“I can finesse this. He quit in a moment of rage, when he’s emotionally ragged. But he didn’t mean it, right?” Becky asked nervously.
She swallowed. “I don’t know. He walked out and I haven’t seen him since.”
“I’ll get on this right away,” Becky promised, her tone businesslike. “My phone’s already beeping. I’ll play it like this guy is a loser druggie and let it slip what he tried to do and how Rhett threw him out. Rhett is simply in seclusion now, recuperating from the death of his very dear friend. He will resume his career in the very near future.
“Don’t worry, Cassie. I can spin this the right way. That’s what Rhett pays me to do. Still, let me know when you hear from him, okay?”
“All right.”
“Gotta go and put the fires out.”
Cassie hung up, envying Becky’s control, only to have the phone ring immediately. She talked to Nadine, then Carreen, and told them to talk to the rest of the family. The phone kept ringing so she took it off the hook. Rhett would know why when he got a busy signal. He would call her on her cell.
Close to one, she trudged up to his bedroom and crawled onto the bed. She took Rhett’s pillow and held it close, the faint scent of his cologne lingering, keeping her from sleep.
She waited. For that one phone call from Rhett. Just to let her know he was okay.
CHAPTER 26
Rhett rolled over, pain exploding in his head, flashes of bright light sizzling like white heat. Every limb ached. Every muscle throbbed painfully.
He opened his eyes slowly. Or tried to. Only one did. The other seemed frozen. He reached up to rub it and found the lid swollen shut and crusted over. Probably blood.
He tried to glance around without moving his head and found that he was next to a metal dumpster. The smell of rotten trash wafted around him. His stomach lurched as a wave of nausea hit him. He opened his mouth and vomit spewed.
Surprisingly, he felt a little better. Barely.
Where was he? Sunlight streamed in a faint band so he figured it was early morning. But where? And how did he get here, wherever here was?
Rhett pushed against the dumpster and forced himself to his feet. He wavered, clutching the open trash bin for support. He looked down and saw his clothes askew, both shoes missing. Instantly, he felt his back pocket. No wallet. He slipped his hand in his front pocket. No car keys.
Had he been mugged? He couldn’t remember. Everything seemed fuzzy.
He glanced down and saw black pants, badly soiled from the garbage heaped around the concrete alley. His gray dress shirt was torn. His knuckles were raw, as if he’d been in a fight he couldn’t remember. He thought he’d been wearing a jacket and tie but saw neither.
His cell phone. It was in his jacket pocket. Slowly, he took a few uneasy steps around, looking for it. He needed to call Cassie. Why wasn’t he with her?
The funeral.
That’s the last thing he could remember—and that asshole, whatever his name was, snapping shots of Zak’s casket as Rhett tried to deliver the eulogy. He guessed they weren’t for the family scrapbook, either. Some tabloid paid the worthless cousin off.
He needed his phone. He didn’t have a dime on him. How could he get Cassie?
Rhett stumbled over to a door. Maybe they would have a phone he could use. He rapped hard on it for several minutes before it jerked opened.
“Whaddya want?” A big, beefy, bald guy with tats up and down both arms glared down at him.
“I need a phone,” he said, his voice unsteady.
“Sorry.” The man slammed the door. The movement knocked Rhett off-balance and he hit the pavement hard.
He stayed down, trying to catch his breath, wondering what his next move should be. He still couldn’t think clearly. Everything seemed hazy. He laughed, wishing he had a script that would tell him his next move. Rhett Corrigan, action hero, always knew what to do. Rhett Corrigan, real-life victim, hadn’t a clue.
The door opened again. Rhett looked up and saw a scantily dressed redhead frown down at him.
“Oh, my God. Lenny, get over here. Right now!”
The tattooed giant reappeared. Or at least he looked like a giant as Rhett eyed him from the ground.
“Get him up!” Red shouted. “Get him inside.”
Lenny hoisted Rhett in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. He groaned at the quick movement. Then he was inside the building in some kind of office.
“Put him in the chair,” Red instructed. “Get him a shot of whiskey.”
Lenny ambled off, leaving Rhett slumped in a chair next to a desk.
“Are you Rhett Corrigan?” asked the woman.
He started to nod, but Roman candles went off in his head. “Yeah,” he mumbled, not proud to own up to his real identity but not having any better ideas.
“Oh, honey. Someone worked you over good.”
“Where am I?”
The woman smiled at him. “You don’t remember, do you?”
Rhett frowned. “Remember what?”
She patted his hand. “The Pussycat Lounge. You came in late yesterday afternoon and put away more than your share. Last I saw, you were headed out the back with Zoe around nine last night. I figured you had a little something private going on with her.”
The woman thought a minute. “That slut. She probably set you up. Her boyfriend is a scumbag. Deals dope outta the laundromat two doors down. Roofies are one of his specialties.”
Red pushed Rhett’s hair out of his eyes. “Do you feel all out of focus, honey? Confused? Sick to your stomach? What’s the last thing you remember?”
He closed his one good eye since the room had started to swim. “A funeral. Then waking up out in the alley.”
Red swore softly in her gravelly voice. Rhett opened his eye and saw she was a lot older than he first thought.
“Hey, Gloria. Here’s the whiskey.” The tattooed man leaned around and set the glass on the desk. “I’ll be in the bar if you need me.”
“Thanks, Lenny.” Gloria looked at him. “Drink it. I know it sounds like the last thing you might want, but you’ll need it, honey.”
Rhett picked up the glass and swallowed the amber liquid in one gulp, his nose wrinkling as the whiskey slid down his throat and hit his empty stomach.
“I suppose you don’t want the police involved, huh? You’ve been pretty busy lately, breaking up with your fiancée and fighting with Zak Mercury and dropping out of show business.”
Rhett grimaced. “She wasn’t my fiancée. She wanted to be.” He looked at Gloria. “And no police. You’re right. They say any publicity is good but I’m the poster boy to shoot down that theory.”
“Is she worth it?”
“Who? Randi? She never was. Biggest mistake I ever made.”
Gloria shook her head. “No, honey. Ponytail Girl. The one you beat up Zak Mercury over.”
Rhett closed his eye again and saw Cassie’s image floating there. “She’s worth it. Scrappy as they come. Would give you the shirt off her back.” He looked at Gloria. “And as beautiful and un-Hollywood as they come.”
The redhead smiled and, for a moment, Rhett saw the beauty she’d once been. “Your dream girl, huh?”