Pacific Breeze Hotel

PACIFIC BREEZE HOTEL

JOSIE A. OKULY

Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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ADVANCE READER COPY This Advance Reader Copy is the property of Vintage Romance Publishing, LLC. This Advance Reader Copy may not be sold, rented, loaned or copied. This is an uncorrected copy and may differ slightly from the final published novel which will be available from Vintage Romance Publishing in October of 2004. This work is copyrighted as of October 2004 by Josie A. Okuly. All rights reserved.

Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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The Pacific Breeze Hotel

Felicia Avery hurried across the faded marble lobby of the Pacific Breeze Hotel. She lowered her head, trying to avoid the stares of other hotel residents who lounged around the lobby, drinking coffee, and reading newspapers. Wisps of hair escaped her elegant chignon and beads of perspiration slid down her spine. Why had she even bothered to get out of bed this morning? After the tragedy at the studio, she would be fortunate if she ever worked in Hollywood again. Hot tears threatened to spill down her cheeks as she struggled to hold her torn dress together without much success. As Felicia entered the elevator just off the lobby, Murray Franklin, the elevator attendant, favored her with a disapproving look. "Good afternoon, Miss Avery." He punched the button for the third floor. Felicia could only imagine what he thought of her appearance. Gossip would spread like a brushfire once Murray reported to the other residents that Felicia looked like the loser in a bar room brawl. "Hello, Mr. Franklin." Felicia wondered if the clunky, troublesome elevator would ever make it to the third floor. Her little apartment was the sanctuary she needed now. She must decide what to do next. *** Detective Sean O'Rourke bent to examine the body of C.B. DeWarner, late president of DeWarner Studios. Unfortunately for DeWarner, his resignation had been tendered via a small caliber bullet hole to the back of his well-groomed scalp. O'Rourke turned to his partner. "So what's the story, Nolan? O'Rourke's partner, Sean Nolan, flipped through the small notebook he always carried. Since both detectives were named Sean, they had gotten into the habit of referring to each by their last names to avoid confusion. Nolan glanced down at his small, neat, handwriting. "The secretary claims she heard the shot around four this afternoon. A moment later, some starlet comes running out of the office with her dress unbuttoned and her hair flying loose." O'Rourke pointed to the miniature jungle flourishing in the California sunshine beyond the French doors. "What's out there?" "Private garden where DeWarner liked to conduct business. There's a pool house all fitted out for “auditions,” if you get my meaning." "Were these French doors open?" Nolan glanced down at his notebook. "The secretary didn't touch anything so I guess they were." Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"The shot either came through the open window or the French doors." "Take your pick." O'Rourke took in the Persian carpet, now stained with blood. "Who was the starlet?" Nolan flipped through his notebook again. "Felicia Avery. New tomato in town, just off the bus from Arizona, been making the rounds." "Got an address on her?" *** As Felicia soaked in a hot bath, she accepted that things had gone from bad to worse since her arrival in California. Her high school drama coach recognized both her love of acting and her undeniable talent. He encouraged her to pursue her dreams and she was happy to comply. A warm climate suited her, so she nixed New York and headed to Los Angeles on the Sunset Limited. Thus far, Felicia had won a few bit parts in movies, enabling her to afford an apartment at the crumbling Pacific Breeze Hotel. The Pacific Breeze was a residence for single women who, for the most part, worked in the film business. Despite her few small successes, Felicia couldn't deny her hopes and dreams had taken a beating and fallen by the wayside like so many broken twigs. Joe Lewis himself couldn't have done a better job at beating down her selfesteem. She discovered for herself the infamous casting couch system was alive and well at many of the studios. Felicia would not take that degrading route to win a role. She wanted to be respected as a human being and a serious actress. But there was cutthroat competition for each and every role. One casting director told her the look this year was Betty Grable and she was more of a Rita Hayworth type. Another director told her she looked too much like Rita Hayworth and they couldn't crowd the market. And so it went. Despite the odds, she had made progress in her acting career. Today, she arrived at the studio, unaware of the events that would play out in C.B. DeWarner's office. The doorbell peeled. Felicia decided to ignore it until she heard a familiar voice coming from the hallway. "Felicia, open the door. I need to talk to you. Are you okay?" Felicia got out of the tub and wrapped herself in a comfortable, faded, old bathrobe. She opened the front door to find her neighbor Lila Lamont, real name Estelle Gerhard, standing in the doorway. Lila was a fellow aspiring actress and her only real friend in Hollywood. "Murray, the resident gossip, was practically salivating when he phoned me. Said something was going on with you on account of your torn dress and messed up hair." Lila glanced at Felicia's bathrobe and slippers. "Did I get you out of the tub?" Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"As a matter of fact, you did." "Murray said your dress was torn. What's going on?" "He sure didn't waste any time." Felicia lowered her voice. "I can't talk right now. I have a horrendous headache." Lila frowned. "Maybe you'll feel better if you talk about it." "Look, I'll tell you what happened, but first I need to soak in a hot bath to clear my mind. This has been a really bad day Lila." Lila nodded with understanding. "Well, you know where I live if you want to talk." "Thanks." Lila walked back to her apartment which was next door to Felicia's. Felicia shut her door, undressed, and returned to her bath which was now lukewarm. *** O'Rourke pushed the doorbell at 116 Wilshire Boulevard, Apartment 305. The starlet lived at the venerable Pacific Breeze Hotel for Women. The place had gone downhill since his days with the vice squad. He had been here five years ago on a peeping-tom collar and the hotel had not held up well since that time. O'Rourke's finger hovered over the doorbell and he was about to push it again when suddenly, the door swung open. For a moment, O'Rourke's breath caught in his throat. While working the Hollywood beat, he had seen his share of beautiful women. But for the first time in his life, he was literally speechless. The girl wore a faded pink bathrobe. A white, terrycloth towel enveloped the top of her head. O'Rourke checked the outrageous impulse to free her hair from the restraint and allow it to spread across her shoulders in a glorious mass. What was the matter with him? Concentrate on the case. That's the first rule of policework . "Miss Felicia Avery?" Nolan stepped forward, giving O'Rourke a reproving look from the corner of his eye. "Yes." The girl pulled a lock of hair from the folds of the towel, and twirled the auburn curl around her finger. Red. The most beautiful color of the rainbow. O'Rourke saw she was no dyejob redhead. Her hair looked as natural as.... Nolan's voice broke into his musings. "We need to ask a few questions, Ma'am. Los Angeles Police Department." Nolan flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Nolan and this is Detective O'Rourke.” Nolan threw O'Rourke a look which indicated he better get his act together or he wouldn't have a future in the homicide division. O'Rourke acknowledged to himself he was behaving like a rookie cop new to the streets. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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Nolan continued, "C.B. DeWarner's secretary indicated you were at the studio auditioning for a part today. Is that correct?" "Yes I was." Her voice had a lilting quality a man could listen to forever. "She also stated you ran out of DeWarner's office in a disheveled state after someone heard a gunshot. The secretary found her boss dead on the floor of his office." "I didn't kill him." Felicia's eyes were shiny with unshed tears. "We know you didn't kill him." Nolan lowered his voice. "Do you mind if we come inside? I don't think you'd like your neighbors to hear this conversation." Felicia nodded her head. "Of course, please come in." Once inside, she indicated a small, emerald green sofa. The two men sat down and O'Rourke immediately sank into the lumps and folds of the sofa, which had obviously seen better days. Felicia slid her hands into the pockets of her faded bathrobe. "Do you mind if I get dressed? Would you like some tea?" They declined the tea. When Felicia closed the door to the bedroom, Nolan turned to face O'Rourke. "Are you gonna help me question her or just sit there with your tongue hanging out?" "Don't know what you're talking about, buddy." O'Rourke gave his partner a warning look. "Right." A smile played on Nolan's lips. "A word to the wise and then I'll shut up. You better get your eyeballs back in their sockets. I've heard of love at first sight but I've never seen it in action until now." A few moments later, the bedroom door opened and Felicia walked back into the room wearing an emerald green, cotton dress with small, coconut trees printed on it. The color of the outfit set off her hair to blazing perfection. O’Rourke remembered a painting he had once seen in a museum. It was Titian’s rendition of the infamous Salome. Felicia’s crown of curls was a glorious shade of red that reminded him of the mesmerizingly beautiful Salome depicted in Titian’s masterpiece. Felicia took a seat in an overstuffed chair across from the sofa. There was no other furniture in the living room except for a nicked and scuffed coffee table separating the sofa and chair. Nolan took out his ever-present notebook. O'Rourke followed his lead by pulling out his own notebook from his jacket pocket. O’Rourke decided he wasn't going to sit here and make cow eyes at the broad. He stared at her for a moment and then revised his opinion. She was no broad. In fact, she was as far from a broad as any woman he had ever met. She was a lady, brought up to be polite and well-mannered. She looked like she could add big numbers, too. Nolan leaned forward, pen poised to take notes. "Miss Avery, can you tell us what happened today at the studio?" Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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*** Felicia didn't want to remember what had happened today at the studio. Instead she found herself thinking about her home town. Home. The thought of seeing her family and friends again... Lately, Felicia entertained thoughts of going home. If she went back to Phoenix, she would enroll in college and maybe get her old job back at the diner. She had been a straight-A student and perhaps college would challenge her mind more than the mindless cattle call auditions which were a necessary evil for struggling actors. Felicia had already tired of casting directors staring at her as if she were a prize piece of steak. No, not steak, she thought, more like hamburger meat. People who looked like steak actually got speaking parts in pictures. Recently though, Felicia applied and had been accepted to a prestigious acting school. It seemed as if her career might be on the upswing, especially when her agent phoned with good news just this morning. She made the final cut for the lead role in Morning Dawn. Felicia knew she could play the role of Dawn because she understood the girl in the story. In fact, Morning Dawn could have been about her own life. Final casting approval rested with C.B. DeWarner. Felicia took special care with her appearance, hoping to make a good impression on the powerful studio head. When she arrived at his office, DeWarner offered her a cocktail but she politely declined. He asked if she would like to take a swim in his pool and discuss the part in detail. Again, she refused. Finally, DeWarner walked over to where she sat on an upholstered couch so massive it would not have fit in her small living room. "Listen, Miss Avery, Felicia, is it? I gotta tell you I really can't give you this part even if I wanted to. No one has ever heard of you and we're looking for a 'name' actress to carry the film and you ain't her." Felicia leaned forward. "Mr. DeWarner, I know I can play this role. If you'll let me read for you, I'm sure you'll be pleased with my interpretation of Dawn." She had never spoken up for herself in such a bold manner but she believed in her ability to handle the role. DeWarner's mouth twisted into an ugly imitation of a smile. "Well, Miss Felicia, if you want to give me a private audition, you might be able to change my mind." Felicia decided the audition was over. "I think it's best if I leave now." Suddenly, DeWarner began kissing her face and tearing at her dress. He ripped at the delicate material until the buttons, which held the dress together, gave way and fell to the carpet. DeWarner's initial appearance had been that of a kindly grandfather, but now he had changed into an angry bear of a man. He held her in a tight grip, one plump, meaty hand covering her mouth and nose. Felicia couldn't breathe or scream. She kicked out and landed a blow to his Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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kneecap. He roared with pain and loosened his grip on her. She broke free of his embrace and then ran to the door, which led to the reception area, her only means of escape. Felicia had her hand on the doorknob when she heard the gunshot behind her. She turned to see DeWarner sprawl face first on the carpet. Blood gushed from a wound in the back of his head and spread across the expensive Persian carpet. Felicia ran for her life. *** "Miss Avery?" Nolan prompted her. "I'm sorry, what was the question?" "You were saying he was shot while you were still in his office?" "That's correct." "Where did the shot come from?" Felicia looked past Nolan as if she were remembering the layout of DeWarner's office. "I think it came from the French doors. There's a little garden out there. Actually, it's more like a miniature jungle. Behind the garden is a swimming pool. I think the person who shot Mr. DeWarner was hiding somewhere out there." Nolan wrote quickly as she spoke. "Did you catch a glimpse of anyone?" Felicia shifted in her chair. "I didn't see anything. Just all that blood." "So why did you run?" Nolan looked up from his notebook and pinned her with his gaze. Felicia lowered her eyes. "I don't know. I mean I was scared. I didn't know if he would shoot me, too. I saw the blood on the carpet…and my dress was torn and I didn't want anyone to see me like that." O'Rourke was certain he could have shot DeWarner himself without batting an eye after the way he had mistreated Felicia. The thought of that sleazy producer touching her... Of course, if Felicia stayed in this town for any length of time, there was the danger she would become hardened like the women O’Rourke dealt with while working vice. Many of them arrived with dreams of stardom, only to end up in the flesh trade after a few years. But Felicia had an intelligence about her. There was a mind working behind those green eyes. O'Rourke hoped she wouldn't follow the inevitable path to destruction. Satisfied they'd gotten all the information she had to offer, O'Rourke and Nolan left Felicia's apartment. They walked down the stairs, through the lobby, and out into the last rays of afternoon sunshine. O'Rourke turned the car onto LaBrea Avenue, then hung a right on Santa Monica, heading for the police station. He inhaled deeply and then wished he hadn't. The air was stale and had an acrid taste to it. "I'll drop you off at the station. I'm gonna tail her." Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"What for?" Nolan cast a puzzled glance in O'Rourke's direction. "The shooter may think she can I.D. him. Best to keep her safe." "Whatever you say." O'Rourke knew Nolan didn't believe him for a second but he didn't care. Now he had an excuse to see Felicia again, and that was all that mattered. *** The next morning O'Rourke found himself two cars behind Felicia's rusted, blue Coupe. She turned her car onto Sunset Boulevard and he caught a glimpse of red hair kissed golden under the brilliant California sun. After a few moments, her car pulled to the curb ahead of him. O'Rourke slowed his own vehicle and then pulled to the curb a block behind her. Felicia grabbed her purse and hurried down the sidewalk before entering an elegantly ornate building. A sign on the front door indicated this was the famous Lloyd Acting Studio. Prestigious place, he thought. Not easy to get accepted into the hallowed sanctum of acting excellence, established years ago by the honorable Sir Chester Lloyd. O'Rourke closed his eyes for a moment. He indulged in a daydream wherein he escorted Felicia to the Policemen's Ball, the highlight of the LAPD social calendar. In the daydream, Felicia was decked out in white satin, her lovely shoulders bare. O'Rourke wore a tuxedo and a proud smile on his face. They danced and laughed and when he brought her home, he kissed her. But then, the dream evaporated into insubstantial gossamer. O'Rourke opened his eyes and focused his fierce concentration on the back of Felicia's car. Even though he was new to the detective division, O'Rourke rapidly distinguished himself by having the highest solve rate in the division. O’Rourke lived and breathed the job, and he had no life outside of his work. When he had shipped out to the war, O'Rourke had hopes of starting a family with one of the girls who had come to Hollywood to be a star but had given up at the starting gate. Lenore had accepted his proposal but the war had changed everything for both of them. The long absence when he had been fighting in the Pacific revealed a flaw in her character. She was incapable of loyalty to one man, and had admitted as much in a tearful letter, which had found its way to him in a stinking, Asian jungle where he hunkered down with his platoon waiting for the next onslaught from the enemy. Her letter traveled from the other side of the world but it still smelled of lilac. He had held it to his nose and dreamed of home. O'Rourke hadn't kept the letter. When he was captured and sent to a Japanese POW camp, the enemy soldiers took the letter, along with everything else he possessed. They slapped him across the face with the envelope and then tore the letter and envelope to pieces. He imagined he could still smell lilac as the pieces floated through the sticky, humid air. Then they confined him in a Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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cage for two years as if he were an animal. The things he suffered in the camp had tempered him and molded him into a different man than the one who stood smiling on the gangplank of the troop ship, waving good-bye to Lenore as she stood on the dock. Los Angeles was also a different town when he returned from the war. Or maybe he saw it that way because of his own experiences. O'Rourke checked his watch, surprised to find two hours had passed since Felicia entered the building. Then, she was outside, smiling and waving at the other acting students who walked towards their cars or the bus stop down the street. Felicia pulled her car back onto Sunset Boulevard, joining the swell of bumper to bumper traffic which navigated the road. O'Rourke managed to stay three car lengths behind the blue Coupe, and when the car hung a left on La Cienega and eventually swung onto Melrose Avenue, O'Rourke guessed her destination. This was confirmed when she arrived at 5555 Melrose Avenue. Felicia drove through the gates and past the dazzling white façade, which was the entrance to Paramount Studios. Another audition. How many auditions had she attended since arriving in California? How many auditions did it take before a starry-eyed, would-be movie star gave up and headed home to the Midwest, eventually marrying and raising a new generation of would-be movie stars? But Felicia had talent or she wouldn't have made it into the Lloyd Acting Studio. What she needed was a break. Unfortunately, Hollywood was downright miserly when it came to handing out breaks. The last stop on her agenda came as a surprise to O'Rourke. After the audition at Paramount, Felicia drove downtown and pulled up in front of a weathered, washed out building on Figueroa. In better days, before the Great Depression, the building had been a grand theater built in the Art Deco style that was all the rage at the time. Now, it housed the Figueroa Street Soup Kitchen. Fifteen minutes after Felicia entered the building, O'Rourke decided it was time for a little reconnaissance work. He entered the foyer of the once magnificent theatre. The place reeked of mold and neglect and was dimly lit and depressing after the vivid sunshine outside. Audience seating was now replaced by rows of tables where hungry men leaned over steaming bowls of soup. Across the cavernous area, in front of the now empty stage, Felicia wore a foodencrusted apron and ladled out soup from a copper tureen. An auburn curl escaped the chignon which rested on the nape of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed from the steam, kissed to a deeper shade of rose. O'Rourke had never heard of a starlet wasting her precious time performing charitable acts for her fellowman. Not unless there were plenty of cameras around to document the fact. His gut feeling about her had been correct. This girl was different. What had brought her to this plastic world of tinsel and neon? This was no place for a person to flourish and grow, not in this city that mowed people down and spit out their bodies in pieces. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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O'Rourke felt he knew Los Angeles the way a civilian could never experience it. It was part and parcel of who he was. And like the tough, old, City of Angels, he possessed no soft edges or vulnerable spots anywhere on his body. Lately though, a restlessness, a loneliness, a longing, began to gnaw at his heart. A desire to belong, to care about someone, to pour out his fears, his hopes, his dreams to a sympathetic, human ear. The only one he could talk to was Nolan. But soft emotions didn't figure into their conversations. They talked about cases they worked, about baseball, and about the latest left-handed rookie slugger. Felicia smiled at a ragged, unkempt man who held out a bowl to receive his soup. The man smiled back at her with a snaggle-toothed grin, which made O'Rourke want to turn away in disgust. But Felicia didn't turn away. Instead, she looked the man in the eye and gave him a warm smile. O'Rourke saw the flush of pleasure spread up the man's neck as Felicia bestowed this small attention on him. As if sensing his scrutiny, Felicia glanced up and swept her gaze around the dining room before returning it to the soup tureen. Confident he hadn't been spotted in the dimly lit foyer, O'Rourke walked back toward the building's entrance. He picked up the Los Angeles Times from a vendor down the street from the soup kitchen. DeWarner's murder made the front page. No surprise there. He glanced up now and then to reassure himself Felicia's car was still parked a few spaces in front of his own. Turning back to the paper, he read the speculation about a possible organized crime involvement in the murder. As far as O'Rourke knew, DeWarner Studios had no involvement with the mob. The crime lord, Mickey Cohen, took over the Los Angeles rackets after Bugsy Siegel’s untimely demise. Bugsy had been a handsome, charismatic racketeer, a “celebrity gangster,” chummy with the Hollywood set and accepted in their social circles. Nevertheless, O'Rourke could find no connection between DeWarner and Siegel. His investigation revealed no connection between DeWarner and the new crime king, Mickey Cohen, either. If not organized crime, whose wrath had the powerful producer incurred? "Good afternoon, detective. Would you care for a bowl of soup?" O'Rourke's heart spiked upwards as if attempting to escape his body. Felicia had crept up so quietly he hadn't been aware of her until she stood beside his open window and peered down at him. Some detective he was. *** Detective O'Rourke stared up at her, caught off guard and obviously not happy about it. He removed his hat and his face grew red under her scrutiny. Was he embarrassed? Served him right! All morning she sensed someone following Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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her as she drove around the city on her various errands. Now, she had caught the culprit. But had she? The sense of being followed dogged Felicia since C.B. DeWarner's murder, even before she had met O'Rourke. Who had followed her yesterday? From the moment she bolted from the dead man's office, Felicia looked over her shoulder trying to discover the person who shadowed her footsteps. Today, her feeling had been justified when she glanced up from her tureen and spotted O'Rourke's craggy, but attractive, face shadowed in the foyer of the soup kitchen. Felicia leaned closer to O’Rourke. "Are you following me, Detective?” "I must be losing my touch." O'Rourke's voice was rueful. "Usually when I tail someone, they don't know it unless I want them to." "I just happened to see you across the dining room." Felicia decided not to tell him about the feeling someone had shadowed her since DeWarner's murder. Most likely, it was her imagination working overtime. "How often do you work at this place?" O'Rourke's mouth tightened as he took in the old building, the run-down neighborhood. "Twice a week. It's actually a nice place to work." Felicia caught his skeptical expression and wondered if she could explain why she spent her spare time at this place. Sitting around waiting to hear whether she had gotten another bit part in a movie or play would drive her insane if she let it. Helping others, especially men who were homeless and hungry, kept her grounded in reality. Reality was a rare gem in Hollywood, a rationed commodity. She knew many aspiring actresses who seemed to live in a dream world where the pot of gold was just over the next rainbow. Felicia was part of this dream world and yet apart from it. Helping others made her realize how fortunate she was to have a place to live and food on the table. Seeing the homeless men in their torn and dirty clothes weeded out any stray seeds of selfpity that sprang up in her heart. "If you say it's a nice place, I guess I'll have to believe you." O'Rourke's expression was still skeptical. "Believe me." Felicia walked around and got into his car. She turned to face him. "Now, why are you following me?" Instead of answering the question, he asked one of his own. "Are you hungry?" "Famished." "What kind of food do you like?" "Anything but soup." O'Rourke laughed and it was such a pleasant sound she found herself joining in. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of the lighthearted man who lived behind the stern-faced detective. She wanted to see more of that man. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"I know a great place down on Olive," he said. "The Ring-Tailed Lemur. Have you heard of it?" Felicia smiled. "No, and I think I would've remembered the name." "It's a cop hang out," he admitted. “But they fry a good burger. You know that cops love their burgers." "I've heard rumors." O'Rourke raised an eyebrow. "Are redheads saucy by nature or is that quality restricted to you?" "I wouldn't know. I'm a blonde trapped in a redhead's body." He grinned. "You're certainly a unique, young lady." "And I have all my own teeth, too." He laughed again. *** Over well-done burgers and French fries, O'Rourke found himself telling Felicia about his life. He was surprised to find himself conversing in more than monosyllables. Felicia was a good listener which encouraged him to keep talking. Usually a woman couldn't get enough of her own voice, but this one was different. "This has been a nice treat." Felicia dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "I can't afford to eat out at restaurants very often." "I'd think you'd be out every night, being in the movie business and all." O'Rourke could've kicked himself for sounding like a country bumpkin. There was something about Felicia which made him feel as nervous and tongue-tied as a high school kid. At the same time, he felt he could talk to her about anything and she would understand his feelings. "The movie business isn't as glamorous as it sounds," Felicia assured him. "I don't have time to go out at night because there are early morning calls, auditions, acting classes, learning lines. Besides, only the big name stars attend movie premieres to drum up publicity for their latest film." O'Rourke flipped a French fry into his mouth. Nobody made fries as crispy and delicious as the cooks at the Lemur. "So how long have you been in Hollywood?" "A few months, give or take." "It's probably none of my business, but do you have a special fellow?" O'Rourke held his breath as he waited for her answer. Felicia shook her head. "Not anymore. The man I was seeing didn't approve of my ambition to be an actress so I thought it best to end the relationship. We're still good friends though." O'Rourke exhaled a relieved breath.

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Felicia took a sip of her cherry coke. "What about you? Do you have a special girl?" Before he could stop himself, O'Rourke told her about Lenore's unfaithfulness and his experiences during the war. The words flowed from his lips as if a dam had burst and the rushing water could no longer be contained. Felicia rested her hand on his shoulder. "It must have been a nightmare." Worse than any nightmare, he agreed silently. Her green eyes, large and compassionate, searched his face. "Would you like to go for a drive?" he found himself asking. "On one condition. Will you please tell me why you've been following me? We've avoided the subject but I'd really like an answer." Felicia's gaze held his and O'Rourke told her the truth. "I guess I just wanted an excuse to see you again." He ran a hand through his closely cropped hair. "I told my partner it was because the shooter might have seen you and thought you could identify him. But that's not true. I wanted to..." O'Rourke shook his head. He couldn't continue. A smile played on Felicia's lips. "About that drive?" she prompted. He flipped a few bills on the table, stood up, and helped her to her feet. *** They drove through Griffith Park after Felicia mentioned it was her favorite place in the city. O'Rourke drove slowly, trying to make their time together last as long as possible. On their way back to the restaurant, O'Rourke stopped at a newspaper stand to pick up the afternoon edition of the Times. The newspaper's front page speculated on plans for C.B. DeWarner's elaborate funeral, which might very well eclipse a head of state or visiting dignitary. O'Rourke wouldn't have been surprised to hear that a national day of mourning had been declared to honor the producer. Anything was possible in Hollywood. O'Rourke pulled into the Lemur's parking lot where Felicia left her car. "I'll follow you home." He cleared his throat. "Make sure you get home safely." "Whatever you say." Felicia's voice was listless, her face pale, as she stared down at the newspaper on her lap. "It's a nine day's wonder," O'Rourke assured her. “But it'll blow over." "I wish I could believe that." "Trust me." He tried to sound reassuring but his voice fell short. O'Rourke followed her home. Felicia parked her car next to the curb in front of the Pacific Breeze. She waved at him and then walked up the sidewalk. He watched her walk away with her straight back and fiery colored hair and then disappear inside the lobby.

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The old hotel stared back at him with its cracked and chipped facade, a monument to 1920's excess, now crumbling to decay. Perhaps he could find Felicia a better place to live in one of the newer apartment buildings downtown. He saw the curtains in a dozen apartments flutter as a half-hearted breeze blew down the street. Yes, he would definitely look for an apartment with air conditioning. As O'Rourke put the car in gear and turned the wheel to pull out into traffic, a heartrending scream sliced through the still afternoon. O'Rourke slammed on the brakes. Before the car rolled to a stop, he grabbed the keys and stepped onto the pavement. He raced up the sidewalk and entered the lobby of Felicia's building. He flew up the stairs, not bothering with the ancient elevator. Felicia stood frozen in the doorway to her apartment. Her porcelain skin was now the color of chalk as she stared down at something just out of view. O'Rourke peered over her shoulder and saw a large knife protruding from her coffee table. The knife pierced a sheet of paper. On the page was written a single word in dark block letters: Tramp. *** "Who is doing this to me?" Felicia curled a lock of hair around her finger as she struggled to focus her thoughts and regain her composure. O'Rourke handed her a cup of hot coffee. "It looks like someone thinks you're a witness to DeWarner's murder." Felicia sat down at the kitchen table. She poured sugar into the coffee cup. "But I didn't see anything. There was nothing to see, only that jungle behind his office. I couldn't see anything because of all the plants." "But someone thinks you did see something." He paused. "Or you have an enemy you're not aware of." "But who?" Felicia slammed her fist down on the table. Coffee sloshed across the surface of the table and spilled on the floor. She covered her face with her hands as her fragile composure crumbled to dust. "I'll check out the bedroom for signs of forced entry." O'Rourke's voice seemed to come from far away. This apartment was no longer her home. She wanted to leave the Pacific Breeze and never return, but she had nowhere else to go. Unless she went home to Arizona. O'Rourke came back into the room. "He came in through the fire escape. Pried open the window in your bedroom." Felicia's lip trembled and nausea welled up in her stomach. "I can't stay here." "I'll stay with you until you can find somewhere else to live." Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"But..." "I'll sleep on the sofa," he said quickly. "I'm housetrained and I don't eat much." She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Stop trying to make me feel better." O'Rourke put his hands on her shoulders and drew her into an embrace. The scent of his aftershave was an electric jolt to her senses. Felicia looked up into his rugged face and then closed her eyes as he moved toward her. His lips touched hers and electricity rushed through her body like the sizzle of a lightning strike. He held her tightly against his chest as he worked to loosen the chignon, which held her hair in place. She groaned with pleasure as his fingers massaged her scalp and stroked her newly freed tresses. Eventually, O'Rourke released her and took a step back. "I'll nail the bedroom window shut so he doesn't try that trick again." Felicia gathered her hair between her fingers and secured it back into the chignon. "How can I thank you for your help?" "You can't." He smiled and she loved the curve of his cheek, the finely honed planes of his face. She wouldn't mind looking at that face every day of her life. What was she saying? Surely she couldn't be in love with him? Not after one day! Half an hour later, Felicia convinced herself that what she felt for O'Rourke was gratitude and nothing more. So many things had happened to knock her emotions off-kilter. Perhaps she could be forgiven the delusion she loved a man she had just met. O'Rourke returned to the living room, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his hands. "I need to get back to the station. Don't open the door for anyone until I get back. It might be late." What would he say if she told him she missed him already? O'Rourke was descending the stairs when Felicia caught up with him. She called his name and he stopped and turned to face her. Felicia handed him her extra apartment key. "In case I'm asleep, you won't need to knock." O'Rourke's hand brushed against hers as he took the key. For a moment, the dingy staircase seemed a bright and beautiful place. The stair railing gleamed with a fresh coat of polish. The crystal wall sconces sparkled with a bright and warming glow. Their gazes met and held. O'Rourke leaned forward. Felicia closed her eyes. "Be sure to lock your door." O'Rourke tweaked her nose and Felicia opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. "I will," she said softly. But he had already disappeared down the stairwell.

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Suddenly, the stairwell wasn't beautiful at all. It was the same dull and depressing place it had always been. Had she wanted O'Rourke to kiss her as he had done in the apartment? She had never thrown herself at a man before. What was wrong with her? She ran back up the stairs, her mind a jumble of confusing thoughts. The fingerprint crew arrived and, for a while, the living room was full of men in suits. After they left, Felicia looked around her small apartment. The once familiar space was no longer warm or welcoming. Her apartment had been violated. She had been violated. The knife protruding from the coffee table was gone now and the window in her bedroom was nailed shut. So why didn't she feel safe? And why hadn't she told O'Rourke about being followed since DeWarner's murder? When he returned tonight she must tell him, even if he thought she was crazy. *** Nolan studied the knife. "Wicked looking blade." "Uh-huh." O'Rourke tried to get his mind back on the case. All he could think about was how beautiful Felicia looked in the stairway as she looked up at him with her dark green eyes which tilted up slightly at the corners. "Elaborate looking handle." Nolan rotated the knife to study it closer. "Might be Oriental. I've seen handles similar to this in Chinatown, but nothing as ornate as this one. Judging by the handle, this knife probably cost a pretty penny." Nolan sat the knife on the table. "You think he's sending some kind of message?" "Maybe." O'Rourke's expression clouded. "The note makes it seem personal." O'Rourke tortured himself with the same thought. Why would anyone label Felicia a tramp? If it was the shooter, why had he chosen that word? And if it was someone she knew, again, why that particular word? He had only known her a short time but he knew the word didn't fit. Still, he was plagued by an annoying, sharp-edged doubt, which attacked him from all sides and wouldn't go away. What did he really know about her? "You look mad enough to spit bullets," observed Nolan. "I know how your mind works so I suggest you run a criminal check on the girl. She'll come out smelling like roses and then you'll know it's some crazy perpetrator who thinks she's a witness, or maybe a kook who hates redheads." *** The sound of the telephone startled Felicia. She grabbed for the receiver, hoping it would be Detective O'Rourke at the other end of the line. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"Is this Miss Felicia Avery?" Not O'Rourke, but a stranger. "Yes it is." "Can you confirm you're the Felicia Avery who was with C.B. DeWarner yesterday when he was murdered?" "Who is this?" "Jackson Pile with the Los Angeles Times." She hung up on him. Within minutes, Felicia fielded calls from the Daily Mirror and the gossip rag, The Tattler. When she slammed down the phone on a famous gossipmongering journalist, she knew her career was over. To be connected with a major Hollywood scandal was the kiss of death for an aspiring actress. No more auditions, no more parts, even small ones. Felicia plopped down on the sofa and wept until she had no more tears to shed. The telephone woke her from a nightmare. In the dream, people pointed at her and laughed. The word Tramp was branded on her chest by a hot iron and she could smell her own charred flesh. "Hello." Felicia sat up straight as she struggled to free herself from the dream. "Hi there, gorgeous." A familiar male voice but she couldn't place it. "Who is this?" "How quickly we forget! It's Vance." Vance Morgan had asked her to marry him before she left Arizona. She hadn't accepted his proposal because she didn't want to string him along, knowing she was ambitious for an acting career. Her heart told her she didn't love him enough to give up her dream. Despite the broken engagement, they were still friends and kept in contact through letters and phone calls. Every now and then, Vance sent her a bouquet of roses to brighten up her dingy apartment. He worked as a salesman for his father's vacuum cleaner company and his route took him around the country. He assured her he would visit Los Angeles if his route ever brought him to California. Now that they were just friends, they got along better than they ever had when they were dating. "Vance! It's so nice to hear from you." Felicia's voice was warm when she realized it was an old friend and not another reporter. "Are you in Arizona?" "As a matter of fact, I'm right here in Los Angeles. I told you I would look you up if I was ever in California." He paused for a moment. "I saw the newspaper today." Felicia couldn't think of anything to say. "Your name was mentioned on the front page of the Los Angeles Times." "It's been such a nightmare." Her voice broke. "You can't imagine."

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"Poor baby." Vance spoke soothingly, just as he had when bandaging one of her childhood scrapes. "Just being there when DeWarner was shot must have been horrifying." "You have no idea." "How about I come over and we catch up on old times?" Felicia remembered O'Rourke would be back at her apartment later tonight. "Not today. How about tomorrow?" "Sounds great to me. I have something to tell you." Vance sound enthusiastic. Perhaps he had found a nice girl to settle down with. "So tell me what it is!" Felicia urged. She waited but he didn't elaborate. "Not on the phone. This deserves a face-to-face meeting." Perhaps Vance was already married. Whatever the news, she was happy he was getting on with his life. Especially now that hers had come to a grinding halt. "Tomorrow then?" she asked. "I'll call you or come by." Felicia lay back on the sofa and a memory came unbidden to her mind. When she was eight years old, some of the neighborhood boys had tormented her puppy by pulling on its ears. Felicia begged them to release the frightened animal but they had just pulled harder on little Bobo's ears. The puppy yelped in pain. Felicia burst into tears. Then Vance had shown up like a blond, avenging angel. At ten years old, he was already fast on his feet, not to mention bigger and stronger than any of the other kids in the neighborhood. That was what made him such a great quarterback on the high school football team years later. Vance took in the situation at a glance. He snatched Bobo from the boy who held him prisoner. Another boy lunged at Vance, but he slammed him into the ground with one swing of his powerful arm. From the moment he handed Bobo back to her, Felicia had been in love with Vance. So why hadn't she loved him enough to marry him? The sound of the key turning in the front door awakened Felicia once again. She had slept so much today and this wasn't normal for her. Everything weighed her down and she craved the peaceful escape sleep promised. Except there had been no peace, only nightmares. Felicia sat up on the sofa and rubbed her eyes. O'Rourke stood in the doorway. "I brought dinner." He held up a brown paper bag. "Thought you might be hungry even though it's late." "I'm starving." The aroma of French fried potatoes made her mouth water. "Nothing special, just burgers and fries from the Ring-Tailed Lemur." "I'm so hungry I could eat a burger from the Ring-Tailed Lemur." Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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O'Rourke smiled at her poor attempt at humor. Felicia noticed the circles under his eyes. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to slice metal. "You need rest." Felicia placed the brown paper bag on the table and then opened a kitchen cabinet in search of plates. O’Rourke found them first. "I need food more." O’Rourke handed her two plates from the cabinet. They sat across from each other at the small kitchen table. They ate in silence for a few moments. "Listen," he broke the silence, "I might as well be honest with you. I had you checked out." Felicia's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" "I ran a criminal check on you." "Oh…" "And you're clean." "I should hope so." O'Rourke picked up his plate and carried it to the sink. He stood in front of the sink with his back to her. "I don't want any secrets between us. I want to be straight with you because I know you're straight with me." "I understand." He turned to face her. "I couldn't let my personal feelings get in the way. I had to do my job." Felicia met his gaze. "I appreciate your honesty." That night, Felicia tossed and turned on her bed, unable to get comfortable. The window to her fire escape was nailed shut, making the room intolerably hot. As she fluffed her pillow, she realized she still hadn't told O'Rourke about her feeling that someone stalked her. *** Nolan stuffed half a cinnamon bun into his mouth. "So are you going to ask Little Miss Redhead to the Policemen's Ball?" O'Rourke frowned. "That's six months away." "I have a feeling you'll still be seeing each other." His partner didn't respond so Nolan got down to business. He pulled a folder out of his desk and handed it to O'Rourke. O'Rourke glanced at the folder. "What's this?" "Come to find out DeWarner's wife craved a divorce. Got tired of all the rumors about starlets in the pool house. And get this. Mrs. DeWarner's father happens to be the head of the Carmini crime family in Chicago. Supposedly, she ran to daddy and spilled the beans about hubby's unfaithfulness. Daddy takes care of problem. Instant divorce." O’Rourke’s eyes narrowed. "Where did you hear that?" "You think you're the only one with connections in the movie business?" Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"Are we talking a professional hit?" Nolan shrugged. "Maybe." O'Rourke shook his head. "But if it's one of Carmini's guys, he's back in Chicago safe and sound in the midst of the family." "I have another theory." "I thought as much." O'Rourke sighed with weariness. He hadn't slept well on Felicia's sofa. Not only was it lumpy and saggy, but he couldn't stop thinking about the lovely girl in the next room. "Seems another studio was trying to buy him out. DeWarner Junior was keen on the idea but Senior nixed it. Now, Senior is on his way to Hollywood Park Cemetery to join Valentino and the rest of the dearly departed. Junior is the new head honcho. Ready, willing, and able to sell off his daddy's studio so he can have more money for gambling and starlets. I heard the old man kept Junior on a tight leash and now the boy has gone hog wild. "What is it with this DeWarner? Did he go out of his way to make enemies?" Nolan shook his head. "He didn't have to go far. Most of them seem to be members of his own family." "So what do we do now?" "I suggest we pay our respects to Junior." *** C.B. DeWarner Junior didn't reside in a mansion like the one owned by his father. Instead, he lived in one of the new downtown apartments which had sprung up since the war. Of course, being the son of a wealthy movie producer had its perks. Junior's bachelor apartment was palatial enough to house a large family. It took up the entire sixth floor of the Sunset Garden Apartments. The apartment boasted a three hundred and sixty degree view of Los Angeles. Floor to ceiling windows encircled the apartment and opened onto a wrap-around balcony. O'Rourke couldn't help but compare this place to the tiny shoebox Felicia called home. O'Rourke turned his back on the view and studied the man he had come to question. DeWarner Junior had the slicked back hair of a punk and the wardrobe of a millionaire. His suit probably cost more than most people earned in a month. O'Rourke itched to knock the condescending smirk off his oily face. Display cases lining one side of the large living area caught O'Rourke's attention. Butcher knives, Bowie knives, switchblades, knives of every description filled the cases. What caught O'Rourke's attention was the collection of knives with ornately carved handles.

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"Quite a collection you have." O'Rourke opened one of the cases and picked up a large knife with a beautifully made handle. "That one looks familiar.” Nolan gave O’Rourke a meaningful look. "I like knives. Nothing wrong with that." Junior's voice was challenging but O'Rourke detected a hint of nervousness, possibly fear. "A friend of mine was threatened with a knife similar to this one." O'Rourke held the knife by the blade and then tossed it downward. The blade pierced the wood of Junior's coffee table. "Hey, what's your problem?" Junior ran to the table and pulled the knife from the wood. "You know how much this table cost me? It's genuine teak from half-way around the world. It probably cost more than you make in a year." Junior returned the knife to the collection. O'Rourke leaned against the display case. "Your father paid for it so why are you complaining?" "Look, will you just tell me why you're here? I got things to do. I'm a busy man." "Uh-huh." O'Rourke gave him a hard stare. Junior was the first to drop his gaze. "Like I said officers, I'm in mourning. Can we make this quick?" "Detectives." O'Rourke corrected him. "Oh excuse me, detectives." Junior made the word sound obscene. "Where do you find knives like those? The handle is exquisite workmanship. Must have cost plenty." Sweat appeared on Junior's upper lip. "You can buy them by the dozen in Chinatown." "I don't think so." O'Rourke picked up the knife again. "You see, this knife is handmade and signed by the person who sculpted the handle. I have a feeling this signature will match the knife my friend found in her living room." “I don't know what you're talking about.” Junior fidgeted with his tie. O'Rourke smelled the tension coming from his body in oily waves. "Where were you when your father was killed?" "What is this?" Anger painted Junior's face an ugly, mottled red. "I was getting my hair cut." "Witnesses?" "Of course." O’Rourke frowned. "Do you have any idea who might want to put your dad out of business?" "According to the paper, you should ask the little slut who was with him." A red, haze blurred O'Rourke's vision and everything took on the color of blood. Nolan grabbed his arm but O'Rourke shook him off. "Excuse me?" "I said you should question the slut that was with him. The paper hinted she might have seen the shooter. Who knows? Maybe she did it herself. These gold digging actresses will do anything to…" Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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Junior never saw the rock hard fist, which slammed into his face and knocked him flat on the carpet. "Let's get out of this dump." O'Rourke stepped over Junior's unconscious body. "Please accept our condolences." Nolan took out a business card from his suit pocket and placed it on Junior's chest. *** With the sun's slanting rays tickling her nose through the half-opened curtain, Felicia opened her eyes to another perfect day in Southern California. She thought she could smell the Santa Monica pier with its carnival and boardwalk, mingling with the scent of the sea. But perhaps this was her overactive imagination at work again, since the window was shut. Felicia rolled out of bed, and then bathed, dressed, and walked into the kitchen. A note from O'Rourke greeted her. He told her he hoped she slept well and to call him at the station if she needed him. He left a phone number. Felicia picked up the phone and started to dial, then set the receiver back down. O'Rourke was busy, no need to bother him just to say good morning. The doorbell rang. Felicia checked her appearance. It probably wasn't O'Rourke since he had a key to her apartment, but she still wanted to look her best. Just in case. She opened the door to find Lila standing in the hallway holding a cup of coffee and the newspaper. She handed the paper to Felicia. "I read the paper this morning. Are you ready to spill the beans about what's going on?" Lila’s deep, blue eyes were troubled. Felicia threw up her hands. "Where do I begin?" "I saw the two cops that were here the other day. One was a dead ringer for Alan Ladd, the other tall and dreamy, looked like Dana Andrew's twin brother." "What an imagination you have." Lila winked. "You got to have imagination to make it in this business." "I always heard it was knowing the right people." Felicia wondered if DeWarner would have given her the part if she had succumbed to his advances. Not in a million years, she decided. "If only that was true." Lila's voice grew impatient. "So you gonna let me in or what?" Felicia stepped to one side and Lila breezed into the room, a cloud of floral scented perfume in her wake. She wore a belted, silk dress in her favorite color pink. Everything Lila owned was in some shade of pink, peach, rose or blush. Today, Lila's hair was platinum blond and curled in tight ringlets. What color would it be tomorrow? Felicia had seen Lila's hair go from black to red to blond in a single week. She had no idea what the natural color was and she wondered if Lila even remembered. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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Lila plumped down on the lumpy green sofa. "I wanted to give you some space and let you tell me what was going on when you were ready. But now that everyone in Southern California has read about it, I think it’s time I heard the inside story.” “I'm sorry,” said Felicia. “I should have told you what was going on, but I just couldn't bring myself to talk about it.” Lila looked mollified. “Apology accepted. By the way, congratulations on making the front page.” “Gee, I'm honored.” Lila took a sip of her coffee and then fanned her hands in front of her mouth. "Hot, hot, hot!" Felicia rushed to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water, which she handed to her friend. "Gee whiz, I burned my tongue," screeched Lila. The words came out as "Thee witz, ah burn ma thung." Felicia covered her mouth, trying not to giggle. “As I was about to say," continued Lila, "I'm afraid your career is dead in the water." Felicia flopped down on the chair as if she were plummeting back to reality. "Dead and buried," she agreed. "You were actually there when DeWarner bought it?" "I was there in the flesh." Felicia shivered. "And I'd give anything to turn back the clock and never have set foot in DeWarner's office in the first place." "Were you at the studio for an audition?" Felicia rolled her eyes. "DeWarner called it an audition but he wanted more than I was willing to give." Lila sipped her coffee and winced. "Still too hot. Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but DeWarner had a reputation as the most lecherous slime in the business. He had a sweet, grandfatherly aura about him, but his heart was pure Casanova." "I wish I'd known about him." Lila dropped her gaze. "I thought everyone knew. I keep forgetting you're new in town. I had to learn about him the hard way." Felicia leaned forward in the chair. "You mean, he..." Lila nodded. Her expression darkened and her eyes hardened. "When I first came to Hollywood, I didn't know there were men like him out here. We had a wrestling match in his office, but I wasn't as lucky as you. I didn't get away." Felicia's hands balled into fists. "That dirty old goat!" "Whoever killed him did every actress in Hollywood a big favor. I had fantasies of killing him myself." Lila's voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"But hey, let's look on the bright side. DeWarner got what he deserved, and we can all rest easier tonight." Felicia stood up and walked to the sofa. She sat down beside Lila and put her arm around her friend's shoulder. "Why didn't you report it to the police?" Lila shook off Felicia's arm. "The police? Are you crazy? You know why I didn't report it? Because I wanted to work! Do you think I would've worked again if I had complained to the police? I'd be in the same situation as you!" Lila's eyes widened in horror and she put a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I guess I can't go a day without putting my foot in my mouth." Felicia forced a grin. "Don't worry about it; it's a big club." They hugged each other and sat in silence. Felicia wondered how many powerful men like DeWarner were out there preying on naive, young women like herself. Lila wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "On a different subject, Gina Gallo happened to be looking out her window yesterday afternoon, and saw a handsome guy in a suit follow you home. You hadn't been in your apartment more than five minutes when you let out a scream that rocked the rafters. Before Gina could rush to your apartment, the handsome guy was already there. I'm assuming it was the Dana Andrews look-alike? He's the one who kept making eyes at you.” Felicia blushed. "Yes, well, Detective O'Rourke is staying with me because of the knife in the coffee table." "The what in the what?" Now it was Lila's turn to lean forward. Her eyes were bright with excitement and barely contained curiosity. Felicia explained everything that had happened since the unfortunate audition at DeWarner Studios. Lila's eyes grew wide and wider still as she listened to the story. When Felicia finished her story, Lila punched the threadbare pillow which lay on the sofa. "I go shopping for a few hours and miss all the excitement." "It was a day I won't forget." "Right about now, I'll bet you wish you'd never left Arizona." Felicia bit her lip and picked up Lila's empty water glass. She carried it to the kitchen and made a pretense of washing it, drying it, and putting it away. She turned to see Lila standing in the kitchen doorway. "Sorry, I didn't mean nothing by that." Lila studied her bright pink toenails which peeked out from pink, strappy, sandals. "Sometimes I wish I'd never left St. Louis myself. I should probably be married with five kids by now." Felicia grinned. "I'd like to see the man who could settle you down with five kids." "He would have to be someone special, that's for sure." Lila cocked her head to one side and her blond ringlets flopped in all different directions as if they had a mind of their own. She resembled a pink Medusa with a head full of Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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silky, yellow snakes. Of course, Lila was far too beautiful to be compared to the hideous Medusa, but her new hairstyle had to go! Lila grabbed an oatmeal cookie from the cookie jar on the counter. "I wouldn't mind an introduction to the Alan Ladd look-alike. Hint, hint. I have a thing for blonds, you know. I could definitely see myself walking down the aisle with a blond." Felicia laughed. "Speaking of marriage, you'll never guess who phoned me yesterday." She told Lila about the conversation with Vance Morgan. "You think he's engaged?" "He might be." Felicia nibbled on her lower lip. "I can't think what else it could be. He's supposed to phone or come by today." Lila grabbed another cookie and then headed for the door. "It's always good to keep a man waiting. How about we go out and do some shopping. There's a sale on nylons at Woolworth's." "I should wait here..." "Leave a note on the door in case Vance comes by." As she wrote a note for Vance, Felicia wondered how the DeWarner investigation was proceeding. Most of all, she wondered where O'Rourke was at this very moment. The thought of him brought a smile to her face. "I've seen that dreamy look before." Lila rolled her eyes. "Are you sweet on that cop? Or perhaps you’re carrying a torch for Vance, the high school sweetheart?” Felicia ignored her. "Are we going shopping or what?" "Okay, okay, I'll keep my big mouth shut." Lila's car whizzed through traffic. As always, Felicia enjoyed riding in the pink 1939 Lincoln Convertible with the comfortable, white leather seats and ample leg room. The breeze blew across her face and the fresh air revived her spirits. People turned to stare as the outrageous pink car made its way down Hollywood Boulevard. Most of the locals knew Lila and forgave her eccentric taste in cars, clothes, and just about everything else. The Convertible slid comfortably into a parking space a block from Woolworth's. Felicia decided, after maneuvering her way through the crowded store, that every woman in Los Angeles and the surrounding areas must have heard of the sale. Lila grabbed a handful of nylons from a sales bin. Women were grabbing pieces of merchandise as if Woolworth's was the Titanic on its way to the bottom of the sea. Felicia decided the safest place to stand was near the front display windows where ravenous shoppers were not as numerous. From the corner of her eye, Felicia sensed someone watching her from across the street. For a split second, she glimpsed a man in an expensive suit staring back at her. Medium height, dark, slicked back hair. But then he was gone. Felicia's gaze roamed up and down the crowded street, but no one looked in her direction. Moving away from the window, she went in search of Lila. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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After paying for her purchases, Lila piled her treasures into the roomy trunk of the convertible and then slammed the trunk shut with a snap of her wrist. "I managed to nab over a dozen nylons." Lila's face wore a satisfied smile. "They're not on sale every day of the week you know." "Great job." "The great job was getting those pink heels. They match my pink, angora sweater." "Angora makes me sneeze." Felicia stared down at the street wondering if she had imagined the stranger following her. "So where do you want to eat?" "The Brown Derby?" "Can you afford it?" "Just got a part in an MGM musical." Pride was evident in Lila's voice. "Non-speaking, non-singing. They hired me to look good and smile for the camera." "Congratulations!" Felicia meant it, even though her heart twisted with bittersweet regret at the thought of her own, now defunct, career. "You could always do community theatre." Lila checked her make-up in the rearview mirror. "Doesn't pay as much, but..." "We'll see." Felicia mimicked O'Rourke's words, "Maybe it'll be a nine day’s wonder and then things will get back to normal." Felicia didn't believe it for a moment. "I guess the Brown Derby isn't such a good idea." Lila turned the key in the ignition. "Too many show business types and reporters. This town is a fishbowl." "I was thinking of the Streetcar Diner," Felicia said as they rolled away from the curb. "It's off the beaten path." Then a thought occurred to her. "Better yet, there's this new place I just discovered. It's called the Ring-Tailed Lemur." "That's a cop hang out." "But they cook a fine burger." Lila arched an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Since when have you been crazy about burgers?" Moments later, they pulled up to the Ring-Tailed Lemur. The parking lot was full so Lila parked the Convertible on the curb near the restaurant. As soon as Felicia stepped out of the car, the feeling of being watched hit her again. She frowned as she glanced up and down the street. This cat and mouse game was getting on her nerves. She scanned the neighborhood until something caught her eye. In the alley which snaked between the buildings facing the Ring-Tailed Lemur, a man watched her from the shadows. "Do you see that man?" Felicia pointed toward the alley. The man hurried down the alley before disappearing into one of the buildings. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"What man?" Lila squinted and then shook her head. "He's gone now." If he was ever there. Felicia wondered if the shock of DeWarner's death, not to mention the knife left in her coffee table, was causing her mind to come completely unhinged. The Ring-Tailed Lemur was crowded with men in uniform, along with a few female patrons. Felicia spotted O'Rourke having lunch with his partner. She knew he would be here. As if sensing her scrutiny, O'Rourke looked up from his meal. Surprise and then pleasure crossed his face. Felicia's heart soared with anticipation at the sight of him. There was something about his attractive face and wide, honest eyes that made her breathe harder, faster, deeper. "Hello Felicia." Gray eyes met green as O'Rourke held Felicia's gaze. Felicia introduced him to Lila and then they walked over to where Nolan sat eating French fries. Nolan rose from the table and O'Rourke introduced Lila to his partner. After a few moments of conversation, it was apparent Lila had taken a liking to the man she had described as "a dead ringer for Alan Ladd." Detective Nolan was not only attractive, but he projected a quiet strength and integrity, qualities he shared with O'Rourke. These personality traits appealed to Felicia after her experience with actors, and she saw Lila felt the same way. "Detective Nolan, how does your wife feel about your chosen profession?" Lila was outrageously unsubtle in her questioning. "As a matter of fact, I don't have a wife, Ma'am." A smile cracked Nolan's face. "How about you?" "Before we go any further, I don't have a husband or a sweetheart." Lila leaned toward Nolan. "Tell me about your job. It must be so dangerous." Felicia barely followed their conversation. She was more interested in studying O'Rourke, without him being aware of her scrutiny. She saw his apparently relaxed demeanor masked an intense alertness to his surroundings and the world around him. He frowned as his gaze traveled around the crowded restaurant. Felicia leaned towards him and batted her eyes. "Tell me about your job Detective O'Rourke. It must be so dangerous." O'Rourke threw back his head and laughed. The sound of his laughter soothed Felicia's frazzled nerves. "What's so funny?" Nolan asked. "You had to be there." O'Rourke stirred sugar into his coffee. "Must have been really funny,” Nolan said wryly. “It's been ages since I've heard this old guy laugh." "I wouldn't call him old," Felicia objected. "I'd say he's in the prime of life." Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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O'Rourke's gaze met and held Felicia's. It was as if they were the only patrons in the crowded, noisy restaurant. Everyone and everything around them faded into the background. "I can see we're not needed here." Lila's words broke the spell. Felicia lowered her gaze. She couldn't look at O'Rourke, didn't want to get lost in his gray-eyed gaze again. Felicia fumbled with the menu. "So what's good for dessert?" Lila smiled at her friend's discomfiture, but offered no help. Instead she turned her attention back to Nolan who seemed to bask in her attention. "So tell me more about your job. What was your most interesting case?" Thanks a lot Lila. Felicia gave her friend a sideways glare. Felicia didn't know how she made it through the meal. She couldn't even remember what she had eaten or how it had tasted. All she could think about was the man who sat across from her in the crowded diner. Why did he have to be so attractive? What was it about him that caused her pulse to race and her skin to blush whenever he turned those devastating gray eyes on her? After lunch, O'Rourke and Nolan walked the two women back to the convertible. As soon as Felicia stepped out onto the sidewalk, she sensed someone lurked nearby, watching her from the shadows. With a mounting sense of urgency, she knew she must tell O'Rourke about the man in the expensive suit and slicked back hair. "There's something I need to tell you..." But before she could finish her sentence, O’Rourke slammed her to the ground. Instinctively, she covered her face with her hands as her body crashed into the hard pavement. O'Rourke pinned her to the sidewalk and then she heard the sharp report of gunfire. A bullet hit the trunk of the Convertible. O'Rourke pulled out his gun from the shoulder holster, and then ran down the street. "Stay down." He called back over his shoulder. Nolan and Lila lay nearby. Blood oozed down the sleeve of Lila’s blouse. "Lila!" Felicia crawled over to where her friend lay on the sidewalk. "It's just a scratch." Lila's voice was high-pitched with fear. "The slug ricocheted off the trunk and nicked her arm." Nolan ripped the material of Lila's blouse to expose the wound. "The bullet hit my trunk!" wailed Lila. "I hope my nylons are okay. They were on sale, you know." "I need to get her to the hospital," said Nolan. "She sounds a little shocky." "Shocky, slocky." Lila sat up and looked around. "What about my car?" Nolan pulled a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and applied pressure to the wound. He wiped away the blood trickling down Lila's arm. Felicia was relieved to see the wound was nothing more than a scratch and not deep at all. Her stomach still roiled at the site of the blood. She remembered DeWarner's lifeblood bleeding out on the Persian carpet in his office. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"No sign of the guy." O'Rourke holstered his gun and then bent to check on Lila. "I think he might have been in the alley across the street but he's long gone now." "Why was he shooting at us?" Lila closed her eyes and lay back on the pavement. "I think he was after Felicia." O'Rourke's face was a stone mask with no trace of warmth. "My beautiful car!" Tears rolled down Lila’s cheeks as she sat up and checked out the damage to her vehicle. Nolan stroked Lila’s hair. "Be thankful the car was here or the bullet might have hit one of us." Lila sagged against Nolan in a dead faint. "It's just a flesh wound but I'm taking her to Heart of Mercy. It's the closest hospital." Nolan picked up Lila and carried her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a stray kitten. "We'll follow in a minute." O'Rourke opened the car door. Once Lila was ensconced in the front seat, Nolan started the engine and the car roared down the street with its siren blaring. The sidewalk was crowded with police officers in uniform and detectives in suits and hats. O'Rourke spoke to one of the detectives and explained what had happened. He assigned uniformed officers to sweep the area for any trace of the shooter. "I want to go to the hospital." Felicia's voice trembled with fear. "We're on our way." O'Rourke looked around. "Don't suppose you have an extra set of keys for Lila's car." Felicia fished around in her purse and pulled out a key ring. "As a matter of fact, I do." O'Rourke pushed the big car past the speed limit and they fairly flew the short distance to Heart of Mercy Hospital. By the time they arrived, Lila's wound had been cleaned and bandaged and she hadn't required a single stitch. The hospital insisted she stay overnight for observation since she had a large bump on the back of her head, the result of striking her head on the pavement when she fell. Nolan sat by her bedside, regaling her with his adventures on the police force. On the drive back to her apartment, Felicia didn’t enjoy the breeze blowing through her hair or the spacious luxury of the Convertible. So much had happened to her in such a short time and she couldn't shake the feeling her days were numbered. She told O'Rourke about the man who had followed her since DeWarner's murder. "You should have told me sooner." His mouth tightened into a hard line.

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"I'm telling you now." Felicia sighed. "At first, I thought I was imagining things. I never actually saw anyone until today when I caught a glimpse of a man in a well-tailored suit and slicked-back hair." "What color was his hair? How tall was he?" "Uh, black hair, kind of greasy looking. He was medium height, not as tall as you. Kind of slim and wiry." O'Rourke frowned. "Did anyone know you were coming to the RingTailed Lemur?" "I left a note on the front door for Vance. I told him I was out shopping with Lila and we'd be home in a few hours. The Lemur was a last-minute decision." "Vance who?" "Vance Morgan." Felicia's gaze held his. "He's the man I used to date. He’s here in Los Angeles on business.” O’Rourke ran his fingers through his hair. “How well do you know this guy?” “We've known each other since grade school. I think I know him pretty well.” O’Rourke frowned. “I guess he’s trustworthy?” “Absolutely.” Felicia smiled. “He used to be my knight in shining armor when I was a child.” O’Rourke’s frown deepened. "Should I be jealous?" "Not a bit." Then she added, "But if you want to be jealous, that's all right with me." O'Rourke grinned. "I was happy to see you when you walked into the restaurant today.” "Were you?" He nodded. “And I think Nolan's day improved the moment he met your perky friend." Felicia tried to smile but couldn't make the effort. The stalker had shot at her in broad daylight. What would he do next? She huddled down in her seat, suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the sun, which beat down on her face. When they pulled up to her building, Felicia turned to O'Rourke. "Does DeWarner’s killer really think I saw his face?" O'Rourke didn't answer for a moment. "Maybe. But it doesn't feel right. Forgive my bluntness, but a professional hit man wouldn't be so incompetent. A professional from Chicago or New York wouldn't leave a melodramatic gesture like a knife in your coffee table. If he was aiming for you today, he would've hit you." The blood drained from Felicia's face and the queasiness in her stomach came back with a vengeance. "Then what?" "This smacks of something personal." Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"Personal?" O'Rourke's expression turned coldly professional. Felicia didn't envy the suspect that might face him in an interrogation room. His eyes were chips of dark gray ice. "Someone with a grudge. Someone who hates you enough to write the word tramp on a piece of paper. I think it's someone you know." Felicia shook her head. "I can't think of anyone." "Fellow actor? Director? Producer? Take your pick. In your business, I'm sure you meet plenty of losers. Not to mention the men you've met at the soup kitchen. One of them might be our lowlife." Felicia clenched her fists. "And you lump me in that category?" "I didn't mean..." "Of course you did. I spend my time with lowlifes so that makes me a lowlife, too. That places me in a category somewhere between cockroach and sewer rat. I'm surprised you can even stomach talking to me." "Felicia, give me a break! I’m worried sick about what happened today. I wasn’t very tactful and I apologize.” "I think you spoke your true feelings.” Felicia knew she was being unreasonable, but she didn't care. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point, and the unresolved, mounting tension made her want to lash out in frustration. She slammed the car door with all her strength and raced into the lobby. She had been an idiot, deluding herself into believing O'Rourke felt something for her, even though they'd just met. He was the kind of man she always hoped to meet, a real man, without a hint of superficiality. He wasn't tainted with the same brush as most of the people she had met in the entertainment industry. But when it came right down to it, his words revealed his true feelings. He didn't see Felicia as the type of woman he could fall in love with. He saw her as just another bubble-headed starlet who associated with morally questionable people. Or did he? Hadn't he been kind and attentive to her from the beginning? Hadn't he aroused feelings in her no other man had? And the way he looked at her… Felicia threw her handbag on the kitchen table. The doorbell peeled and she went to answer it. O'Rourke stood in the hallway, his hands crammed in his pockets. "I'm sorry." He lowered his eyes and kicked at the fraying hallway carpet. “I didn't mean to make you angry." "I don't know what to say." Felicia crossed her arms over her chest. "I got the impression you lump me in with the people I associate with. Maybe this is the way you really feel about me." "Never." She arched an eyebrow. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"I swear." Felicia couldn't speak, still unsure of her feelings. "You can believe me or not, but it's the truth." O'Rourke blew out a breath. "You're a beautiful, talented, young lady who wants to be taken seriously as an actress. I wish none of these horrible things ever happened, but one good thing came out of this mess. I met you, and my life has changed for the better because of it." Felicia’s eyes filled with tears. “I guess I'm not thinking clearly. So much has happened…” “I know.” O’Rourke tweaked her nose as he had done in the stairway. “I promise I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe and find the person responsible for tormenting you." Felicia nodded and gave him a shy smile. "Thank you." He kissed her on the cheek. "I'm heading back to the hospital later. Do you think Lila will need extra clothes?" "I hadn't thought about it," admitted Felicia. "I'll go next door and pack some things for her." *** "What's this all about?" C.B. DeWarner Jr. sat in the interrogation room of the police station. His black eye, compliments of O'Rourke, stood out in shades of purple and green. After O’Rourke left Felicia’s apartment, he caught a cab to the station. Once there, he made arrangements for uniform officers to pick up DeWarner Jr. and bring him in for further questioning. Now, O'Rourke circled the small room, forcing Junior to turn his head in order to follow his movements. O'Rourke stopped circling and planted himself behind Junior's chair. O'Rourke found this effective in order to intimidate the suspect and throw them off balance. Sort of like the teacher looking over a student's shoulder. It was a successful psychological tool O'Rourke often used to his advantage when conducting interrogations. The claustrophobic flavor of the room was having an effect on Junior. Sweat or hair oil beaded on his forehead and then rolled down his cheeks. O'Rourke didn't speak as he stood behind Junior's chair, letting the tension increase until it was almost unbearable. When it looked as if Junior might baste in his own sweat, O'Rourke began to ask questions. "You have a thing for knives, don't you?" The sound of O'Rourke's voice caused Junior to jump in his chair. O'Rourke leaned his weight on the back of the chair. "The other day, I couldn't help but notice one of the knives was missing from your collection. Can you account for that?" "Maybe the tooth fairy borrowed it." Junior's voice dripped with sarcasm. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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“You’re a funny guy, aren’t you?” O'Rourke turned his back on Junior. He left the room, returning with the knife he found in Felicia's apartment. Junior rubbed the back of his neck. "You can't prove that knife is from my collection." O'Rourke smiled. "Oh, but I have proved it. The signature of the artist is identical to the other knives in your collection." Junior's eyes narrowed. "Maybe someone stole it. I don't check my collection every day." O'Rourke pulled up a chair and sat down across from Junior. He pushed his chair closer until he was only a foot from Junior's face, effectively invading the other man's space. Another psychological tool he had learned on the job. "Let's get down to business." O'Rourke leaned forward until his face was inches from Junior's. He saw every enlarged pore and every blemish on the man's face. Junior leaned back as far as he could but O'Rourke still smelled his sour breath. All the money in the world can't buy a clean conscience or fresh breath, he thought. "I checked out your alibi. You were at the barbershop when your father was killed. That isn't why you're here. What I want to know is why you've been following Felicia Avery and why you plunged this knife into her coffee table." "I don't know what you're talking about." The scent of Junior's sour sweat intensified in the small room. O'Rourke leaned back in his chair, giving Junior some breathing room. Junior visibly relaxed and took a deep breath. Suddenly, O'Rourke leaned forward. Junior's eyes widened with fear. "I've been thinking a person with all your money and connections could've hired someone to kill his father." O'Rourke scratched his chin as if considering the thought. "I think it's best if we keep you here a few days for questioning." "Hey, you can't lock me up with these animals." Junior's voice ended in a bleat of terror. "I didn't do nothing to that tramp." O'Rourke balled his hands into fists and blew out a breath. He stood up and circled the room again, biding his time, a wolf ready to pounce on his prey at any moment. Junior's face drained of color. "It's interesting you used the word tramp." O'Rourke's voice was mild but his words held unspoken menace as he circled Junior like a caged animal. "That word was mentioned in the note left in Felicia Avery's apartment. Someone had punctuated the thought by driving a knife into the paper. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Junior's composure crumbled and he began to sob. "Felicia Avery killed my father. I wanted to scare her so I left the knife and the note. I thought she might confess if she was frightened enough." "How long have you been following her?" Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"Since yesterday. I asked around the studio and found out where she lived. I left the note in her apartment. I wanted her to know I knew she was guilty." O’Rourke couldn’t bear to look at Junior. He might punch him. Junior now sat with his hands covering his face and that was a good thing as far as O’Rourke was concerned O'Rourke fixed his attention on the cracks snaking across the worn floor. "So you left the knife in the coffee table. Then what happened?" "Then I followed Felicia and her girlfriend to Woolworth's. After that, they ended up at the Ring-Tailed Lemur and that's when I decided to go home." "Aren't you forgetting something?" O'Rourke placed a hand on Junior's shoulder and squeezed. Junior winced. "What do you mean?" "You took a shot at Felicia when she left the Lemur." Junior's eyes widened in confusion. "Hey, I had nothing to do with any shooting. All I did was follow her to the restaurant and then I went home. The place is some sort of cop hang-out and I didn't want to get caught loitering in the area. Not with all those cops around." O'Rourke's grip tightened on Junior's shoulder. Junior's voice went up an octave. "Hey listen, I don't even own a gun, don't know how to use one. Knives are my thing. You know that!" O'Rourke didn't know what to believe. Either Junior was a good actor or he was telling the truth about leaving the Lemur before the shooting. O'Rourke didn't think Junior was a good actor. He was as easy to read as a cheap novel. O'Rourke released his grip on the other man's shoulder. Junior sagged against his chair. "Let me set your mind straight about one thing." O'Rourke stared into Junior's bloodshot eyes. "Felicia Avery didn't kill your father." "What makes you so sure?" Junior ran his hands through his oily hair, preening himself as he regained his bravado. "Because someone else has been following her since the afternoon of the murder. If it wasn't you, then it's probably your father's murderer." A condescending smirk crossed Junior's face. "Then stop wasting your time with me. Earn your chump change by finding the real killer." O'Rourke gripped Junior's tie and pulled until the other man was out of his seat and gasping for air. "I'm going to turn you loose for now and forget about the breaking and entering charge. However, I'd like to offer you some advice. I think a change of scenery would do you good. I'm sure you're not interested in seeing this room again, no matter how pleasant our interview has been." O'Rourke released his grip on the tie. Junior fell backwards, missed the chair and landed on the floor. His eyes were desperate as he grabbed for his Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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throat and gulped in air. Gradually, the color returned to his face and he was able to speak. "I think I agree with you." Junior's voice came out as a tortured whisper. "I'm thinking about taking a trip to Chicago to visit my grandfather." "Sounds like a sensible idea." *** After O'Rourke left the apartment with an overnight bag for Lila, Felicia found herself wondering if she should go home to Arizona as soon as possible. Someone was stalking her, an unseen and dangerous enemy. She yearned to be back in the midst of her family, longed to smell the sweet, desert air instead of the thick, clogged air of the city. Thinking of her family led to thoughts of Vance Morgan. Maybe he could give her a ride home when his business in Los Angeles was completed. O'Rourke told her to stay in town because she was a material witness to a homicide. Felicia decided if the LAPD wanted her badly enough, they could just drive to Arizona and find her. Vance phoned to tell Felicia he would be busy all day, but would like to take her out to dinner later in the evening. "How late?" she asked. "Around ten." "That's late." "Come on, Cinderella. You won't turn into a pumpkin if you're not back by midnight." Felicia laughed. A night on the town with an old friend might be just the thing she needed. It was better than pacing the apartment in frustration. “All right, I’ll see you at ten.” Lila phoned a few minutes later. "I should get shot more often." She sounded chipper and enthusiastic. "The nurses are treating me like some kind of hero and Detective Nolan is treating me like a queen." "But technically, you didn't get shot," Felicia pointed out. "Details, details. As far as everyone is concerned, I survived a mad assassin loose in the city. Reporters have been here all day. They asked me all sorts of questions about you." Felicia groaned. "More nails in my coffin. At this rate, the only acting jobs I'll be able to book are traveling, freak shows." “I know you don’t want to hear this but try to look on the bright side. This thing will blow over eventually.” “I’ll try.” Felicia’s voice brightened. “And you try to get some rest if you can tear yourself away from your adoring public.” “Hey, I may never get this much free publicity again. I intend to take advantage of it.” “Say goodnight Lila.” Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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“Goodnight Lila.” Felicia began to have second thoughts about her date with Vance. The day’s events had taken their toll, and her eyelids drooped with exhaustion. She longed for nothing more exciting than a good night’s sleep. But she promised to go out with Vance and didn’t want to disappoint him. Vance arrived promptly at ten o’clock. Felicia was surprised to see how fit and muscular his body had become since the last time they'd seen each other. Vance had gained at least twenty pounds, all of it muscle. He lost the last of his baby fat and his weak chin was nowhere to be found. "Are you training for a bodybuilding competition or something?" Felicia hadn't expected him to resemble the beefy, bulked up men who frequented Muscle Beach. "I started lifting weights." The fabric of Vance's jacket strained taut across his broad chest. "May I ask why?" "The girls seem to like it." He winked at her and then tickled her waist as he’d done since they were kids. Felicia giggled and slapped his hands away. "I'm sure they do." "But you don't care for the muscular type?" Felicia had always been honest with him and wasn't about to start lying. "Don't go by me. I'm sure girls will be lining up around the block to catch your eye." She paused. "Unless there's already some special girl." Vance blew out a sigh "There's no one. Hasn't been anyone since you." "I thought when you said you had something to tell me..." "It wasn't that." Vance's full lips pulled downward and a shadow crossed his face. For a second, he resembled a stranger, not the man she once loved. Or thought she loved. When she dated Vance, she hadn't known what true love was. The truth hit Felicia like a thunderbolt from a clear, untroubled sky. She was in love with O'Rourke. Never mind that she didn't even know his first name. She was in love with him and wanted to shout it from the roof of her apartment building. "I heard of a great restaurant," Vance interrupted her thoughts. "It's called the Brown Derby. Have you been there?" *** O'Rourke slumped down in the unmarked police car, his gaze scoping out Felicia's apartment building. Someone took a shot at her in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses. It was the last thing he had expected. O’Rourke’s fear turned to fury as he pictured Felicia’s body bleeding on the sidewalk. Had he found this exceptional woman only to lose her to a determined murderer? Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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Felicia was a single, perfect rose amidst a valley of thorns and he would do everything in his power to protect her from harm The shooter would try again. O'Rourke was certain of it. After leaving the police station, O’Rourke drove to Heart of Mercy Hospital. He found Nolan at Lila’s bedside. O'Rourke stared down at the sleeping woman. Lila's frazzled curls spilled across the pillow. “Is she going to be okay?” “She’ll be fine,” said Nolan. “It was just a scratch.” O’Rourke tilted his head. “She looks about twelve years old.” Nolan nodded. “She wore herself out. She talked my ear off until she fell asleep." A smile creased O'Rourke's stern features. "Must have been agony." "Yes, but what a way to go." Nolan turned off the bedside lamp and then followed O'Rourke out into the hallway. "So what's the plan?" Nolan yawned and rubbed his eyes. "I'm still shadowing Felicia. The guy probably won't try again tonight. It's too soon." Nolan nodded. "But I'm going to be there anyway." "Such dedication to the job." "Speaking of dedication, how long are you gonna stay here?" "Well, I figure Lila will need a ride home in the morning." Nolan's tired voice perked up. "In case she asks, her precious car is back at the apartment." "I'll tell her." "You've got your hands full with that one." O'Rourke pictured his partner with Lila Lamont and decided they probably complimented each other. Opposites attracted after all. Or so he'd heard. Nolan narrowed his eyes. "Look who's talking. I wouldn't touch a redhead with a ten-foot pole. Nasty temper." "This redhead doesn't follow that rule." "Uh-huh. Looks like you've been shot straight through the heart, if you'll pardon the expression." O'Rourke grinned at his partner. "Isn't that the truth?" *** The Brown Derby was blanketed with movie people. Directors, producers, agents, starlets on the way up, has-beens on the way down, tourists, gawkers, and the odd pariah. Tonight, Felicia was one of those pariahs. She caught the eye of a director she worked with once. The director averted his gaze Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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when he saw her. She spotted her own agent through the thick crowd and he made a point of looking the other direction when she passed his table. Vance's hand on her elbow guided her to one of the less prestigious tables located in the back of the restaurant. These tables were not for people who wished to be seen. These tables were for tourists. From now on, Felicia would never be more than a tourist in Hollywood. But it didn't matter to her anymore. All she could think about was O'Rourke and her newly discovered love for him. She thought about the lines that crinkled at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. She pictured his thick hair and sensitive eyes which were at odds with his stern, policeman's face. Vance studied the menu. "I hear the cobb salad is first rate." "I'll have the same." Felicia closed the menu and handed it to the waiter. "Now, what was it you wanted to tell me? You know, I love surprises." Vance shook his head. "Not yet. Later." Felicia looked around the crowded restaurant. Was it her imagination or had one of the waiters pointed at her? Were people beginning to stare in her direction? "Excuse me, aren't you Felicia Avery?" a stranger called out from behind the glare of an exploding flashbulb. Felicia flung out her hands, knocking her water glass to the floor. Flashbulbs went off and reporters circled their table like a pack of hungry jackals. "We got a tip you were here," said one of the men. "Do you have anything to say about DeWarner's murder?" "Was the bullet meant for you or Lila Lamont?" yelled another. Suddenly, questions came at her from all sides, rapid and relentless. Vance threw a few bills on the table and pulled her up from her chair. "Get away from us, you ghouls!" he yelled as he pushed his way through the crowd dragging Felicia behind him. Vance's car screeched on asphalt as they sped out of the parking lot. "Where to, Cinderella?" he asked. "Can we just drive?" Felicia leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. "I want to smell fresh air." *** O'Rourke pulled out of the Brown Derby behind Felicia and the man she was with, undoubtedly the old boyfriend, Vance Morgan. Reporters dogged Vance's car for a few moments but the car sped away so quickly they gave up the chase. O'Rourke was not so easily discouraged. ***

Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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Felicia and Vance sat in his car outside the darkened Griffith Observatory building. Felicia inhaled deep, refreshing breaths of the cool night air. There were no other cars in the parking lot. Even though she loved Griffith Park in the daytime, she didn't feel safe in this lonely spot late at night. All she wanted to do was go home and go to bed, but good manners prevailed. Felicia stopped herself from ruining Vance's evening. Vance massaged the knotted muscles of Felicia's shoulders. Felicia groaned. “That feels so good.” Vance pulled his hands away from her shoulders. “Don’t stop.” Felicia turned to face him. “Did you ever love me?” Vance’s question came out of left field and Felicia was silent as she wondered why he had asked it, now of all times. His eyes were bright, but his voice sounded quiet and wistful. "We were so young." Felicia tried to find the words to help him understand her feelings. "I was in love with love, I think. But I always loved you as a friend. I still love you as a friend." "But you never loved me the way I wanted to be loved." "It's getting chilly." Felicia rubbed her arms. "Do you mind if we go now?" "Your career always came first. I thought I was enough for you." "Vance, did you hear me? I'm getting cold." "And Felicia always gets what Felicia wants," said Vance with a sneer. "Is that the way it works?" Suddenly, Felicia felt trapped in the tight confines of the car. She reached for the door handle, but Vance grabbed her hand and held it in a powerful grip. "Let me go.” She clenched her teeth and tried to pull her hand away. "Don't go," he said. “Don't you want to hear what I have to tell you?" "I…" Vance released her hand and she looked at him expectantly. Why was he behaving this way? A frisson of fear shot through Felicia. She was paralyzed, incapable of movement, caught like a mouse in a cobra's sights. "Now, I can tell you what I've wanted to say since I arrived in Los Angeles." His eyes held a feverish glint. "I'm taking you home with me." "I don't understand." "You're coming back to Arizona. We're going to get married. We're going to start a family." Felicia knew her mouth must be hanging open as she stared at him. This was the perfect end to a perfect day, she thought. Can things get any worse? "What are you talking about?" she asked in confusion. "We've been through this before. It wouldn’t have worked.” "It would’ve worked!" Felicia jumped at the harsh note in his voice. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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"I've been doing some thinking," Vance said slowly, his voice growing in authority. "We're meant for each other and we can't let anything keep us apart ever again." "I don't understand why you're talking like this." "I guess you're not as bright as you seem to think." Vance pulled a metal object from his jacket pocket. The object turned out to be a small caliber revolver. Before Felicia could react, he pushed the cold, black, barrel against her throat. "Why couldn't you love me?" His eyes were those of a stranger. "I've been waiting for you since the sixth grade. You loved me back then, didn't you?" Felicia stared at him with mounting horror as comprehension dawned. A tremor of fear crept up her spine, and her breath came with labored effort. O’Rourke said the stalker was someone she knew. Someone she knew. Someone who knew her. The words echoed over and over in her mind. But it couldn’t be Vance! Not the little boy who rescued her puppy. She couldn't believe it, wouldn't let herself believe it. "I followed you to the studio that day.” Vance stared out the windshield at the empty parking lot and the darkness beyond. “I saw the old guy paw at you and tear your dress. I couldn't let him hurt my best girl. My only girl." "Vance please..." Felicia swallowed and her saliva went down as a hard lump. "Put away the gun and we'll talk about it." "There's nothing to talk about." Vance's emotionless tone frightened her more than his anger did. "If you ever loved me, please put the gun away," she pleaded. Vance continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Now I realize nothing I did ever mattered to you. I've never wanted anything in my life as much as I've wanted you to love me. But it didn't matter." A single tear rolled down his cheek. "I stopped that old coot from attacking you and then you take up with a cop. I know he spent the night at your apartment." Vance pressed the gun deeper into her flesh. Felicia tried to pull away but his other hand gripped the back of her neck and held her in place. "You're hurting me." She felt the strength drain from her body, to be replaced by paralyzing fear. "Mustn't do that." Vance released his grip on the back of her neck, but kept the gun at her throat. Felicia tried to keep him talking while she figured out what to do. "That cop you saw was assigned to guard me. He thought...he thought I saw the person who shot DeWarner, but I didn’t." "You seemed chummy with him." "No," she croaked. “He's just some lowlife cop. I don't even know his first name." Which was true. She knew very little about O'Rourke, except for one very important thing. She was in love with him. Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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Vance seemed satisfied. "That's what I thought. Kind of makes me sorry I took a shot at him this afternoon." Vance grinned and it was the ugliest thing Felicia had ever seen. "But I didn't mean to shoot your girlfriend." "It was just a ricochet. Lila will be fine." "Maybe she'll be out of the hospital in time to be a bridesmaid at our wedding." Felicia stared at him with tear-filled eyes. Could this be the same boy who had gone to school with her? Who had pledged his eternal love when they were just children? Surely, some monster had taken over Vance's body and the real Vance was back home in Arizona. Felicia was caught in a riptide of insanity, and she was rapidly losing her struggle to stay afloat. She lunged for the door handle. Startled by her sudden movement, Vance grabbed for her with his free hand. She grabbed his hand which held the gun and brought it to her mouth, sinking her teeth into his flesh until he yelped in pain. The gun slipped from Vance's fingers, bounced off the seat, and then skittered across the floorboard. Felicia felt around the darkened car until she located the gun. She tried to hurl it out the window but Vance was too quick for her. He clasped a brawny hand around her wrist and tightened his grasp until she cried out in pain. As she struggled to keep control of the gun, the dark hole of the barrel angled toward her chest. A thousand thoughts flitted through her mind. If only she could see O'Rourke again. She would tell him she loved him. She would find out his first name. She would… The revolver went off, shattering the silence of the empty parking lot. *** O'Rourke wondered about Vance Morgan. Did Felicia have any lingering feelings for him? Was there any chance they would rekindle their romance? He admitted to himself Morgan was probably attractive to women, with his blond crew cut and well-toned physique. But that didn't mean O'Rourke had to like the guy. There was movement in Morgan's car, but even with binoculars, it was too dark for O'Rourke to see the two people in the front seat. Their vehicle was hidden from view by thick, leafy bushes. Suddenly, a gunshot reverberated across the still night. O'Rourke jumped from his car and sprinted forward, plowing through the bushes and across the parking lot to where Morgan's car was parked. He yanked open the car door and nearly wretched at the site of the blood splattered across the front seat. He was a hardened detective, but this time the victim was someone he loved. Blood flowed from a wound in Felicia’s upper arm and stained the material of her dress bright red. There was no sign of Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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Morgan. O'Rourke leaned forward and checked for a pulse in her neck. He detected a beat, but Felicia's head lolled back on the seat and her mouth was slack. O'Rourke put pressure on the wound, all the while praying to God he wouldn't lose the woman he'd waited a lifetime to find. *** "So you've decided to go home to Phoenix?" The familiar and much loved voice sent a tingle up Felicia's spine. O'Rourke stood beside her bed at Heart of Mercy Hospital. Her wounded arm was bandaged from shoulder to elbow and Felicia counted herself fortunate the bullet hadn't struck any vital organs. In fact, she was due to be released that afternoon. "Yes, I've had enough of Hollywood to last me awhile." And that was the understatement of a lifetime. "Yeah, I’m beginning to feel the same way about Los Angeles. It’s lost some of its appeal for me.” He paused. “Not that it had much appeal to begin with.” O’Rourke walked over to the window and stared down at the parking lot. Felicia knew she would miss a few things when she returned home. She would miss the beach and her friend Lila. But, most of all, she would miss him. This tall, handsome man who had saved her life. "Thanks for taking me to the hospital." Felicia remembered his taut mouth and pale complexion as he carried her to his car. As she slipped in and out of consciousness, he'd tried to make her comfortable before speeding out of Griffith Park. His encouraging words made the pain bearable. When they arrived at the hospital, he'd kissed her cheek when the nurse insisted he could follow her no further. When she awoke in her hospital room, he sat beside her bed and held her hand. O’Rourke walked back to the chair and sat down. He took her hand in his. "It was my pleasure." As her hand rested in his, Felicia knew she'd never felt happier in her life, despite the circumstances. It seemed as if O'Rourke had always been part of her life, and always would be. Then reality crashed down on her. She was leaving California and might never see him again. Then she remembered Vance, who'd been the cause of her misery. Somehow, she couldn’t hate him for what he'd done. If not for him, she'd never have met O’Rourke. Still, a man lay dead because of Vance’s jealousy. "Is Vance…?" Felicia bit her lip and prepared for bad news. O'Rourke's expression darkened. "They picked him up in Griffith Park. He was incoherent, stumbling around the park mumbling to himself. He’s been arrested for first degree murder, since ballistics matched his gun to the bullet that Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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killed DeWarner. They’re trying to determine if he’s fit to stand trial. He may be transferred to a psychiatric facility." "We were struggling for the gun. He didn't mean to shoot me." Felicia closed her eyes and rested her cheek on the cool pillow. This was all a nightmare. I’ll wake up soon. "Do you need a ride home?" He squeezed her hand, but she couldn't bear to look at him any longer. She shook her head. "Lila is giving me a lift. She had lunch with Detective Nolan and she'll probably be here any minute." "What I meant was,” O’Rourke paused, “do you need a ride home to Phoenix?" Felicia opened her eyes and stared at him in confusion. "Yes, well, I think I'll take some vacation time and see if the desert climate agrees with me." O’Rourke gave her a sheepish grin, but his gaze was sharp as he studied her face. "I thought I'd see if there were any openings with the Phoenix Police Department." Felicia's eyes widened and her heart brimmed with happiness. "You just made this decision on the spur of the moment?" His gaze held hers. "I guess I did." "Won't you miss your job?" "I can get a job anywhere." O'Rourke gave her a warm look which melted her heart and fired up her blood. "But I'll never find anyone I could love more than I love you." Felicia gazed deep into his wide-set gray eyes. These are the eyes of a warrior, a true knight in shining armor, she thought. But no, that wasn't true. These were the eyes of a decent, honest man who never claimed to be a hero. O’Rourke didn't have a way with words. He was no Romeo with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a well-worn vocabulary of charming words in the other. In spite of his brusque manner, he projected a diffident, boyish charm, which intrigued her from the moment they met. He was her diamond in the rough. O'Rourke gazed at her like a puppy that had brought a stick and was waiting for a pat on the head. Felicia knew he was waiting for her answer, and what she said next would determine her future happiness. Her heart slammed against her chest with hard, almost painful, thumps. The sound was so loud, she was certain he could hear it. She took a deep breath. "In that case, I’d be grateful for a ride home to Phoenix. On one condition." O'Rourke's brows furrowed and he looked at her questioningly. "What condition?" "That you finally tell me your first name." Felicia squeezed his hand. "After all, I can't spend hours driving through the desert with you and not even know your first name." Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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A look of relief crossed his face. "Oh, my name...My name is Sean. I should have mentioned it before. It's just that Nolan and I have the same first name so we..." "I like your name," she interrupted. O'Rourke sighed. "I'm glad." Felicia thought it was a romantic name for a tough guy. It didn't really go with his stern, rugged features. Or perhaps it did. Felicia intended to discover everything there was to know about the kind-hearted man who lived under the hardboiled facade of Sean O'Rourke.

The End

Property of Vintage Romance Publishing. ©2004-Uncorrected ARC, not to be copied, rented, loaned, or sold.

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