Ch12

When Brooks walked into the house, he immediately sensed something wrong but couldn't put his finger on what it was. That weird sensation was nothing new, he'd felt it on a couple of other occasions in the past, except he could never find anything amiss. The house was always intact, just as he'd left it, and this time was no different. He took his time, walking from room to room, but there was not one single item out of place.

He glanced at his Rolex, an extravagant gift he'd bought himself the year before, and realized it was not even 1 am. What should he do? He hadn't been to bed that early in God knew how long and he didn't think he'd be able to sleep even if he tried. Tossing and turning was not an option so he flipped on his flat-screen instead, turning the channels until an old Rockymovie appeared. Maybe a little Sylvester Stallone might lull him into dreamland? He kicked off his black combat boots and settled into the plush couch, getting lost in the world of boxing.

After his eyes started to droop right around two, he clicked off the television and wandered up the wide staircase toward his room. He didn't bother turning on the light while he undressed, instead he climbed into bed in the dark and waited for sleep to take over. He shifted on the mattress, attempting to find a comfortable spot, when he noticed something crinkle on the sheets beneath him.

"What the fuck . . .?" he exclaimed.

Reaching over to his bedside table, he turned on a lamp and adjusted his eyes to the soft light that now filtered through the space around him. It was then that he finally noticed his surroundings.  His eyes shot open, wide with panic, and he jumped out of bed, turning around in circles as he took in the four walls of his bedroom. Each section was covered with close-ups of him. Hundreds of photos littered the walls, his closet doors, the bed. Not one square inch was free of his image. But these were not publicity photos taken by world-famous photographers . . . these were  intimate candid shots taken by someone else, withouthis permission. There were pictures of him on the red carpet, of him out partying with his friends, there were pictures as he performed on-stage at fundraisers and concerts, but the most disturbing were photos taken of him at his house when he thought he was alone. Pictures of him changing his clothes or climbing into bed, pictures of him . . .asleep.

Brooks' eyes wandered in disbelief to the large Chinese Elm that sat outside the picture window overlooking his spacious backyard. Someone had trespassed onto his property and climbed his tree. Someone hid in the long branches and had taken photos of him without his knowledge. And that same someone broke into his house and plastered the evidence everywhere!

His heart thumped wildly in his chest as his focus fell on the most alarming image of all. Showcased in the center of the room was a picture of him in the backseat of his SUV with none other than Jonathon Walters' teenage daughter! The photographer had done an impressive job capturing the moment; they'd left nothing up to the imagination. What was even more horrifying was that both of their faces were clearly visible; there was no denying who the lovers were.

Someone had been following him-had been stalkinghim-everywhere he went, and from the looks of it, and they'd been doing so for several months. With a dry mouth, Brooks studied the picture closer and he felt vomit rise in the back of his throat. He wasn't sure which made him feel more sick . . . the image of himself with the half-naked teenager, or the ominous message written in big, bold letters underneath . . .

"YOU'LL GET YOURS SOON YOU DIRTY PIG"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What have I done?

The little man deserved it, he had it coming. No question about it.

But it wasn't part of the plan.

Plans can change. They change all the time.

I wasn't prepared. It was a sloppy job! What if I wasn't as careful as I should have been?

You did an excellent job. You did what you had to do. If you hadn't, that pig would have dragged your good name through the mud. You had no choice. He provoked you.

What should I do with his camera; with the pictures?

Dispose of the camera, keep the pictures. How nice would it be to have photos of yourself inside Brooks' house . . . like a souvenir? Your little reward for a job well done.

It was a job well done, wasn't it?

It always is.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

News of the break-in spread through L.A. like a wild fire. Every news station covered the early-morning discovery and decided to set up camp outside of the Kennedy estate, waiting eagerly for new information. The most shocking revelation was what police had found after Brooks called them to his house. Lying outside, along the perimeter of the sprawling lawn, was the body of a fifty-nine year old man. Earl Henderson, as stated on his California Driver's License situated in the back pocket of his faded khakis. His fragile skull had been bashed in with a blunt object, and that object was no where to be found.

Claire and Miller each tried in vain to contact Brooks, but his phone continued to go straight to voice-mail.

"I'm sure he's got his hands full at the moment," Miller calmly explained as they cleaned up after a late breakfast. "I bet he'll call as soon as he is able to."

"God, I hope so," Claire worried. She loaded the dishwasher and shivered with unrest. "What he must be going through right now . . ." her voice trailed off, unable to fathom how Brooks must feel.

Miller wrapped his arms around her protectively and drew his fingers through her long, dark hair. The bizarre story just kept playing through her mind over and over, like a bad song she couldn't shake. Someone had broken into their friend's home, defiled it in a way the police were not willing to disclose, and then the body of a murdered man was found outside. It was a nightmare!

What if that had happened here; in our home? Claire shuttered again and snuggled closer to Miller. Poor Brooks . . .

She was so entrapped in the tragedy, she hadn't even heard the doorbell ring.  "I'll get it," stated Miller, jarring her from her thoughts. Moments later, he returned to the kitchen with a disheveled looking visitor.

"Brooks!" Claire exclaimed, rushing to their friend's side and throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh my God, are you alright?"

He looked horrible. It was obvious he hadn't gotten any sleep, judging from the dark circles that had moved in underneath blood-shot eyes. "I've had better days," he replied warily, pushing a shaky hand through tangled blond waves.

"Here, have a seat," Miller offered, and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?"

"A coffee would be great, man, thanks." Miller got to work, and within minutes the kitchen was alive with the scent of hazelnut.

Claire joined Brooks at the kitchen table and placed a sympathetic hand on his arm. "How are you really?" she asked softly.

Brooks shook his head as an astonish expression took over his features. "It's been a bloody nightmare! One minute I'm trying to fall asleep, and the next minute I'm staring at hundreds, if not thousands of pictures of myself plastered to every inch of my bedroom!"

"What?" Claire shrieked in horror. She felt the color drain from her face.

"You have got to be kidding," Miller added. He set down three mugs of steaming-hot coffee before settling into a chair at the table. "The news didn't mention that part."

"Yeah, they're not releasing all of the details. This is so fucking crazy!" Brooks exclaimed, exasperated. "Excuse my language, Claire."

She offered him an understanding smile. "It's okay, Brooks. I'm sure I would be cursing, too, if this had happened to me." She discreetly pushed the coffee away, not wanting to take in the caffeine. "What are you going to do now?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't want to go back there," he said with a shudder. "Not only would I be seriously creeped out, but the freakin' media are crawling all over my property like hungry ants at a picnic!"

She nodded her head knowingly. "You can stay here with us. You don't mind do you, Miller?" she asked, glancing at her boyfriend.

"Of course not. Brooks, you should definitely stay, we have plenty of space here. You can have your choice of guest rooms."

Brooks looked uncertain for a moment, but  he warily succumbed. "You don't mind?"

"We insist," Claire responded with sincerity. "You're one of our best friends. It's the very least we can do."

Relief flooded his face. "As long as you two don't mind. I really can't go back there-I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to."

"You can stay as long as you need to," Miller suggested. He slapped Brooks affectionately on the shoulder and added with a wink, "As long as you're fine with us cramping your style. We're pretty boring."

Brooks smiled ruefully, "I'm afraid it would be me cramping your style."

"Nonsense," Claire said with a welcoming grin. She sensed something more going on underneath his forlorn tone, something he wasn't admitting-and she knew instinctively it had nothing to do with what had happened at his house. With Brooks staying as their house-guest for awhile, she would have plenty of time to wrangle whatever it was out of him. "It's been a long time since we've gotten to hang out with you. It'll give us a chance to really talk."

Was it her, or did Brooks Kennedy just blush?

* * * * * * * * * * * *

With shaking hands, Ashton picked up her cell and called Juliana, anxious to talk about the morning's news. It was unbelievable the morbid story that was unfolding, and downright horrific knowing it had all taken place at their friend's home.

Juliana picked up on the third ring, and by the tremble in her voice, Ashton sensed immediately her friend had heard the news. "Have you heard?"

"It's horrible," Juliana wailed. "I've been trying to get a hold of Brooks for the past hour, but he's not answering. I feel so bad."

"I know, I've been calling him, too," Ashton admitted. "I'm sure he's busy at the police station, or something. They're probably interrogating the crap out of him!"

Juliana's voice filled with anger. "They better not be! It's not his fault someone was murdered outside of his home. In fact, Brooks was probably the target! If they think he had anything to do with it, he has an airtight alibi. U-Turn performed at some big fundraiser last night, hundreds of people would have seen him there." Juliana paused thoughtfully before continuing, "You know, Ashton, you need to consider more security for your own house. My apartment goes to great lengths to make sure the tenants are safe. It might be time to invest more into your personal safety. I would hate for something like this to happen to you in that big house by yourself . . ." her voice trailed off softly.

Beefing up the security at her house was definitely a top priority given the recent events, and Ashton was touched Juliana was so concerned. "It's on my to-do list, I can promise you that." She glanced at her watch and let out a reluctant sigh. "Look, I have to go. Martin is picking me up. We're having lunch at Spago." She would have sooner hung out with her best friend, but that would have to wait. It was important for her to establish a well-known relationship with Martin in the public eye, even if Juliana didn't understand. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"Of course," Juliana said tightly, her irritation evident.

"Do you want to hit The Silver Spoon again?" Ashton suggested, trying to smooth things over. "That's always a good time."

Juliana hesitated. "I don't know. Vivian called today and said that my cover shots for Cosmopolitan look horrible. She said she's done with me until I got my act together. Guess that means no more partying for this girl."

Ashton frowned into the phone. "What business is it of hers? She's not your mother."

"No, but she is my agent. Without her, I don't work."

"So find another agent, one who's not so bossy," she proposed, shaking her auburn curls indignantly. Who the hell was Vivian Landsbury anyway? Juliana had always seemed to loath the meddlesome agent, why she didn't just find a new one had always baffled her.

"It's not that simple, amiga," the Spanish girl sighed. "Vivian's the best in the business. I need to take her advice seriously, as much as I hate to admit it."

Ashton didn't understand her friend's lame excuses at all. There were several successful agents who would take her on as a client in a heartbeat, they'd be foolish not to. Juliana Santiago was extremely beautiful and very talented, and as far as Ashton was concerned, Vivian Landsbury didn't deserve her.

"Maybe you could come over to my place instead?" Juliana continued, her voice suddenly silky and full of promise.

Ashton felt her heart begin to race. Making plans to spend the evening together in an intimate setting were not how their interludes normally took place. They usually fell into bed after a long night of clubbing; drunk or high-sometimes both. Juliana's unexpected invitation was something new altogether . . . and very tempting indeed. "I'd like that," Ashton answered slowly, feeling nervous and not at all like her normal bold and brassy self. Was it possible Juliana wanted something more serious?

"Great," Juliana enthused happily. "It's a date!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I'm sure you've heard by now what happened this morning?" Oliver McGee asked in his nasal whine.

Why did it always sound as if he was blaming her for something? Natalie bit her tongue and breathed into the phone, "Yes, father. It's all over the news." Who hadn't heard?

"It's preposterous the lack of security that was in place! There's no reason anyone should be able to break into a home of that stature; things like that do not happen in Beverly Hills. Brooks Kennedy always has been a bit of a wild-card," he added primly, disapproval dripping from his tone. "He's a nice kid, but I'm not at all surprised he's living like some out-of-control gypsy in that mansion of his."

Natalie couldn't argue with him. Brooks had earned a reputation as being a free-spirit long ago. Learning he hadn't added an impressive security system to his estate shouldn't come as a huge shock. He'd never been one to play "Keeping Up With the Joneses" like so many other celebrities in L.A. She'd always admired that about him. But the news never said anything about Brooks being at fault. Why would her father come to the conclusion that he had done something wrong?

"I'm just glad he's okay," she said, hoping the point of the phone call wasn't to argue over whether she would be moving or not. The incident that took place at the Kennedy estate hadn't changed her mind whatsoever, her father would just have to accept that and stop harassing her whenever the moment moved him to.

"Certainly you can understand now why it would be in your best interest to relocate somewhere safer."

Dammit! Why did he always have to do this? She knew what was best for herself,not her father. She had her own life to live and didn't want to be stuck under his thumb for the rest of her life. "Father," Natalie calmly explained, "What safer place is there than Beverly Hills? That's where Brooks lives and still he was the target of an intruder. I just don't see how my moving will alleviate any problems, especially when I see no problems to begin with. I am perfectly content living where I am and have no intention of relocating at this time. But I do appreciate your concern." Now shut up, she silently added.

"Yes, crime can happen anywhere, but at least if you move from that apartment of yours I can provide you with the type of security that will keep you safe. As my daughter, you could be the target of any number of unmentionable crimes. Crazy people will do anything if they think there might be a random involved."

Natalie sighed and shook her head. It was the same thing over and over. She had to wonder if he bothered her sisters this way? I'm sure he doesn't have to. They always do what Daddy Dearest says.

"Look, Dad, I have to go. I'm running late for work," she carefully lied. It was best not to let him know she had been fired.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Oh my God! I was at Brooks' house not that long ago! Brianna Walters silently freaked out. What if that crazy person had broken in while I'd been there! What would I have done? She'd rolled out of her cozy bed around noon and the events that had taken place the evening before were plastered across every television station from California to Timbuktu.

That boy is nothing but trouble! I can't believe I ever wanted to be with him!

Since the very first day she had met Brooks Kennedy, she'd had nothing but problems. Oh, the amount of stress he was causing her! Thank God she'd only slept with him one time, and she was beginning to think it was one time too many.

It's a good thing she was over him and his friend Avi Jordan-no matter how gorgeous and famous and talented they were. Brianna didn't need that kind of trouble.

And after all of this, I just might swear off boys for good!

A new character makes their debut. Find out who it is in Chapter 13!

Hello and thank you for reading Fast Lane, the first draft I've been working on for WP's 30 day writing challenge. It's now been 30 days and I have 52,000 words sitting in my drafts—yay! 

If you are enjoying Fast Lane please remember to leave a vote/comment! And don't forget to take a peek at the media section for a picture of Oliver McGee, Natalie's pretentious father!

(Chapter 12 approx. 3,040 words)