Picture Perfect Read online

  Alex stretched back on the bed and touched the pile of clothes she had been packing for Scotland, clothes that wouldn't make a hell of a lot of difference now. Goddammit, last week had been perfect. He had been keeping himself in check, refusing to let it start all over. And it had been working: when he laid his hands on Cassie he'd been gentle and tender and everything she deserved. He had watched Cassie, in return, giving him tiny pieces of herself--a kiss here, a question there, a memory. Alex had been gathering these tokens like wildflowers, waiting for the moment when he would have all of her, a lush bouquet that bloomed in his presence.

  He had given her back her past, with a few details missing that she'd obviously figured out herself. He never meant to hurt Cassie, God, not Cassie, and every time he struck her he swore that it wouldn't happen again. He wasn't just saying that; he really did mean it. If he could have found a way to turn the red rage into himself instead of toward her, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

  Alex rolled to a sitting position and looked out at the rainy morning. He'd spent most of last night with John, scouring the neighborhoods surrounding Bel-Air. John had even checked the police station, discreetly. None of the airlines or bus depots had had a passenger with her name, married or maiden. Finally, Alex had given up. He'd gone to sit in the bedroom, not sleeping, just waiting for her to come back to him.

  She had to come back. If the press found out that Cassie had left him, or even that she was missing, all kinds of rumors were going to fly--about infidelities, divorce, maybe even the sorry truth. Whatever form it took, the publicity generated would decimate his chances for the Oscars. He had always been able to count on his sterling reputation.

  Alex ran his hand over his stubbled jaw. She had to come back. He couldn't live without her. Cassie was the only person in his entire life who had reached into him and pulled out the fine, glowing soul and said over and over,Yes, you are good . He remembered that once in the redwood forests they had seen two separate giant sequoias that had twined around each other, leaning into the same sun, until they had grafted themselves together into a single tree. He would not admit this to anyone but himself, but Cassie was, simply, the point at which Alexander Riveaux ended and Alex Rivers began.

  AT EXACTLY NINE O'CLOCK, A MAINTENANCE MAN UNLOCKED CASSIE'S office door at UCLA for Alex. "Thanks," he said, staring at the man, unsure of whether or not he was supposed to tip him. Alex closed the door, checking the leather swivel chair for Cassie's imprint, searching out clues that would suggest she'd recently been there.

  He was sifting through the research on her desk when the door swung open. "Good morning," a gravelly voice intoned, and Alex glanced up to see Archibald Custer bearing down on him, his hand held to the voice microphone at his throat. "Oh." He let his eyes sweep the room, searching for Cassie. "I was told your wife had been ill. When I saw the light on, I thought...well, I was just looking for her."

  "She isn't here," Alex said, gesturing. "You probably noticed."

  Archibald Custer stared at him strangely. "Butyou are," he said.

  Alex glanced down at his fingers, clutching a manila file markedPersonal and Confidential . His thoughts tumbled over each other: Cassie was not here. Cassie had not told Custer her whereabouts, or he wouldn't be looking for her also. "She asked me to send her some things," Alex said, pretending to be completely surprised when Custer raised his eyebrows at this mention of Cassie being somewhere other than L.A. "Ah...she must not have had a chance to phone you yet. Her father's been hospitalized, in Maine, and she was called in to look after him." He glanced at his watch, an easy prop. "I'm sure she'll be getting in touch with you in no time. Family emergencies, you understand." He tapped the file on the edge of the desk. "Is there something I can ask her for you? Or send to her with all this?"

  Custer flapped about for a moment, taking in the carelessly tossed files and the clutter that defined the little office. Satisfied that she had indeed left last-minute, he shook his head. "We'll get someone from the department to cover for her until the situation sorts itself out," he said graciously. "Tell her not to worry about it."

  "No," Alex said. "I'm sure she won't." He watched Custer leave, and then sank down into the chair behind the desk. Christ, he washelping Cassie. He had just smoothed one of the snags in her escape. He stared blankly at the manila folder, at the rough black-and-white photos scattered across the desk's surface. Skulls, and a pelvis, and a series of bones that might have been fingers once. Nothing out of the ordinary for Cassie. She'd been studying things like this since before he'd even known her.

  He was up and through the door before he could map out where he was going. Turning through the winding campus roads of UCLA, he made his way to the highway, to Westwood. He remembered which apartment was Ophelia's only because of a stooped palm tree in front of it that Cassie said had always reminded her of an old man.

  Alex rammed his fist against the door. "Goddammit, open up, Ophelia. I know she's in there." He took a deep breath, ready to break down the door with his shoulder, the way his stunt doubles had done in the past.

  Ophelia cracked the door, a sliver of darkness. Her cigarette smoke rushed out through the narrow opening. "Jesus Christ," she muttered. "Looks like I've been granted a fucking audience."

  She unlatched the chain and pulled the door open, standing in front of Alex in a peach chiffon robe that was virtually transparent. Underneath she wore nothing; Alex dispassionately noticed that the shadow between her legs did not match the hair on her head. She blew a ring of smoke into Alex's eyes. "To what do I owe the honor?" she said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  "I've come for Cassie," Alex said, already pushing past Ophelia into the tiny living room of the apartment.

  He felt hands picking at the back of his shirt, ineffectual, like the feet of tiny wrens. "Well, you might want to start by looking in a place where sheis ," Ophelia said. "I haven't even talked to her since that day at the apartment. I thought she'd be in Scotland withyou ."

  Alex peeked behind the floor-length hanging curtains, peered into closets. "You're a shitty liar, Ophelia. Just tell me where she's hiding." He barreled into the kitchen, checking the pantry and the floor-level cabinets, knocking over a half-finished bottle of cabernet.

  When he turned back to Ophelia, her eyes were so wide Alex could see a ring of white going all the way around her irises. Good, he had her terrified. He grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her hard. "Did you put her up last night? Did she tell you where she was headed?"

  Ophelia let out a little cry, and at that the bedroom door creaked open. Alex released her abruptly, running around the corner and slamming into a man in a flowered silk robe, still groggy from sleep.

  "Alex, Yuri. Yuri, Alex." Ophelia ground out her cigarette against the half of an orange fermenting on the kitchen counter. "See, Alex? Ihaven't been hosting Cassie. I was otherwise occupied."

  Alex didn't even bother to glance at her. "Get out," he murmured to Yuri.

  A dawn of recognition flashed across Yuri's eyes. "Hey," he said. "Aren't you--"

  "Out," Alex yelled. He propelled Yuri to the door and locked him on the other side of it, still wearing Ophelia's robe.

  Ophelia threw herself at Alex, yelling and scratching. "Howdare you," she screeched. "You walk right into my apartment like you own the fucking world and--"

  "Ophelia," Alex said softly, his voice breaking, "I can't find her. I looked everywhere. I can't find Cassie."

  Ophelia absently rubbed her hand over her black cast, watching Alex Rivers sink onto her stained couch. Her mind raced through possibilities and places that she was certain Alex had already tried. What would make Cassie leave in such a goddamn hurry? If it was Alex, didn't Cassie know that she would have done anything to help?

  Ophelia stiffened her spine and walked toward Alex until she was standing directly in front of him. "What have you done to her?" she said, her voice tight and cold.

  Alex buried his face in his hands. "God," he said. "I don't know