Tonight, she couldn’t see much going on. The only notable people in the room so far – other than a few TV minor celebrities, who didn’t get up to anything more blatant than taking an obscene number of selfies – were an heiress, a former child actress turned toxic mess and a current pop star who delighted in shocking the world by refusing to keep her clothes on and crossing the explicit lines of sexual decency at every opportunity.

  They’d all eschewed the VIP room and were hanging out in a cordoned area in the body of the club. It was attention-seeking at its most obvious, but it also made it unlikely that they’d be up to anything illicit or illegal.

  Video over, she noticed the time on her phone. Midnight. Suddenly Davie’s invitation seemed pretty appealing. She could do with a few hours off and it gave her an opportunity to make a call she’d been delaying for days.

  Outside, the valet took a few minutes to bring up her car from the underground car park, giving her time to run through the call in her head.

  Only when she’d cleared Sunset did she dial the international number. Ed McCallum would have just got into the office and would therefore be busy dealing with all the news that would have come in overnight. More than any other time of day, this was when he hated interruptions, so it was no surprise when he picked up on the second ring and barked, ‘Yes?’

  ‘You really need to work on your telephone skills,’ she replied, laughing.

  ‘According to my wife, there are many skills I need to work on,’ he groaned, before dissolving into yet another fit of coughing, which lasted so long it added at least a couple of dollars to her phone bill.

  ‘Ed, please give up the cigs.’

  ‘And what would be my motivation to do that, then?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘I’ll sleep with you. Twice,’ she joked.

  ‘I’d take you up on it if I didn’t think the exertion would kill me before the cigs did.’

  Another coughing fit.

  ‘Listen, before you croak it, I just wanted to let you know I don’t have anything on Mirren McLean’s mother yet.’

  ‘I thought you were big chums with her mate, that Davie Johnston bloke? Tell me you’re not sleeping with him. You could do a lot better. Always thought he was a smug bastard.’

  Sarah kept her voice perfectly even. ‘Not now that I’ve promised myself to you. Anyway, I did ask Davie and he reckons Mirren’s mother moved to Spain or France, so I don’t think the stories about that woman in Liverpool being Marilyn McLean are authentic.’

  ‘Had a feeling it was too good to be true,’ he mused. ‘Got a Liverpool reporter doing some sniffing around and turns out this broad was a real piece of work. More active in the operation than we thought. Razor Ritchie has been in and out of prison for the last twenty years, and according to whispers, she looks after the shop when he’s not around. Regular Bonnie and Clyde.’ Sarah thought about this for a moment. If Marilyn had made the move from piece of decorative fluff to conspirator, that made her an even bigger potential threat. Sarah knew what she was capable of. If her brand of single-minded loyalty had been expanded to encompass her lover’s business, there was no limit to what she’d do. Marilyn McLean was a danger. Marilyn McLean with experience and contacts on the dark side of the crime line was an even bigger one.

  ‘What kind of stuff was Ritchie’s operation into?’ Sarah asked casually.

  Ed coughed again before answering. ‘Christ, there wasn’t much they weren’t into. Drugs. Guns. Protection. Extortion. Blackmail. The guy cast a warm and cuddly blanket of sheer fucking terror everywhere he went. That’s why we’re finding it tough to get anything here. Everyone’s bloody terrified to go on record. And they were pretty savvy with their technology too. A lot of hidden cameras, stuff like that. According to one fine, upstanding psychopath, the woman was behind a lot of the personal stuff. Apparently she ordered a rival’s family to be filmed for three weeks, then sent him a video of his kid’s birthday party. It was a pretty sophisticated set-up. Another rumour said they used a drone – a fucking drone – to drop a human finger onto the table at a mole’s garden barbeque. Sounds like a peach. I preferred the good old days when the criminals just stormed the room and battered everyone in sight.’

  Sarah was struggling now to keep her tone light-hearted.

  This wasn’t good. Personal attacks? Targeting families? This was starting to sound a bit familiar. Still, she wasn’t going to give Ed any clue that she was rattled. ‘Now don’t go getting all nostalgic on me, Ed. You’ll be re-reading No Mean City and watching old reruns of Taggart next,’ she quipped.

  ‘That was last night’s entertainment,’ Ed retorted with a throaty laugh. ‘It’s a bugger being too old for porn. Anyway, look, I’ll dig a bit more at this end, but I’m not hopeful. We’ve got no photos, no footage, no one willing to go on record, so no story. Can’t run with a bunch of half-arsed fairy tales and urban legends. Would love to get something, though. If this female really does exist, if she really is as dangerous as I’m hearing, and if she’s also Mirren McLean’s mother…’ He tailed off and Sarah knew he was picturing the front pages, day after day, in his mind. Meanwhile, all Sarah could picture was the carnage Marilyn could cause if she turned the spotlight on Mirren, Davie and Zander.

  ‘That would be some story,’ Sarah agreed, because she knew he expected her to. ‘Look, I’ll stay on it. I’ll be seeing Mirren next week, so I’ll see what I can get from her and let you know.’

  ‘No worries, love. I knew it was a long shot, but it’s worth following it up.’

  Hanging up, she felt a weird mix of anxiety and relief. Ed was the best editor in the business, but he wouldn’t run a story without concrete facts and it seemed like they were proving hard to come by here. On the plus side, that bought her breathing space to track down Marilyn, especially if Mirren was right and she was on this side of the pond. On the down side, it proved just how dangerous she was. If she was scaring the crap out of the criminal fraternity, then she obviously wielded power and posed a genuine threat to them. If that threat had crossed the Atlantic, they were all in trouble.

  Slowing the car down as she reached Davie’s gates, she pulled to a stop next to the keypad that facilitated entry and quickly pressed in the six-digit code, checking first to ensure there was no one around who could be watching. Actually, there was absolutely no one around. That in itself was unusual. No matter what time of the night, there were usually one or two paps, leaning on their motorbikes or SUVs, hoping to catch some kind of action. Not tonight. The street was deserted. Which made it less embarrassing that the gates weren’t opening. Prodding the numbers sharply this time, she re-entered the code.

  Still nothing.

  Third time. Nothing. She had picked up her mobile to call Davie when they finally began to open, but then stopped when there was a gap just wide enough for the exceptionally large man who was emerging from the driveway to squeeze through. Bloody hell, this guy looked like a tank.

  Flicking the phone into her left hand, she quickly pressed ‘911’ but didn’t connect the call – that would be the next plan of action if she didn’t like what this guy had to say. Who was he? And what was he doing in her boyfriend’s house?

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, the code has been changed. Mr Johnston told us to expect you. If you’d like to make your way up to the house, he’ll explain the situation.’

  Situation? What situation? And why was life with Davie one big drama? This was probably his latest whim. Like the time he put an eighty-inch TV in every room. Or had a skateboard park installed on the back lawn for Bray. He’d probably read somewhere that Puff Daddy or Céline Dion had upgraded their security measures and decided to do the same.

  As usual, he was waiting for her at the door, this time holding two bottles of beer. This was why she loved this man. He’d waited up; he had beer. Sold to the journalist with the simple tastes.

  ‘Bad day?’

  To her surprise, instead of answering her, he folded his arms around her and held her tight and close for a few moments. This was new. Oh god, something terrible had happened. She could sense it. He was holding on to her like he never wanted to let her go. In her experience, there were only three things that incited that reaction in a man – relief, fear and guilt.

  She hoped it was the first, was afraid it could be the second and prayed it wasn’t the third. His woeful track record on fidelity had never been a secret between them, but she absolutely believed him when he said that he only wanted her and was fully committed to monogamy. She trusted him. She did. Absolutely. At least, as much as she trusted anyone who was surrounded by beautiful women desperate to snare him all day. Oh shit, it was definitely guilt.

  ‘So what’s with the guy the size of a Portakabin down at the gates and the new security codes? Wait, is this because of that whole ‘blood-chucking’ thing a couple of weeks ago? I thought that hadn’t bothered you?’

  He sighed and finally released her from his grip, handing over one of the beer bottles. ‘No, not that. We had a bit of a situation today.’ Despite his grave tone, Sarah’s spirits rose. A situation? That didn’t sound like something for him to be guilty about. OK, scratch guilt. That left fear and relief. Either of which were preferable options.

  ‘What kind of situation?’ she asked, taking a long slug of the beer and then sliding down the door jamb until she was in her favourite place, sitting on the front step, the lights of Los Angeles twinkling in the distance below them.

  ‘Someone shot at the house.’

  ‘They what?’ she spluttered, choking on the bitter liquid.

  Davie sat next to her. ‘Shot at the house. Then they put a video of it on YouTube. They could have got the kids, Sarah. Bella and Bray had just left in the car and I passed just afterwards. He watched us go. Then a few minutes later, he shot at the gate.’

  Sarah’s analytical brain, comprehensively experienced in criminal activity and the actions of the seriously mad or bad, did a quick re-examination of the facts. So they’d had a clear shot of the kids’ car but didn’t take it. Then Davie was in the cross hairs, but again, no shot was taken. So that meant that for now, the desired effect was to completely scare the crap out of Davie. But why? Why would anyone want to freak him out and stress him like that?

  What was to be gained?

  ‘Do the cops think there’s any relation to the blood thing?’

  Davie nodded. ‘Apparently both videos were uploaded from the same IP address. Came from a cafe in the Valley. No CCTV, so they’ve hit a dead end.

  ‘The thing is, what possible motivation would anyone have to threaten me like that? I honestly can’t think of anyone who would pull this kind of stunt.’

  A deep, sickening feeling sank to her lower gut as she recalled her conversation with Ed only an hour before and her recent discussion with Mirren.

  Sure, he had plenty of enemies, people he’d pissed off, but still – this was a whole other level. Who could have the motivation or inclination to threaten Davie’s life?

  Sarah could think of someone out there who had both.

  20

  DAVIE

  ‘Life With You’ – The Proclaimers

  Sarah was already sitting out on the terrace when he staggered downstairs, bleary-eyed and desperate for coffee. Alina didn’t even speak as she handed over his mug and then a plate with his usual morning fare – a three-egg-white and spinach omelette, and a small pot containing twenty-six different vitamins and minerals that were – according to his very expensive nutritionist – vital for optimum health. That was the thing about LA. They had vitamins for any deficit, ailment or imaginary affliction. If you had it, or thought you had it, they had a natural remedy that someone claimed would cure it.

  He watched Sarah smile as he pushed open the door with his elbow and headed out to join her. This was when he thought she was at her most beautiful. Her deep auburn hair was tied up on top of her head in a messy bun, freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks and her pale skin was covered only by one of his old football tops, leaving her perfect legs bare. ‘Cute’ didn’t even begin to describe it. For the first time in the history of Scottish football, a Partick Thistle strip looked sexy.

  Looking at her now, it would be easy to assume she was a student or a young intern on a teen mag. It would take a pretty wild imagination to guess the truth, that she was a twenty-six-year-old journalist who’d spent five years working as a Glasgow crime reporter, one of the toughest jobs in UK newspapers.

  She was also hard as nails and fiercely independent – qualities Davie loved.

  Most of the time.

  In the distance, he could see Drago, his Ukrainian jack of all trades – gardener, driver, handyman – hosing down the terrace around the pool. The garden was simple but spectacular. Sitting above the city, the infinity pool gave the illusion that it was pouring water down on all of Los Angeles. Three cabanas lined one side of the water, each of them equipped with a queen-size bed, a fridge and television. Lush, thick sunloungers, each of them with an adjustable hood, lined the other three sides. The whole area was completely private, with no other house in view. And every square foot of exclusive outdoor luxury was completely wasted on Davie because he never used any of it. With the craziness of his schedule, breakfast on the terrace was as close as he got to outdoor living.

  Leaning down to meet Sarah’s upturned head, he kissed her, lingering for a few seconds to taste the blend of fresh coffee and pineapple on her lips.

  ‘There was nearly a moment of feverish excitement this morning,’ she said, her grin making her look even younger.

  Davie sat down across from her, putting his feet up on her lap. ‘Oh yeah? Did it involve a guy with a gun shooting at my gates?’

  ‘Nope. It’s more unusual than that. Alina almost smiled at me. Think I should be worried? Is it a last token of kindness before she bumps me off? You know, like a last meal for a prisoner on death row?’

  Laughing, Davie nodded. ‘Very possibly.’ Alina’s general distaste for any and every woman Davie brought home was legendary. The only woman in his life that the housekeeper was remotely civil to was his mother, and even then it had taken several visits to raise the temperature from icy cold to remotely warm.

  ‘That’s why you should move in here. Establish your territory. She’d get used to you eventually. I reckon it will only take a decade or so, so we should really get started.’

  Sarah’s expression told him she wasn’t buying it. ‘I have a perfectly lovely apartment.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘And it’s working out pretty well living in separate homes, isn’t it? We’ve both got our independence and the crazy hours I keep don’t get in the way of your routine.’

  She wasn’t getting it and he didn’t want to press the point in case it set off a red flag. How could he tell her that his subconscious was screaming at him to reveal a dangerous truth to her?

  Princess got naked and propositioned me yesterday. Princess got naked and propositioned me yesterday. Princess got…

  The gods of full disclosure had activated the mantra on a repetitive loop in his head. Oh, dear God, what was happening to him? What was this, a conscience? ‘Keep infidelities and indiscretions secret’ had been the mainstay of his marriage to Jenny. They’d both done their own thing; they’d both pretended they didn’t. It worked perfectly. Or at least, it did until Darcy Jay turned up with bollocks that were bigger than his and persuaded Jenny to live in a partnership based on openness and honesty. How ridiculously overrated was that?

  The truth was, he really didn’t want to cheat on Sarah, despite the fact that she clearly wasn’t as into him as he was her. That thought hung around for a while and tugged on a loose thread of insecurity.

  ‘But if you lived here, I could do those things I did to you last night all the time,’ he teased, using his toe to lift up the bottom of her shirt.

  Giggling, she swatted him away. ‘Much as that thought is very attractive, I’ll put a pin in it for now.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  OK, so he’d tried. And he’d try again in a few weeks. In the meantime, he’d do his best not to be in a situation that would allow Princess to be naked and in personal contact with his groin area.

  Sarah’s expression changed to a more serious one. ‘So tell me. What do you reckon to the stuff that’s been happening? The blood, the gunshots, the threats? God, that sounds like I’m describing some hardcore computer game.’

  ‘Welcome to my life,’ he retorted.

  ‘Davie, I’m serious. What’s your take on it?’

  ‘I love the way you wrinkle your nose.’

  ‘Stop changing the subject.’

  He watched as her gaze went off into the middle distance and realised that he had to put her mind at ease. He didn’t want her looking over her shoulder, being scared. Not that he imagined there was much that would intimidate this girl.

  ‘Look, I’m not worried. I’m really not. There are any number of wackos out there and I think this has to be some idiot messing around trying to get himself some YouTube notoriety. I was furious when I saw my kids on that video, but obviously if the guy was going to take a shot, he’d have done so. He didn’t. That tells me it’s all hype and nonsense. I’ve upped the security to keep everyone happy, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.’

  Silence. He nudged her with his foot again. Damn, it seemed like she was taking this pretty seriously.

  ‘Davie, I think we should talk about another possibility —’ she started, then stopped as the glass door slid open and Alina appeared, looking typically unimpressed at the vision in front of her.

  ‘People at gate,’ she announced, her thick Russian accent clipping the words. ‘The tall chick who lived with old man for money. Man die.’

  It took Davie a few seconds. ‘Carmella Cass?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Pursing her lips, she flounced back into the kitchen. Damn, that woman had issues. He liked to think she’d been an assassin in a past life and that her brusque exterior disguised a fierce loyalty that would compel her to defend his life, should that be required. Or perhaps she just hated the whole world. Either way, she was the best damn housekeeper in California, so she was staying.