The two men hit the floor, Zander on top, wrestling, got to his knees. He was stronger, fitter. He was punching now, punching the cop’s face, pummelling it, the adrenalin calling the shots.

  Then he was being dragged, kicking, shouting, dragged off a cop by two others.

  And he had no idea what the fuck had just happened.

  65

  ‘Creep’ – Radiohead

  Payback.

  Retribution.

  Justice.

  He took her away. My Lauren. My love. My soulmate. She was everything.

  We’d made promises that we’d be together.

  Davie Johnston made her a star. Took her into his galaxy and out of mine. He stole her.

  And then she didn’t want me. My Lauren didn’t want me.

  Mine.

  She was mine. He took her.

  So he had to pay.

  66

  ‘Starting Over’ – John Lennon

  Every seat around the kitchen table at the Callaghans’ ranch was taken: on one side, Davie and Sarah, Zander and Hollie, Lou and Mark Bock; on the other side, Mirren, Brad Bernson, Lex and Cara.

  Sarah held a huge mug of coffee in both hands. ‘How’s Logan doing?’ she asked Mirren.

  ‘Great. He’s back on tour. Europe. I think he’s in Rome today.’

  ‘And Lauren?’ Hollie asked.

  ‘She’s with him. Poor girl. That’s a whole lot of baggage to deal with.’

  The others fell silent until Davie turned to face Mark Bock. ‘What’s happening with the case, Mark?’

  ‘That’s why Brad and I came up to see you folks today. We wanted to give you an update. Gary Bitner confessed to everything that happened to you, Davie. As you know, he was a cop, had been Lauren Finney’s boyfriend for six years before she went on American Stars.

  ‘When she left him, it triggered some kind of psychosis. He stalked both her and Davie. The house fire, the shots, the first attack outside the studio – all him. He also planted the bomb in the car, but that didn’t work out so well. He took a decommissioned device from evidence storage, got some ex-con he’d arrested on arson charges to rebuild it. It failed to detonate the way he planned. Fired backwards, ripped the metal off the trunk of your car and hit the front of the limo Lex and Cara were in. Sorry, Cara.’

  Cara dismissed it with a wave of her hand, the other hand automatically going to the dressing that was attached to the front of her neck. ‘It’s fine. I’m here. I’ll get over it.’

  The others had no doubt she would.

  ‘Carlton Farnsworth and his bodyguard were arrested this morning. Raymo Cash rolled on him. Zander, we don’t have all the answers on that yet, but it looks like it was set up to discredit you.’

  ‘I think he needed Zander out of Adrianna’s life,’ Hollie offered. ‘They were a weird, messed-up couple. She’d had flings before, but I think this time he thought he could lose her to Zander. Thought he couldn’t match him.’

  ‘He clearly didn’t know me well,’ Zander said, injecting some self-deprecation into the mix.

  ‘And Marilyn?’ Mirren asked. ‘Why was she there? If she didn’t plant the bomb, what was she doing there?’

  ‘We searched her hotel room. She had pictures of you, hundreds of them, Logan too. She’d clearly been outside your house, your office. The bag she was carrying that night? After the blast, it ended up being confetti, all over the street. We think it was a manuscript. Impossible to tell, but she had piles of notes in her room too. In her suitcase, we found a contract and looked into it. Marilyn had a book deal. Seven figures. Me, My Daughter, Murder was the title. That’s all I can tell you.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Mirren said sadly. ‘She wanted us to know. She wanted to see all our faces when we found out she was writing a book about us. And I’m guessing she dredged up all kinds of stuff from the past in it.’ Mirren didn’t need to look at Zander, Sarah or Davie to know that they got the deeper meaning in that. Marilyn was going to tell the story of how Jono died. No doubt painting herself in a good light and blaming Mirren, maybe Zander and Davie too. At the very least, she’d say they hid the body. The scandal would have damaged, probably destroyed, their careers and put a whole lot of hurt and scandal out there for the world to feed on. Mirren emitted a hollow laugh. ‘She’d have loved that. Could never resist an opportunity to cause pain.’

  Brad handed over a briefcase that had been sitting at his feet.

  ‘It’s all here. Everything. Laptop. Notes. No one else has seen it or has a copy.’

  Mirren took it. Glanced at Davie, Zander, Sarah, then smiled. The two investigators took it as their cue to leave.

  ‘If there’s anything else we can do, you know where we are.’

  ‘Thanks, gents,’ Davie said, grinning. ‘But I think we’re done.’

  EPILOGUE

  ‘I’m Yours’ – Ella Henderson

  The sun was setting on the beach outside Mirren’s home as she stared out over the sands.

  Zander appeared beside her and handed her a glass of wine. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I am,’ she smiled. And she was. She really was.

  Two figures approached the back of the house from the sands, both tall, both broad, only their colouring different. Logan’s white-blond hair a complete contrast to Mike Feechan’s dark hair and skin.

  He hadn’t been happy that she’d moved to Lomax. When she’d recovered from the accident, he’d come to remonstrate with her for leaving Pictor. They’d stayed in bed for three days. A month later, he’d just about forgiven her.

  ‘OK, get the party started – I’m here!’ Lou bellowed from the doorway, before battling through the room saying hello to everyone as she passed.

  ‘Davie Johnston, you owe me a huge favour!’ she shouted to Davie, who was smooching Sarah over at the bar. Mirren had never seen him so happy. There was a peace about him, especially since he’d been spending time with Zander over the last few weeks. She’s asked them if they’d ever tell the world that they were brothers, but they’d both said no. That would mean claiming Jono Leith as father to them both and neither of them ever wanted to mention his name again. It was enough that they knew they were brothers. That was all that mattered.

  ‘Oh crap, what’s happened?’ Davie groaned.

  ‘Carmella Cass. She’s eloped with some guy she met in rehab. Says he’s the love of her life. Used to be in some band – not sure which one, but apparently they’re in the rock-and-roll hall of fame. Anyway, I’ve sent a camera crew to Vegas. We’ll use the footage on our website and in the paper, but you can have it afterwards for the show.’

  ‘Lou Cole, I love you,’ he grinned.

  ‘It’s understandable, honey,’ came the reply.

  ‘So where’s Jack?’ Zander asked Mirren, taking the volume down a couple of notches.

  ‘He’s in India. Left last week. He’s gone to find himself. Apparently Mercedes Dance is there helping with the search. She ditched the baby daddy when she realised he wasn’t going to be the next Pacino or DeNiro or Leith. I can feel another show coming on.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, don’t tell Davie,’ Zander joked, before breaking off to shake hands with the new arrivals, Lex and Cara Callaghan. Lex had lost a bit of weight – worry did that to a person. But the important thing was that other than a scar on her neck, Cara had made a full recovery.

  ‘OK, people, hate to be the organizer here, but it’s time. Can we all move outside?’

  ‘Ready?’ Zander asked.

  ‘Ready,’ Mirren replied.

  They all moved out, gathered down at the water’s edge in a semicircle. Mirren in the middle, Zander and Hollie standing nearby.

  Lauren Finney lifted up her guitar and sang a mesmerising, ethereal version of Barbara Streisand’s Evergreen. A single tear ran down her cheek as she finished and Mirren reached over and squeezed her hand. She loved this young woman already. The poor girl had been wracked with guilt over the actions of her ex-boyfriend, but Davie had been great with her. He’d sat by her side, held her hand at every interview, controlled the narrative to make sure everyone knew that Lauren had been a victim of this psycho too. And he acted innocent when the resulting publicity added another half a million viewers to the last few episodes of American Stars. Gotta love a man that knew how to work this town.

  Mirren took a deep breath. She could do this. She could. ‘Thank you all for coming tonight,’ she said. ‘As you know, this is the most special place in the world to me… And to Zander.’

  Tears sprang to the eyes of several of the people around her.

  Mirren smiled and lifted her chin. Now wasn’t the time for looking back. Today was about looking forward.

  ‘And as you also know, I’m new to this, so please bear with me.’

  Mirren pulled out a sheet of paper from the pocket of her white trousers. ‘Zander, Hollie…’ She reached for them, gently pulled them towards her so they were facing each other.

  ‘Zander Leith, with the powers invested in me by an ordination website…’

  Laughter.

  ‘Do you take Hollie Callan to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold her, to love her, adore her and be faithful to her always?’

  ‘Always, the lady said,’ Hollie repeated for emphasis. ‘That means forever.’

  ‘I do,’ Zander said, laughing.

  ‘And, Hollie Callan, do you take Zander Leith as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love, to cherish, to keep on the straight and narrow and out of trouble… Always?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I fricking do.’

  ‘Then I now pronounce you man and wife.’

  And the applause thundered on.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  From Ross

  To my sister Elaine, Jim, Hollie and Euan. You all know how much you mean to me.

  Thanks to the brilliant Ross and King Clans and all my best pals… you know who you are!

  Thanks to my long-suffering assistant Moriah Hart for not only listening to my crazy ideas, but for patiently listening to me recording the audio versions over many hours.

  Finally, thank you to those people who believed in me from back in the day, especially Paul Cooney for giving me that first job in radio at 16, and to YOU reading now for supporting my career in radio, TV, theatre, film and now in print!

  From Shari

  I got lucky. Thank you to my love, John Low, for doing life with me for the last thirty years. The family we’ve built is everything. Gemma, Callan, Brad, and now, our gorgeous little Myla, I heart you all.

  To the incredible friends who are never far from my kitchen table, thank you for the laughs, the drama and the caramel wafers.

  And with heartfelt gratitude to the journalists, booksellers, bloggers and readers who have shown such support for my books over the last two decades.

  And from us both…

  Thank you to the brilliant team at Boldwood Books. We love our new home and we’re so thankful to every single person who plays a part in the process that starts with our words and ends with our books in readers’ hands.

  And special thanks to the always effervescent Seamus Lyte, for managing us in a way only he can!

  Love, Shari & Ross xxxx

  MORE FROM SHARI LOW AND ROSS KING

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  If you’d like to gift a copy, this book is also available as a paperback, digital audio download and audiobook CD.

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  You can buy The Rise, another glamorous, gritty Hollywood thriller, by clicking on the image below. Or read on for an exclusive extract…

  Chapter 1

  ‘YOUNG AMERICANS’ - DAVID BOWIE

  TWENTY YEARS LATER

  Beverly Wilshire Hotel, 2013

  By the pool of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, made famous by a cinda-fucking-rella movie about a hooker saved by a rich man, Davie Johnston has taken three cabanas – one for him, one on either side so he doesn’t get overheard or interrupted. He’s wearing linen trousers and shirt, open just low enough to reveal every perfect contour of his lasered torso. Clothes pale blue. Every time he wears blue, someone mentions that it brings out the colour in his eyes. Every time he replies, ‘Oh really? I didn’t realize.’ Then he goes home and orders ten more shirts, same shade.

  As always, he’s combining business and pleasure, taking pitch meetings for the next big reality show. He already produces three of the top five in the ratings. He chose the Beverly Wilshire because it kills two birds with one stone. If a meeting goes exceptionally well, he’s only an elevator away from a California-king-size bed.

  A couple sit down for the three-o’clock slot. It’s the first interview after lunch and he’s had two glasses of Pinot Noir. In this postcode that qualifies him for AA.

  She’s a supermodel; he’s an ageing rock god, best hits behind him. They pitch the show. Fly on the wall. Beauty and the Beats. Great premise, shit title. They tell Davie every network has expressed interest in this show, but they want him to produce it because he’s ‘The Man’. They’re not lying about the second part.

  The meeting goes well, like every other meeting in the industry. Both sides flatter the other. Both sides claim interest. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, one side refuses to take the next call.

  Davie listens. Definitely has potential. They shake hands; he tells them he’ll be in touch. He will. His secretary will call on Monday and arrange a follow-up meeting. Only the supermodel. Room 567. With the California-king-size bed.

  On the ground floor of the hotel, at Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant, CUT, Mirren McLean is oblivious to her childhood friend’s presence upstairs. She is at her usual table, with her husband of nineteen years, producer-director Jack Gore, and their teenage children, Chloe and Logan.

  If anyone added up the value of the diners in the room, it would hit the billions. People have no problem paying $150 for a Japanese 100 per cent Wagyu steak because this place is regarded as the best. And in Beverly Hills, it’s only the best that matters.

  Jack has been on location for a few weeks, so Mirren is thrilled he’s back. Even happier because both her children are there. This is what life is about – family. Right now, she’s a mum and a wife, and that’s all she wants to be. Just a mum and a wife.

  Paul Bonetti, the legendary producer, approaches her table. Shakes hands. She’s polite because she has manners, but she wants him gone so she can get back to her family. She likes to keep the two separate, but in this town, there’s no forgetting about business.

  Bonetti smiles, like he’s her best friend. ‘I couldn’t be more pleased for you – still number one at the box office after three weeks,’ he says, attempting jovial and sincere, achieving latent fury and crippling envy. His leading men could act; he couldn’t. ‘Just hope I’m up against you next time around – make it a fair fight.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll take the top spot next time. It must be your turn,’ she says, wide grin, while the words ‘over my dead body’ explode in her head. She makes a mental note to bring forward the release date for the next Clansman movie to ensure it clashes with whatever action killfest he has coming out. Time to put him back in his place. If he wants to play that game, she’ll take the challenge.

  She’ll win. Because she’s one of the biggest and ballsiest players in Hollywood.

  And everyone in the room knows it.

  On the seventh floor, room 731, Zander Leith is sitting in a solid-mahogany high-back seat. He’s already refused the director-style chair left by the company who organized the press junket, as this one forces him to sit up straight. It’s all about the angles.

  His new movie, the sixth in the Dunhill franchise, playing a man who is a suave, deadly cross between a Bond and a Reacher, hits the cinemas in three weeks’ time. He’s now been in this airless room for seven hours, answering the same questions from TV and print journalists who all look different but act equally inane. Cute young women asking flirtatious questions. The enthusiastic newbies who want to be his best mate. The older, jaded ones who try to catch him out and twist his words.

  Very occasionally, there’s someone who has well-researched questions that actually make him think – they’re the only ones that hit the pause button on the eradication of his will to live.

  Next door, his hair and make-up team, publicist and manager sit ready to pounce when they are required.

  One of them is required now. The journo in front of him, wearing the shortest of skirts, is giving him a glimpse of her Victoria’s Secret underwear. He knows the brand because he slept with a model who was wearing it on the catwalk only a month before.

  The interview is coming to a close. Once upon a time, he would get someone else to do his bidding. Now, he just cuts to the quick. It’s speed-dating, movie-star 101.

  He leans towards her. ‘Warren Beatty Suite. Seven p.m.?’ It’s a question to which they both know the answer.

  She leaves satisfied that she got everything she came for. His publicist enters the room, turns to the sound guy.

  ‘Make sure that last exchange is deleted?’

  He nods.

  Of course he does.

  Because no one ever says no in Hollywood.

  We hope you enjoyed this exclusive extract. The Rise is available to buy now by clicking on the image below:

  First published in Great Britain in 2023 by Boldwood Books Ltd.

  Copyright © Shari Low and Ross King, 2023