Everything will be ruined,” Terry Graves said. “Their careers. Their children. The orphans. Countless others.”

“We see that,” Justine replied.

“And we know justice isn’t always just,” I said.

A garbled voice said, “What’s that s’posed to mean?” It was the first thing Thom Harlow had said since we’d arrived.

“It means, Mr. Harlow, that we’re not going to tell the police or the FBI about your secret lives and transgressions,” Justine said.

There was a collective sigh.

“But in return, we have specific demands,” I said. “These are nonnegotiable terms.”

“And these terms are?” Jennifer Harlow said.

Cynthia Maines said, “Number one: the Harlows will never seek to retaliate against Adelita Gomez in any way.”

“Deal,” Thom Harlow said.

“Number two: the Harlows and Harlow-Quinn Productions will sign over sixty percent of all gross proceeds from Saigon Falls to Sharing Hands,” I said.