Page 43 of Every Step She Takes
I tap it, and a headline appears.
“Lucy Callahan Wanted in Murder of Colt Gordon’s Wife.”
There is actually a bizarre moment when the part that truly outrages me is the last three words.Colt Gordon’s Wife. Even in death, Isabella is defined by that role.
Of course, then I see the rest of that headline. I read it three times and decide I’m still sleeping. Yep, very clearly, I am having a horrible and preposterous nightmare, and when I wake, I’ll laugh at myself.
You dreamed that the cops had a warrant for your arrest a couple of hours after finding Isabella’s body?
You dreamed that news of it hit the Internet a mere hour later?
That makes no sense. You do realize that, right?
My gaze moves to the article source, and I flinch. This isn’t CNN, though the URL does share two letters in common. My mother calls CNR.com Celebrity Nasty Rumors, which is about as biting as Mom gets.
CNR actually stands for Celebrity News Reports, as if adding those last two words makes the site seem like a legitimate source. Nylah says CNR’s tagline should read “Reporting the Stories Even TMZ Won’t Touch!” CNR prides itself on beating other online tabloids, which means they’ll jump on any rumor. They’re also known to pay top dollar for exclusive firsts.
As Nylah also says, I should be an honorary CNR stockholder. Before the Colt-and-Lucy spectacle, they’d been a fledgling paper tabloid. Then their reporter – pushed aside by the “big boys” staking out the Morales-Gordon beach party – wandered farther afield and landed the infamous hot-tub shots. They’d been so eager to get the scoop that they’d uploaded the photos to their website instead, becoming one of the first celebrity gossip sites, with TMZ still a few months from launch.
Allegedly, CNR nearly bankrupted themselves getting exclusive interviews with staff and partygoers. The gamble paid off, and they’re now the first place people go when they have a story to sell.
Stories like this one.
They reported Isabella’s death within thirty minutes of the police arriving on scene. The clip states simply that Isabella Morales, wife of Colt Gordon, was found dead in her hotel room early this morning. It goes on to say that a source inside the hotel told CNR that Lucy Callahan had visited Isabella the day before and helpfully reminds people who Lucy Callahan is with links to past articles… and one photo.Thephoto.
Chapter Eighteen
The Hamptons, 2005
The camera bulb flashed, and Colt was out of the hot tub in one action-hero leap, dumping me off his lap so abruptly I smacked down, my head slamming against the edge. I swallowed chlorine water and came up sputtering and gasping. As I start climbing out, cool night air hit my bare breasts, and I yelped. My arms slapped over my chest as I scrambled to find my bikini top.
I’d just gotten it back on when Colt returned. He grabbed my arm and hauled me from the water. Then he held me there, as if I were a burglar caught in the act, while he found his cell phone and speed-dialed a number.
“Karla? I have a problem.” A pause. “A girl.”
A girl? Shock snapped my head up, indignation filling me. I’d been living in his house, looking after his children and teaching him to play guitar. Now he called me “a girl,” as if I were some crazed fan who snuck into the party.
I tried to wrench out of his grip, but he held me tight without seeming to even realize I was there, too intent on his conversation with Karla.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay. We’re on our way.”
She replied as he listened.
“I’m not stupid,” he snapped. Then he hung up, turned to me and sighed. His hand loosened, as he pulled me into a hug, cell phone clapping against my back.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay, Lucy.”
Oh, so you remember my name now?
His hand moved to my chin, and he lifted my face to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Champagne and pretty girls just don’t mix.” His lips quirked in a smile, and he leaned to kiss me. I jerked back, but it was only a brush of the lips, and he didn’t notice me withdraw, just slung an arm around my shoulders and started leading me away.
“Karla will fix this,” he said. “She always does.”
We returned by circling around the front. When we saw Karla, Colt patted my back and nudged me toward her.
“You go on now,” he murmured. “Let Karla take care of you. Just do as she says, and everything will be fine. Whatever happens, I’ll look after you. Remember that.”
He brushed his lips over the top of my head and propelled me Karla’s way. Then he loped back to the party.
