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Authors: Lynette Sofras
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virtually to rewrite it from scratch. She might just as well have been employed as the ghost-writer in the first place! And that, of course, was when the idea struck her.
Galling as it was, she knew she had Katya to thank for it.
****
Amber slept well that night. It was a drug-induced sleep, but nevertheless deep and restful. Both Christian and Adam managed to sleep properly too and awakened the following morning feeling far more refreshed and positive. Christian dreamt he was skiing and woke up thinking about the snow and Jess and groaning at the aching need aroused by the dream. He was irritated with himself that he still hadn’t succeeded in putting her out of his mind. I can’t sit around here all day in crimbo-limbo-land babysitting Amber – I need to be busy, he thought. I’ll call Tom and see if he can set something up to take my mind off things.
He wandered into his office, but instead of picking up his phone, he switched on his computer and once again called up Google maps, tapping in those possible postcodes. He’d narrowed it down to a long, residential road somewhere between Acton and Ealing with a number of larger buildings, some houses converted into small flats, others purpose-built blocks owned by housing trusts, or the local council. The postcodes matched one of five or six buildings, which all looked similar and which were all depressingly dreary. How was he ever going to find Jess in such a warren? But worse still, how could that sweet girl and her son actually live in such a place?
She worked for a publisher, he remembered. He closed his eyes to try to recollect the name or whereabouts. He was sure she’d mentioned the name – it sounded vaguely familiar at the time. A woman! She worked for a woman called…what was it? Miranda? Marissa? How many women ran London publishing houses, he wondered.
He snatched up his phone and pulled up his manager’s number. He received an answer on the third ring. “Tom, I need your help. You remember that guy you hired to look into Amber’s little problem last year? I need his name.”
“What the hell, Chris? What’s going on? If you’re in some sort of trouble, I need to know.”
“Relax! I’m not in any trouble – I just want…to follow…something up. This girl I met – I need to find her.”
Tom sounded wary. “A girl? That sounds like trouble to me, Chris. Who is she? I’ll have her taken care of.”
“It’s nothing like that, Tom. Trust me. Get me this guy’s number – please.”
Two hours later, when Steve Grayson walked into his study, Christian remembered why Tom Powers had earned his nickname of ‘The Powerhouse’. Grayson, a former Metropolitan Police detective, was quiet, unassuming and brim full of confidence. He took control from the moment he entered, asking all the questions and dismissing everything he felt was irrelevant. His mind seemed to work like a computer. He didn’t care about Christian’s reasons or feelings – he cared about plain facts and delivering the necessary information in record time. He promised Christian results within 48 hours.
****
Jess finished her editing job well ahead of schedule but didn’t check it in immediately or offer her help to the other two. Instead she spent the morning following up on the research she had started the night before. Using Katya’s blog as a starting point, she began tracing the story of Wishful and its rise to fame. Her particular focus was on Amber Rayne. If you can’t beat them, join them, Jess thought.
But Amber’s life story, from what she could uncover, did not make pleasant reading. I don’t think I could bear to write this woman’s biography if she paid me in gold, Jess thought sadly. No wonder no one has done it before. She seemed almost destined to go the same tragic route as so many other highly talented young singers before her.
“It looks like Plan B, then,” Jess muttered
Galling as it was, she knew she had Katya to thank for it.
****
Amber slept well that night. It was a drug-induced sleep, but nevertheless deep and restful. Both Christian and Adam managed to sleep properly too and awakened the following morning feeling far more refreshed and positive. Christian dreamt he was skiing and woke up thinking about the snow and Jess and groaning at the aching need aroused by the dream. He was irritated with himself that he still hadn’t succeeded in putting her out of his mind. I can’t sit around here all day in crimbo-limbo-land babysitting Amber – I need to be busy, he thought. I’ll call Tom and see if he can set something up to take my mind off things.
He wandered into his office, but instead of picking up his phone, he switched on his computer and once again called up Google maps, tapping in those possible postcodes. He’d narrowed it down to a long, residential road somewhere between Acton and Ealing with a number of larger buildings, some houses converted into small flats, others purpose-built blocks owned by housing trusts, or the local council. The postcodes matched one of five or six buildings, which all looked similar and which were all depressingly dreary. How was he ever going to find Jess in such a warren? But worse still, how could that sweet girl and her son actually live in such a place?
She worked for a publisher, he remembered. He closed his eyes to try to recollect the name or whereabouts. He was sure she’d mentioned the name – it sounded vaguely familiar at the time. A woman! She worked for a woman called…what was it? Miranda? Marissa? How many women ran London publishing houses, he wondered.
He snatched up his phone and pulled up his manager’s number. He received an answer on the third ring. “Tom, I need your help. You remember that guy you hired to look into Amber’s little problem last year? I need his name.”
“What the hell, Chris? What’s going on? If you’re in some sort of trouble, I need to know.”
“Relax! I’m not in any trouble – I just want…to follow…something up. This girl I met – I need to find her.”
Tom sounded wary. “A girl? That sounds like trouble to me, Chris. Who is she? I’ll have her taken care of.”
“It’s nothing like that, Tom. Trust me. Get me this guy’s number – please.”
Two hours later, when Steve Grayson walked into his study, Christian remembered why Tom Powers had earned his nickname of ‘The Powerhouse’. Grayson, a former Metropolitan Police detective, was quiet, unassuming and brim full of confidence. He took control from the moment he entered, asking all the questions and dismissing everything he felt was irrelevant. His mind seemed to work like a computer. He didn’t care about Christian’s reasons or feelings – he cared about plain facts and delivering the necessary information in record time. He promised Christian results within 48 hours.
****
Jess finished her editing job well ahead of schedule but didn’t check it in immediately or offer her help to the other two. Instead she spent the morning following up on the research she had started the night before. Using Katya’s blog as a starting point, she began tracing the story of Wishful and its rise to fame. Her particular focus was on Amber Rayne. If you can’t beat them, join them, Jess thought.
But Amber’s life story, from what she could uncover, did not make pleasant reading. I don’t think I could bear to write this woman’s biography if she paid me in gold, Jess thought sadly. No wonder no one has done it before. She seemed almost destined to go the same tragic route as so many other highly talented young singers before her.
“It looks like Plan B, then,” Jess muttered
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