The Prada Paradox Read online

  And there she was, turning it into something sordid. Something dirty.

  He wasn’t the dirty one. Amy, however…

  Well, obviously, Amy was obsessed with him. How else would she know about his sessions in the theaters? About what he did at home under the covers with Devi’s picture pressed to his chest?

  She’d been spying on him. The bitch. The little cunt.

  She’d been spying, and she had to pay.

  In the end, it had been remarkably easy. Their town was small, and parents didn’t worry about their kids. Girls walked home alone all the time. And the park adjacent to the town square had lots of bushes abutting the walking paths.

  Of course, once her body had been found, it had become the scandal of the century. A straight-A high school student knifed in the park. Dead. And absolutely no evidence pointing to a killer.

  The police had interviewed him, but that hadn’t been any big deal. They’d interviewed all the kids. And the cops never once mentioned Devi, so presumably the other students hadn’t told them about how Amy had razzed him. In that, he took special satisfaction. It had taken all of his self-control, but he’d waited a full six months before killing her.

  He’d stayed home. Played computer games. Watched movies with actresses less stellar than his Devi. And when they did meet, he was nothing but polite. Hardly a man with a motive. And during that time, he’d never once mentioned Devi. Never once let any other student see him with her picture or a magazine with her on the cover. Did nothing that would remind anyone of Amy’s hurtful words.

  The waiting hadn’t been easy, but he’d considered it a test of his endurance. The wait to eliminate Amy had been nothing compared to his wait for Devi. But wait he had, and patiently. Because he’d known that, ultimately, she would be his.

  And then, he’d seen his opportunity. Realized that the time was right for them to consummate their love. He’d gone to her, expecting to be welcomed. Hell, he’d gone out of his way to find her, jumping through all sorts of ridiculous hoops designed to keep pathetic fans away. But not him. Never him. He wasn’t pathetic. He was hers.

  And when she saw him, he’d been certain that they would be joined forever.

  She’d been late that evening, and he’d spent the time getting to know her even better. Opening drawers. Touching her clothes. Inhaling her scent. He’d strewn rose petals on the bed and lit candles.

  He’d expected her to love him. To want him. To cleave to him with joy in her heart.

  It hadn’t happened that way.

  She’d been distant. Cold. And though her distance had enraged him, he’d also been calm enough to realize that he’d waited too long. She’d been damaged. He’d done everything he could to remind her of their bond, their connection, their love, but she refused to open up to him.

  In the end, he’d fled, then hid, fueled by a fear of the system that wouldn’t understand his passion should they find him. But he never gave up on possessing Devi. And, yes, she would need to be punished, too. She’d turned away from him, after all. Brought other men into her bed and gave herself to them despite the bond between them.

  Her behavior, of course, was unacceptable. Which left only the question of what to do…and when.

  He’d had no answer, but he’d waited and watched, secure in the knowledge that what was meant to be would come to pass. His destiny was with Devi, no matter how twisted the path to get there.

  The answer had come from the most unexpected of sources. And yet it was absolutely perfect. As if fate had been building to nothing more than this single moment. The moment that he possessed Devi, body and soul.

  With a thin smile, he looked at his computer, nestled in the heart of the room. The bright screen seemed to wink at him, as if they shared a secret. For years, he’d used it to peruse the Internet to find pictures and articles about Devi. Occasionally, he’d log on to a computer game or slip into a chat room. But for the most part, his computer served only one purpose. Just like the room itself—hell, just like him—the sole raison d’être was Devi.

  He got up and walked slowly to the nearest wall, running his hand reverentially over the collage mounted there. A tribute to her beauty. Her eyes. Her mouth. Her wondrously thick hair. His fingertips danced over her features, his cock hardening even as he touched her in his mind.

  Soon, my darling. Soon.

  He’d been renting the place for years, ever since he’d moved from Oklahoma so that he could be closer to her. He’d learned about the place from the e-mail loop for a Devi Taylor fan club. The building’s owner was a fan, too, and had been advertising for a tenant. The apartment was perfect, with just enough space. A place where he could be with Devi. Where he could count the minutes until they could be together.

  He’d outfitted this room before furnishing the rest of the place. Blackout shades to keep out the sun and prying eyes. Corkboard over all the walls so that photographs and articles could be easily displayed. Images culled from magazines, newspapers, printed from the Internet. Even a few special photos he’d taken himself on the rare occasion that he’d caught a glimpse of her in a restaurant or at an event.

  Built-in desks lined each wall of the study, and the evenly spaced televisions played Devi’s movies and network appearances on a constant loop. The sound was off, but the room was not silent. Instead, the sound tracks from her movies played softly in the background.

  He moved to the computer, his hand caressing it like a lover as he read the message addressed to Janus, his gaming identity. An historic message. One that not only started the game, but ensured that he would soon possess what he had coveted all his life: Devi Taylor.

  He’d read the message over a dozen times already, and he’d followed the instructions to the letter. Everything was in place. He was in place.

  He’d been chosen. Just as he’d chosen Devi so many years ago.

  He breathed deeply, relishing the feel of cool air filling his lungs. Like the ancient Roman god, he boasted two faces. One seen, one hidden. And now it was time for the hidden to step from the shadows and into the light.

  He was Janus.

  And he was going to win the game.

  Chapter 4

  I stand up and start to pace my trailer. I’ve actually gone quite a few months without thinking about the attack, so it’s frustrating that these thoughts now swirl around in my head. I thought I had better self-control. Hell, forget better. I just thought that I had control.

  The phone rings, and I jump, then curse my own antsiness. I find my cell phone in the small sofa’s cushion and flip it open, not bothering to check caller ID. I don’t give out this number to just anyone, so I know already that the caller must be on my approved friend list.

  “How did it go?” the voice at the other end asks.

  I frown, trying to figure out who it is.

  “Devi? Are you there? It’s Mel.”

  “Oh!” I say, and then feel stupid. I’d spent two weeks in Washington, D.C., with Mel researching the part, and then she’d flown out and spent a week at my house, all expenses paid by the studio, of course.

  The second trip was ostensibly for research, but the truth was, I would have been fine without it. No, I’d invited her out because we’d hit it off. Mel’s scrappy, and I like that. She’s also scarily smart, but since she can shop with the best of us, I don’t hold that against her. (And for the record, I’m no slouch academically. I just don’t have a bunch of initials after my name.)

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t recognize your voice. But it went great. I mean, we only did a few scenes today, but we did the race-away-from-Todd’s-killer scene, and you can imagine how traumatic that one was.”

  “Trust me,” she says. “I don’t need to imagine.”

  “No. I guess you don’t.” Mel went through real hell. Fortunately, I’m only playing a role.

  “And you’re happy with the script? Andy was so gung-ho for you to star, but then once you really did sign on, I think he was nervous that you wouldn�
�t like the script.” Andrew Garrison is our story consultant. From what I understand, he was the brains behind shepherding the whole project through the Hollywood quagmire.

  “I think the script is awesome,” I say, meaning it.

  “Well, good. He’s had nothing but good things to say about you and the writers and the producer.”

  I give her the blow-by-blow of the day’s shoot, plus some gossip about the production as a whole. After that we move on to other subjects like fashion and travel and her new husband, Matthew. I’m grateful that she doesn’t ask about Blake. She knows the story of our breakup; and she also knows that it’s not exactly high on my list of favorite conversation topics.

  After a good twenty minutes of chatter, we finally say good-bye, and when I hang up the phone, I realize I’m smiling. I like Mel, and the fact that we’ve become friends means a lot to me.

  I’m standing there thinking sappy thoughts about friends and stuff when there’s a tap at the door. Since this is a closed set—with airtight security—I know it must be someone from the cast or crew, and I holler for the person to come in. After a brief pause, the door opens a crack and Mackenzie Draper slides in. She’s my stunt double, and when she’s in full makeup it’s like looking in a mirror. Even now—when she’s not the least bit made up—the resemblance is uncanny. “You okay?” she says.

  I blink, because that’s so out of the blue. “Of course I am. Why?”

  “Just a vibe.”

  “A vibe,” I repeat, but I’m really not surprised. I’d been thinking about the attack earlier, and Mac is damnably intuitive, especially about me. Or maybe it’s just that after working on five movies together, she knows how to read me.

  “Is it the story?”

  “Huh?”

  “The movie,” she says, one hand reaching out to vaguely indicate the movie set. “A freaky assassin targeting one specific girl. You know. I thought it might have…well…you know.”

  “Creeped me out?”

  “It does seem like a rather odd project for you to choose. I mean, considering what Janus did…”

  Janus. My attacker had told me he’d had two faces. The one you see, and the one I show to the world.

  I shiver with the memory I’d tried so hard to suppress. Even now I can feel the whisper of his breath on my ear as he bound my hands. “I am like the god Janus, and I have come for you, my darling.”

  He’d made me plead for my life, plead for him to stop the pain. And once he’d completely humiliated me, he’d simply disappeared.

  I’d given descriptions, succumbed to medical tests so they could take DNA, the works. But so far, no sign of him. It’s like he moved into a cave.

  I’ve blocked many of the details, but the humiliation and the fear have stayed with me. I still wake up in a cold sweat, certain he’s in my house.

  The name stayed, too, and even now in my dreams I hear him calling to me, whispering his name and urging me to come. Janus. You belong to Janus.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I choke it back down. I’m past this. I just need to keep remembering that I’m past this.

  Janus may have turned me into a victim, but with this role, I’m the one who wins.

  Not that I intend to go into all of that with Mac. Instead, I just shrug and say, “It’s a good role.”

  “It’s a great role,” she agrees. “But—”

  “It’s a great role,” I say again, only more firmly this time.

  She looks at me for a second, then nods and heads to my fridge. I sigh, because she’s right. The role did get to me today. It took me a good two hours to get my mind back after shooting the race-down-the-street scene this morning—and that was just me. No bad guy. No assassin. No dead bodies.

  For a second I wonder if I’ve gotten in over my head. I push the thoughts away, though. The role is awesome, my career needs a jump start desperately, and I’m grateful beyond words that Tobias brought it to me.

  Tobias and I have done two films together—one when I was ten and another more recently. The one from age ten earned me an Oscar nod. The one three years ago? That one barely broke even. But Tobias is a great guy. He believes in me, and he supported me through my personal hell. More, he went to bat for me with the studio.

  Before this project, I’d been deep in career-resuscitation mode. My agent and manager were both on the case, and I read every script I could get my hands on.

  Nada.

  I don’t know if there are no good scripts in Hollywood or if they were just circumventing me, but about a year ago, I was reaching the point of desperation. I debated the value of an extreme makeover, firing my manager, or sleeping with an A-list director. (Just kidding on that last one. Sort of. After all, I went into rehab for meds, not sex.) Then along came this role. Literally the answer to my prayers. Not only does the script itself seriously rock (with the minor exception of a few bits of clunky dialogue), but the story is based on fact. And not just fact. No, this story is based on absolutely mind-blowingly unbelievable fact.

  Play.Survive.Win. Ring any bells?

  It’s an amazingly popular online multiplayer computer game. The whole thing takes place in a computer version of New York City, with three players running around trying to win the game and survive. There’s a target, an assassin, and a protector for each game, but there can be an infinite number of games going on at any one time, which is one of the things that made the game so popular with your average computer geek gaming dude, or so the material they gave me with the script said. The players do pretty much what the role describes. The target is the player that the assassin is trying to kill. And the protector is trying to keep the target safe. And if the target makes it to the end, the prize is real money. Lots of it. And when the game hit the cyberworld, it was an instant hit, with millions of players around the globe.

  All by itself, PSW was news. But the story underlying our screenplay wasn’t news at all. Instead, it was secret…and damn scary, too. Because someone started to play the game in the real world. And Melanie Prescott—a graduate student with a passion for math, codes, and all things Givenchy—suddenly found herself on a scavenger hunt across New York with a killer on her heels. An assassin who was just as determined to kill Mel as she was to stay alive. Her only help came in the form of Matthew Stryker, a very hunky, very competent ex-marine.

  A true story. A crazed killer. And a computer game brought to life in the real world. That kind of platform is what gets a movie buzz.

  In other words, this movie has all the markings of a pivotal role for me, and I knew that from the get-go.

  It wasn’t just about my career, though. It was about confronting my own demons in the safety of a celluloid bubble. And Lord knows I’ve got the emotional depth to pull off Melanie’s terror.

  None of that, however, is something I want to chat about with Mackenzie.

  Fortunately for me, she’s lost interest in the conversation. Once she decided my “vibe” wasn’t too bad, she turned her attention from my refrigerator to my cookie stash, and now she is down on her hands and knees, rummaging through the box I keep under the little sofa in my trailer.

  “I should never have told you that was there,” I say.

  She makes a rude noise, but keeps rummaging. I sigh and tell her to toss me one of the packets of Fig Newtons.

  “See? That’s why you told me. The more people who know this is here, the fewer treats there are for you to pick through.”

  “Are you suggesting I have no self-control?”

  “Honey, I know you have no self-control. Anyone who’s ever read Entertainment Weekly knows that.”

  I very politely shoot her the bird, but I smile while I’m doing it. There’s something about Mackenzie’s laid back yet straight-shooting manner that always puts me at ease.

  “So did you really come because you felt a vibe, or did you just want cookies?”

  “Gummy bears,” she says, holding up a packet. “And none of the above.”

  “Really? Then wh
at’s up?” That she just came to hang out isn’t in the realm of possibility. We get along great, but for whatever reason we’ve never crossed the line to being true friends. I actually kind of regret that—and I’ve made overtures—but she always keeps her distance. Tobias says it’s a work ethic thing. She’s more crew than cast, and I’m the Star. I think that’s a load of crap…but at the same time I fear he may be right.

  She looks distinctly uncomfortable, so I ask again. “Mac?”

  “I just wanted to let you know that Blake’s on the lot.”

  “Well, yes,” I say, trying for professional. “He is in the movie.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You cannot possibly be so dense.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I’m irritated beyond belief that he’s here today.”

  “Well, I hate to add more bad news to the pile, but he’s here for an interview.”

  “An interview,” I repeat, dully. I’m not a big fan of Blake giving interviews. Somehow, I always seem to get screwed in the process. “With who?”

  “Not sure,” she says. “I just saw them setting up.”

  I give a nod and try to act unconcerned. If I can’t actually be unconcerned, acting is the next best thing.

  From a purely intellectual standpoint, it’s fascinating how far I’ve come in just the last few months. When Tobias hired Blake, I was over the moon. Not only were Blake and I already happily ensconced in romance-land, but Blake happens to be perfect for the role. He just looks marine, if you know what I mean. And he’s a natural with the martial arts stuff. He started out teaching karate (or some kung-fu-type stuff), then segued to choreographing it for movies and television. That’s how we met—on the set of my last movie, a B-level action flick that really was a lot of fun to make even if it did nada for my career. And since he’d dated one or two celebs before me, Blake was already front and center with the tabloids.

  Once we started dating, of course, his tabloid-coolness factor bumped even higher. And when he actually got cast, his status with the paparazzi skyrocketed. A little bit weird considering the man hasn’t even been on-screen yet, but that’s the way the industry works these days.