Secrets and Ink by Lou Harper Page A

followed him back through the house, into the kitchen that wasn’t quite as big as the Titanic’s, but pretty damn big. About the size of my kitchen and bedroom put together, and much better furnished. My phone vibrated in my back pocket, but I ignored it. I had it on mute out of habit. I couldn’t exactly answer calls while working.
    “You’re not the usual boy,” Bow-tie said, turning around. It had been a while since anyone had called me a boy, but that belittling term fit with his conservative attire, and I was in no position to object.
    “He called in sick,” I fibbed.
    “Oh, how unfortunate. I hope he gets better soon.”
    I plunked the bags on the granite countertop, next to the gleaming stainless steel refrigerator. “Well, that’s that, then. Thanks for the help.”
    “Hang on for a minute.” He took out his wallet and pulled a green bill out of it.
    “That’s not necessary.”
    “But I insist.” He took my hand and thrust the twenty into my palm but didn’t let go. “Have you seen Lethal Assignment yet?” he asked, somewhat abruptly.
    “Yeah! It was fantastic!” I piled on the enthusiasm, realizing this could be my chance to get a glimpse at Carson. “I’m a huge fan of Mr. Carson and would die to get his autograph.”
    He chuckled and let my hand go. “You seem like a nice boy, and I’d love to help you out. Sadly, Clay is out and won’t be back till nightfall. I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”
    My disappointment was half real, half fake. “Too bad. I really need to go, or my boss will have my head. Nice to meet you, Mister…”
    “Call me Warren. I trust you can find the front door from here,” he said with a hint of a smirk. “Or Maria could help,” he added as the maid entered.
    “No, thanks. I’ll be fine. Bye!”
    I shot a straight line for the door, but before getting into my car, I took a farewell look at the house and noticed a figure quickly moving away from an upstairs window. Hm.

Chapter Six
    I could’ve driven back downhill and to the freeway, but I chose the scenic route. I knew I could take Mulholland Drive most of the way. I rolled down the window, hoping that the rush of wind would freshen up my mood. Too bad some asshole was tailgating me in a dark SUV. After a few minutes of it, irrational anxiety started to kick in. I told myself it meant nothing. It was just a jerk in a hurry, and this whole country was full of dark SUVs. Paranoia didn’t give a crap about logic and told me that through the pounding of my heart.
    I knew this road well. I knew the ravines were on alternating sides—to my left now, but not far up, they’d be on my right. Where another car could run me off the road. When I saw the lookout spot coming up on the left, I acted without thinking. I made a sharp left and pulled in. One other car sat there already, and I parked next to it. The SUV revved its engine and sped off.
    I sat in the car for minutes, till my heart calmed and my hands stopped trembling. Finally, I got out and enjoyed the view, till the occupants of the other car—a young couple too obviously in love—got back from their stroll. We smiled at each other and said brief greetings. I left when they did, following their car from a respectful distance, but not too far. Fortunately, they drove the opposite direction I originally headed, and we soon reached Coldwater Canyon Road. I continued north, into the safe, ravine-free land of the San Fernando Valley, keeping my eyes peeled for black SUVs. There were plenty, but none stuck out.
    I wanted to change clothes and crash out on the couch so bad it hurt, but I checked in on Mrs. G first. Unlike me, she was in a chipper mood. I could see her sitting in her chair by the door, knitting something unseasonable and tittering to herself. About six months ago, when she’d told me she loved reading but her eyes got tired too easily, I’d given her my old iPod. I hadn’t been using anyway, but first I’d loaded it up with a bunch of