Pops fills Brandon in. Conrad Kremins was the man who was shot along with Mama. What Pops learned in the investigation of their murders was that he was a sleazy sex club operator who had a lot of enemies and was in major debt. My mother’s bullet was probably meant for him.
A pang of sadness assaults me at the thought of her senseless murder before giving way to a burst of optimism and excitement. Pops is going to find the evil man who did this to her! And uncover the cruel person who ran Brandon over and left him for dead. I just know it.
Setting my soda down, I leap up from the couch and give my father another big hug. “Oh, Pops, you’re the best!”
He laughs his hearty laugh. “We’re going to solve this mystery once and for all.” He turns to Brandon and, with a wink, does his best Kurt Kussler imitation: “Get it. Got it?…”
“Good,” chimes in Brandon, smiling brightly. He really seems to like my dad.
“One last thing. Brandon, do you have a bodyguard?”
Brandon screws up his face. “No way. I’m an action hero. I can take care of myself. And I don’t like people following me around.”
Pops twists his mouth. “I seriously think you should have one. Your life may be in jeopardy.”
Brandon polishes off his beer. “I’ll think about it.”
Knowing my headstrong boss, I doubt he’ll acquiesce. Despite the megastar he is, he’s never traveled with an entourage except on very special occasions like award shows.
Pops presses his lips thin. My perceptive father already knows it’s futile. “Well then, until you decide, I’m going to set up twenty-four hour police surveillance outside your house. I can’t have my daughter in danger either.”
Brandon twitches a half-smile. “That’s a good idea.” He pauses, casting his eyes my way. “And I’m going to make sure nothing happens to her. Zoey means a lot to me.”
At his unexpected words, I feel myself flushing and once again try to process what he just said.
“I appreciate that, Brandon. She means a lot to me too,” Pops says before glancing down at his battered watch. “Gotta go. The missus is waiting for me. Oh, and by the way, she can’t thank you enough for those signed DVDs. She displays the box on our fireplace mantle like it’s some rare piece of art.”
Brandon’s megawatt smile widens. God, he’s so gorgeous when he smiles. “Glad to hear that. Can you hang out for a minute?”
“Sure,” says Pops as Brandon jogs out of the room. He returns in no time, holding what looks to be a glossy photo. Sure enough, it’s a miniature version of the shattered Kurt Kussler poster I still have propped up against a wall in my bedroom. He hands it to Pops.
“I’ve already signed it.”
“Holy baloney! She’s going to love this!”
Brandon is beaming like a proud boy scout. “And tell her, she can drop by the set anytime she wants. Just have her call Zoey to arrange for a pass to get onto the lot.” He shoots me a saucy wink.
Clenching my teeth, I shoot him back a look that says “screw you, ass*ole
.” He always has to one up me with my father, making me look like the bad guy. I try to keep my cool, but Brandon’s flirtatious, cocky grin makes it difficult.
“Sure. No problem.” A retaliatory smirk and then I pause. “Brandon, I’m going to walk my father to his car, if that’s okay with you. I think I can handle it.”
Brandon stands and shakes my father’s hand. “Take good care of her, Detective. I need her around. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
The late January night air is crisp and refreshing. The lit up LA skyline is basked in moonlight. It feels good to be outside having been cooped up in Brandon’s house for almost two days though I shouldn’t be complaining. I’ve been treated like a queen, waited and doted on by the King of Good Looking. I walk Pops to his car, which is parked in the driveway. He buckles up his rumpled trench coat while I lift up the wide collar.
“Pops, you really should get a new coat. It’s time.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s what your mother says too. But I like this one.”
I giggle. You can’t change Pops. He digs his hand into a pocket and retrieves his car keys. He could use a new car too, but knowing Pops, he’ll be buried in the one he’s driving. A 1985 Chevy Impala that he’s had since his first day on the force.
Catching me distracted, he tilts up my chin with the thumb of his other hand.
“Babycakes, you like him.”
I laugh lightly. Nervously “He’s my boss. He’s an ass*ole
most of the time.”
He tilts my chin higher “You more than like him. You’re in love with him.”
A sudden chill sweeps over me. My heart stutters. “What makes you say that, Pops?”
“I’m a detective. I may not read big books with fancy words, but I read body language.”
My father can read people like an encyclopedia. That’s what makes him so good at his job. My chest tightens, my throat constricts, and my heart speeds up. I let him continue because I’m speechless.
“It’s the little things. The way you look at him. Hang on to his every word. The tilt of your head. Those little eye tics. The way you let him touch you.”