She looked back at the image on the screen, finger hovering over the ‘delete’ button. Logan Gore, clearly buying drugs, in an LA nightclub. Delete it. Cancel. Remove it from memory. Pretend it didn’t happen.

  ‘Sarah?’

  The voice made her jump and she turned to see Mirren and Logan in the doorway.

  ‘Alina let us in and…’ Mirren’s eyes travelled to the screen and she froze.

  Logan’s followed, before he murmured a horrified, ‘Fuck.’ Sarah considered shutting it down, but the damage was done.

  Instead, she got up from her chair. ‘Mirren, I’m so sorry…’

  Mirren wasn’t listening. Uncomprehending, aghast, she was staring at Logan. ‘Logan?’

  The pain in her voice and face were unbearable to witness. Oh god. She’d done this to her. She should have been more careful. And Logan. Her anger with him for being so reckless was suddenly diluted by an unexpected wave of sympathy. He was such a good kid and he’d been through so much. Losing his sister, his parents’ divorce, Mirren’s grief, the fame, scrutiny and sheer workload of being in the band.

  ‘Logan, tell me that isn’t what it looks like,’ Mirren whispered, still staring at the screen. It was hard to imagine that it could be anything else. ‘Tell me what he’s giving you there. Tell me it’s not…’

  ‘Mom, it’s not. It’s not. It’s not what you think, I promise.’

  ‘But it’s drugs.’

  ‘No, it’s—’

  Mirren rounded on him, pure venom spitting out with every word. ‘Do not dare lie to me, son. Do not dare!’

  ‘Mom, I’m not—’

  ‘Stop. Stop lying to me. You bought drugs? You use drugs? Do you know what that’s cost us? Did you not see your sister lying cold? Did you not see her dead?’

  Mirren was screaming now, pure, heart-wrenching, guttural wails.

  ‘Don’t, Mom. Don’t do that,’ he cried. ‘Switch it off. Switch it off!’ he yelled at Sarah.

  It was something in his eyes that made Sarah stop, her words trailing off as she followed his stare and realised that he wasn’t looking at himself up there on the big screen. He was looking to the right, at another figure, partially hidden in the shadows.

  She saw it now. It triggered a memory. Suddenly, it made sense. Absolutely perfect, complete sense.

  ‘Logan. Logan!’ she repeated, trying to get his attention.

  ‘Switch it off!’

  Oh fuck, he was hysterical. This was excruciating.

  ‘Logan, you have to tell the truth,’ she urged, knowing it was the last thing he would want to do.

  He turned round, punched the wall behind him. ‘I can’t. I can’t!’

  ‘Logan?’ Mirren repeated, the word dripping with pain.

  There was a silence that Sarah was desperate to fill, now that she’d joined the dots she hadn’t seen before, but this had to come from Logan.

  ‘No. I’m saying nothing. It was me, Mom, OK. It was me!’ Sarah realised he wasn’t going there. Wasn’t going to do it.

  ‘It’s a choice, Logan,’ she shouted, desperate for him to do the right thing.

  ‘It’s a choice. Him or your mum. Who are you going to hurt, Logan? Jonell or your mum?’

  ‘Noooooo,’ he roared. ‘Don’t.’

  Sarah knew then she was right. Her eyes went back to the screen, to the figure standing a few feet away from Logan, partially concealed by his hoodie. It was the bandana peeking out from underneath that had given it away. Red camouflage design. Jonell wore it every night on tour. Everything made sense. The weird friction between Jonell and Logan. The fight early on the tour. The red bag. The fact that Logan carried drugs, yet he was never wasted or high.

  ‘I can’t do it. I can’t let him down. He needs me. Can’t let him die.’

  Oh God. Oh dear God.

  ‘Jonell or your mum, Logan,’ Sarah repeated, calmer this time. She had to bring this back, make it right.

  ‘What is it, Sarah? What am I missing?’ Mirren begged.

  ‘Tell her,’ Sarah said to Logan.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tell her.’

  He screamed, an anguished wail, a tortured, trapped scream. ‘I buy it for Jonell.’

  ‘What?’ Mirren whispered, not understanding this at all.

  But Logan wasn’t stopping for questions. He was charging on, like a burst dam, pouring out the facts, drowning everything in its path.

  ‘He’s using. Smack. Pills. Whatever he can get. I bought it for him. Every time. I had to, Mom. I couldn’t let him near the dealers, couldn’t let them suck him in. So we made a deal. I’d buy it. Give it to him. A little less each time. Until he was strong enough to make a break.’

  ‘But, Logan, there are professionals—’

  Without warning, the teenager exploded again. ‘Like the ones who helped Chloe? Like the ones who fed her more drugs, and talked to her, and told her she could kick it, and then let her out to hang with dealers and watched her fucking die! She’s dead, Mom. My sister is dead.’ He was shouting now, pained, desperate, distraught. ‘And I can’t lose anyone else!’ He slid down the door frame, sobs wracking his shoulders, buried his head in his knees.

  Rivers of tears were flowing down Mirren’s cheeks as she went to him, wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight to her.

  ‘You won’t, Logan, I promise. We’ll help him. I’ll get him back for you. We’ll make it OK,’ she murmured, her promises full of conviction.

  Sarah watched as Logan’s arms came around his mother and they held each other, two tracks of tears mingling together as they fell.

  Sarah didn’t think she’d ever admired anyone more than Mirren McLean.

  She absolutely believed every word she said. She’d fix Jonell.

  She’d help her son.

  She would protect all of them. Or she’d die trying.

  46

  DAVIE

  ‘Moves Like Jagger’ – Maroon 5 & Christina Aguilera

  Mark Bock had already filled Mellie in on the essential details, twisting them slightly to conceal the truth. There was a security risk. They were fairly certain that Davie’s stalker had started the fire. Therefore he was being advised to take a few days off until they could track down this creep.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing here? A sniper could take you out in a heartbeat,’ Mellie warned Davie the minute he walked into the production office at the studio. She was obviously switching from her producer-director role to detective.

  Davie scanned the room. ‘Thanks, Rookie Blue, but there are no windows in here.’

  ‘True,’ Mellie agreed. ‘But you need to go. Mark said you’re heading out of town? It’s all very mob movie. Hope you’re wearing a vest and they’ve chipped you so they can track you when the freak kidnaps you.’

  ‘Has anyone ever told you that you should work with victim support?’

  Mellie shrugged, grinning. ‘Nope, but I can see why I would have potential. Now can you get out of here? Lainey Anders is standing in for you on Here’s Davie Johnston and she’s way hotter than you.’

  ‘Man, what’s a guy gotta do to get some sympathy around here?’ Time to get to the point of the visit. This had to be quick, so he’d already called ahead with instructions.

  ‘I’m going as soon as I’ve spoken to them. Did you ask them to come in? Where are they?’ he asked, knowing she’d have done as he requested.

  ‘Dressing room two. Carmella said she needed a lie-down. Which is Carmella-speak for two lines of coke and a half-bottle of vodka.’

  ‘Thanks. Love ya. See ya later,’ Davie crooned as he left to the sound of Mellie feigning retching.

  It took thirty seconds at a pace to reach the room, throw the door open and…

  Wow. Model porn 101. Carmella, in a short, pleated miniskirt and tank, was bent over the make-up station, while Jack Gore, trousers at his ankles, exposing a large rose tattoo on his right buttock, was taking her from behind.

  ‘Davie…’ Carmella sang, and he could see immediately that she was completely wasted.

  What the hell kind of world was this that he lived in? No wonder his karma was shot to fuck.

  Time to clean it up.

  ‘Hey, man, what the hell—’ started Jack, who had pulled out and was now standing there, flaccid and dangling in the breeze. Obviously not a man who liked an audience.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ Davie replied, as he pulled a thick wad of paper out of the folder he was carrying. ‘Jack, you perverted, pathetic piece of crap, this is your contract for Beauty and the Beats,’ he announced, at exactly the same moment as he removed a Zippo from his pocket, lit the stack of papers and dropped it in the metal trash can, praying he wouldn’t set the studio on fire. To lose his workplace in the same way he’d lost his home would just be careless. ‘I’ve recalled your payment from Escrow. Sue me if you like. It would be career suicide, but do your worst, mate. And, Carmella…’

  To his relief, Carmella had attempted to stand and was now being held up by the wall. He always felt it was easier to give his employees constructive criticism and advice when their naked nethers were not in his direct line of sight.

  ‘Carmella, you’ve still got the show, but there are two conditions. You need to dump this douchebag, and you’re going to rehab. Mellie will set it up. Fail on either and I’ll replace you. I’ve always wanted to do a show with Naomi Campbell.’

  Carmella’s wail illustrated that she may well be a floating chemical soup, but she definitely understood the threat.

  ‘Who the fuck do you think—’ Jack Gore started, an offensive that seemed less menacing with the whole dangling penis thing. ‘Jack, save it. You’re a loser. Mirren McLean was far too good for you. And let me tell you, if you cause her one more moment of pain or embarrassment, I’ll bury you.’

  ‘That’s intimidation and harassment,’ Jack bleated.

  ‘No it’s not,’ Davie countered. ‘It’s karma. And a promise.’

  As he strutted out of the studio, fire alarms wailing thanks to a smoking litter bin in dressing room two, he just hoped the gods of karma were paying attention.

  Because if Marilyn McLean was around, they were going to need all the divine intervention they could get.

  47

  MIRREN

  ‘Chasing Cars’ – Snow Patrol

  ‘This is like the most screwed-up family vacation ever,’ Zander said, smiling, as he pulled his suitcase out of the trunk of the Dodge Durango.

  Mirren knew he was just trying to keep everyone positive and she appreciated it.

  Hollie jumped out of the other side of the Durango, just as Davie and Sarah drew into the space next to them.

  All three cars present and accounted for. They’d driven in convoy from LA up to Santa Barbara, after persuading Davie and Sarah to come with them. They hadn’t taken much convincing, although, with a week until the Oscars, Davie had stipulated that he needed to get back to town in time for some serious pre-ceremony grooming: fake tan, teeth whitening, haircut, and the preparations for the ceremony itself. He'd explained that he’d been rehearsing for weeks, but there were another two full days of run throughs before the ceremony and he wouldn’t miss them.

  Lou had bailed out on the trip though. Pre-Oscar’s week was her busiest time, with endless features and speculation about winners, losers, movies, futures and box-office receipts. Besides, Lou was under no threat. Marilyn wouldn’t be interested in her. Mirren. Zander. Davie. That was who she would blame.

  Mirren only blamed herself.

  She honestly hadn’t thought that her mother was a threat from 5000 miles away.

  When Marilyn had sent her that demand for cash a couple of years back, she should have paid more attention. It was a horrible letter, saying Davie, Zander and Mirren had made money from what happened to them back in Glasgow, and she wanted a cut. Wanted her share. Mirren sent the letter back with a ‘Return To Sender’ across the front. Now she wished she had gone with another strategy. If only she’d sent some cash, bought her off, used it as a way of keeping Marilyn on side, or at least establishing where she was and what she was doing, but at the time, she’d been too busy with Chloe, too busy trying and failing to keep her family together. Now that she knew what had happened to her mother, it made her wonder. Was Marilyn thinking the police were closing in on Razor and she wanted cash to leave? Or maybe she wanted to branch out and needed some seed money to get going. Or was it just greed and some twisted game to add another zero to her bank account?

  Davie and Sarah alighted from a white Bugatti Veyron and Mirren couldn’t help but laugh. They were escaping danger, keeping a low profile, avoiding harm, and he still came in a million-dollar car with tiny boot space for luggage.

  ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking,’ Sarah told her. ‘His own car got trashed, so they loaned him this one. Very low key and I’ll be wearing the same clothes for as long as we’re here since there was only boot space for luggage big enough to hold three pairs of knickers.’ Sarah then turned to Logan, who was pulling a backpack out of the trunk of Mirren’s car. ‘Hey. Are we OK? You know, I’m so sorry it went down that way. For what it’s worth, I caught you on that video completely by accident when I was filming the club. I was about to delete the recordings, that’s why I’ve never asked you about them or let anyone see them.’

  For a moment, Mirren worried that Logan would resist the olive branch, but she should have known better. Her boy was way too decent for that.

  ‘We’re cool,’ he told her. ‘To be honest, I’m glad. Jonell is gonna hate me, but at least it’s not all on me now.’

  Mirren took a deep breath and said a silent prayer that the intervention worked. She and Logan had spoken to Deeko, the band manager, and told him what was going on. He knew Jonell was getting high, but had no idea where he was getting the supply. In the grand scale of rock and roll band management, this was a minor blip, so he’d been cool about taking control of the situation going forward. Mirren had set him up with a couple of the addiction specialists at Chloe’s Care and they were working on a plan. Mirren was just glad it no longer involved her son. Had he been stupid? Sure. But he was nineteen and his heart was in the right place. That, she could live with.

  ‘This place looks incredible,’ Zander said, scanning the view. A huge ranch, and several outhouses, in the middle of green land that stretched in every direction, horses roaming free in many of the fields.

  At that moment, the door of the main building behind them opened and a stunning woman in jeans, a plaid shirt and cowboy boots walked towards them, arms outstretched.

  ‘You finally came to visit!’

  ‘Cara, thank you so much for letting us come. Sorry it’s such short notice. Cara, this is Zander and Hollie, Davie and Sarah, and of course you’ve met Logan. Everyone, this is Cara Callaghan, who owns this place. Her husband, Lex, is the Clansman.’

  ‘You’re the one who should be the movie star,’ Davie told her honestly, even if it came off as totally cheesy.

  Beside him, Sarah groaned. ‘Cara, I’m sorry. He’s been in Hollywood too long. He’s now coated in smarm.’

  Cara’s eyes crinkled as she laughed, making her even more attractive. Lex Callaghan was a lucky guy, Mirren thought for the umpteenth time.

  ‘I’ll check, but I’m sure we’ve got a smarm-recovery programme that will help him with that,’ Cara carried on the joke.

  If Mirren had questioned whether or not this was a good idea, here was her answer. They’d all been through such crap lately, they knew the extent of the threat, and they knew it wasn’t over, and yet up here it felt like they could breathe. That was all she wanted – not to feel like every moment was an exercise in fear.

  They were here, they were together, and this gave Mark Bock and Brad Bernson and their teams space and time to find Marilyn.

  ‘So how long are you staying? You’re very welcome to hang for as long as you want.’

  ‘Thank you, but just a few days. As you know, we’ve all had some… issues… back in LA and we just needed some fresh air.’

  Mirren had outlined the situation when she’d called Cara to ask if they could come. A stalker, she’d told her, before filling her in on Davie’s house and the whole shooting-at-his-gates incident. She’d also told her about Zander’s apartment being ransacked. The intention wasn’t to freak her out, but to be open about the fact that there might be some danger.

  On the phone, Cara hadn’t hesitated. ‘Honey, up here, we’ve had pimps and we’ve had dealers. We preach serenity and calm, but we know how to handle it if it goes the other way.’

  Cara worked with addicts of all ages, many of them referred to her by the more progressive judges, who understood the benefits of equine therapy. It didn’t always work. Chloe had been up here once, but no amount of healing could fix a soul that didn’t want to be fixed.

  Now, Cara was just as understanding, hugging Mirren again. ‘This is the place to find it, honey. Stay as long as you want. My next group of clients doesn’t arrive for another couple of weeks, so there’s just me and a few of the hands here. You’ll pretty much have the place to yourselves.’

  The fact that there wouldn’t be others around reassured Mirren even more, as there was less chance of a sneaky photo of Davie or Zander ending up on Instagram. It gave her privacy to try to sort out the rest of her life too. Pictor were still standing firm on their original offer and refusing to budge. And Wes Lomax must have a mole somewhere, because he knew that and was blowing up her voicemail with suggestions that they talk for real, not just for show, about the Clansman coming to Lomax. Mirren’s head was aching with it all. She needed this place for safety, but for peace too, for space to re-evaluate her future.

  ‘Why don’t you all come on into the house and we’ll get you some food and show you your rooms? Davie, you’re in the anti-Smarm Suite.’

  They were all laughing as they started to cross the front yard, until the sound of another approaching vehicle stopped them.