Authors: Val Tobin
Injury
Injury
by
Val Tobin
Copyright © 2015 Val Tobin
All Rights Reserved
Published by Val Tobin at Amazon KDP
ISBN
978-0-9920933-7-2
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The names,
characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously.
Editing by Kelly
Hartigan
(
XterraWeb
) editing.xterraweb.com. Thank you, Kelly.
Thanks to Patti Roberts of Paradox
(paradoxbooktrailerproductions.blogspot.com.au/) for the amazing cover.
Dedicated to Bob, Jenn, Mark,
Chanelle
,
Savannah, Jack, and, of course, Robert “Cope” Copeland
Thanks also to Andrea Holmes, Val
Cseh
,
Michelle
Legere
, Kathy
Rinaldo
,
Heather Tobin, Kelly-Marie Murtha, Angel Morgan, John Erwin, Judy
Flinn
,
Alis
Kennedy, the OPP
officer, and Sergeant Kelly
Bachoo
, York Regional
Police.
Eyes closed, sheet covering her face, Daniella Grayson groped
for the phone and dragged the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“This is Tobey Ames from TNN, Miss Grayson. Do you have any
comment on last night’s arrest of your mother?”
Were she not so hung over, Dani would’ve bolted up. Instead,
she drew her legs to her chest, assuming the fetal position. “No comment.” The
hand that held the phone dropped to the bed. Thumb probing for the “End”
button, she found it and disconnected the call.
The phone rang again as she contemplated whom to call first.
This time, she let it go to voice-mail. The machine in the living room clicked
on after the third ring. The message and beep played, and John Madden, her
manager, came on, sounding intense. “Dani. Are you screening? Pick up. I’ve
been getting calls about your mother … ”
Dani sat this time, resting her aching head on bent knees,
and answered. “What’s going on, John? Tobey Ames just called, asking about my
mother’s arrest.”
“I don’t know the details yet. They’re accusing your mother
of killing your father twenty years ago. You would have been what, then? Five?”
Silence. Dani tried to understand what John was telling her.
“My father left us when I was five.” Dani’s mouth went dry, and her hands and
feet grew cold. “Lilli was a bitch from hell.” Nausea threatened and her spine
prickled as she processed the awful news.
Could
it be possible? Oh, God.
“She’s capable of it. If they’ve arrested her for
killing Daddy, she probably did it.” An edge of hysteria had crept into her
voice.
“Listen,” John said. “Don’t answer the phone or open the
door until I get there. I’ll call the lawyer on my way over, and we’ll figure
this thing out. There must be a mistake.”
Dani said goodbye to John and hung up the phone. She
shivered as she slipped out from under the covers and got out of bed. A glance
at the clock on her nightstand showed seven-twenty in the morning. No wonder
she felt like shit—she’d just gotten
into
bed at four-thirty, helped up to her apartment once again by her trusty chauffeur,
what’s his name? She always had trouble remembering. Oh, yeah, Cope.
Good looking as hell, but too young for Dani’s tastes, and
her employee, so she barely gave him a second glance. But he was kind and
helpful and made sure she got home safely no matter how drunk she was.
Dani grabbed her bathrobe and snuggled her naked body into
the warm terry cloth. As she slid her feet into a pair of slippers, the phone
rang again. She returned to her nightstand and disconnected the phone. It
continued to ring in the living room until the machine kicked in.
She listened for the caller’s voice.
“Hello, Miss Grayson. It’s Mark Rutherford of ASN. John
Madden suggested you give me an exclusive interview. I’d love to hear your side
of the story. Please call me back at ... ”
Dani shook her head in disgust while Rutherford recited his
phone number. She pulled the plug on the living room phone as well. Anyone
she’d want to talk to could call her cell.
She sank onto the couch, switched on the TV, and clicked
over to the news channel. An eternity seemed to pass before the stories cycled
to the one about her mother. Finally, the newscaster returned to the headline
news.
A somber Toby Ames faced the camera, eyes filled with
compassion. “Ms. Lillian
Capshaw
, mother of
Oscar-nominated actress Daniella Grayson, was arrested last night in her
apartment in Toronto on charges of first degree murder in the death of her
husband Paul Grayson. Grayson’s skeletal remains were discovered yesterday
morning in a capped well at a Sharon, Ontario residence once rented by the
family. Ms.
Capshaw
was taken into custody late last
night.”
Dani’s childhood home flashed on the screen behind the
reporter. Plywood covered the windows, and two police cars sat in the driveway.
Video footage of Dani appeared on the screen next, showing her exiting a
limousine.
The newscaster continued in voiceover. “Miss Grayson, seen
here arriving at the premiere of her movie, the Academy Award-winning best
picture
Injury
, lives in Los Angeles
and has not commented on last night’s events. We will update you as the story
progresses.”
Dani flicked to a channel that focused more on entertainment
news. After a few minutes, her photo appeared behind the news anchor, and he
gave the same spiel as Ames had though without the premiere clip.
The footage then switched to a taped interview with Gregory
Henderson, caught leaving a restaurant with a date. Dani swallowed past a lump
in her throat and hugged herself, terrified of what Henderson might say.
Always an attention hog, Henderson leaned toward the female
reporter and into the microphone. “No, I haven’t talked to Dani. She’s not
speaking to me these days.”
Dani noted the slight slur in his speech. Henderson’s arm
rested around the shoulders of a gorgeous blonde, who looked delighted to be
with him, getting her fifteen minutes of fame.
“Did you meet Lilli
Capshaw
when
you were dating Miss Grayson?”
“No ma’am.” Henderson swayed and steadied himself by leaning
on his date. “Dani kept me all to herself.” He looked into the camera. “Call
me, sweetheart. I’m here for you, baby.”
The date lost her look of delight.
After a few more inane questions from the reporter and more
slurred responses from Henderson, the interview wrapped up.
What an ass.
Dani
switched off the television, recalling the premiere. She’d stepped out of the
limousine and had smiled for the cameras while voices of people she didn’t know
had cried out for her to look their way.
She hooked her arm through Greg Henderson’s and hoped her
four-inch heels wouldn’t catch on the red carpet. “Greg,” she whispered, “don’t
let go of my arm.”
He smiled at her. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you covered.”
Dani loved tall men. At five-foot-ten, she usually looked
most men in the eyes—looked down on them, let’s be honest—especially in
four-inch heels. Henderson was the perfect height for her, and their chemistry
on screen and high-profile romance off screen had helped make
Injury
the hit of the season.
She tried to get in front of the cameras as much as possible
and had worked hard at looking particularly stunning for that premiere. Her
body-hugging gown had shown off her slender figure. She’d let her long, dark
hair hang loose in a wild and carefree way that took hours with a curling iron
to achieve.
Maybe my father is
watching this
, she’d thought, as she always did when she put herself on
display in public. It’s
why
she put
herself on display in public.
Daddy’s never seen me.
All those times, I thought he’d see me and feel sorry he left us, and he wasn’t
even alive.
The doorbell rang.
John.
She unfurled from the couch and waited for him to enter.
When the door didn’t open, she walked over, reached for the deadbolt, and then
remembered John’s warning to not open the door. She checked the peephole.
Nothing there. If that was John, he wouldn’t be hiding. She waited. The doorbell
rang again, but whoever was there took pains not to be seen.
Dani left the door, went to her room, and opened her closet.
There’ll be a media feeding frenzy. What
am I going to wear?
Did it matter? Yes, she supposed it did, but it felt strange
to know that her father wasn’t out there somewhere perhaps noticing her and
thinking about contacting her.
At eighteen, she’d tried to find him, to ask him why he’d
turned his back on her. She could understand that he’d want to escape
controlling, abusive, obsessive Lilli. Dani herself had moved out of her
mother’s home at sixteen. But Dani was a child when her dad had disappeared,
and she’d taken the rejection and ensuing lack of contact personally.
The knocking on the door penetrated her thoughts.
How’d that asshole get into the building?
Multiple fists pounded the door, she realized. More than one asshole was out
there in the hall stalking her. Then she heard voices arguing, demanding. She
hopped back into bed, pulled the covers under her chin, and waited.
A key rattling in the door told her John had arrived. Dani
sighed and slid out of bed. Peering out of her bedroom, she waited for him to
step inside. John, handsome, rugged, older. But assertive, protective, kind.
She itched to touch him.
Would he sleep with her now she was over twenty-one? It’d
been five years since she’d tested those waters. When she’d first hired him to
be her manager, she’d thrown herself at him.
She’d almost fired him when he’d rejected her, then had
decided she didn’t give a shit after all. One by one, she’d seduced his
associates, until she’d gotten it out of her system. The older men had been
eager to accept the offer of her young body.
When John had complained, like he had any right to say
anything about whom she fucked, she’d told him to butt out. He’d almost quit on
her then, and she’d had to beg and plead and promise the moon to keep him as
her manager. Fear of him abandoning her reined in her reckless, wanton
behavior, and she’d battled to keep him in her life.
They’d had a holy alliance since then, focusing on her
career, which shot through the stratosphere. She’d kept her attraction to him
locked away, taking it out only in the darkest of nights when she took comfort
from and pleasured herself on thoughts of him.
But now that ache for him was back, fierce, hot. Dani slid a
hand down her robe and loosened the knot on the belt at her waist. The robe
parted slightly, exposing her body in a thin, vertical line of curves and
shadows. Her nipples hardened, and she parted her lips.
She tilted her head to the side and watched John struggle to
shut the door as hands holding microphones jammed themselves into the opening,
and voices shouted her name. John pushed against the door, and a man cried out
in pain. The arms disappeared, and the door slammed shut.
“Don’t worry, Dani. I’ve alerted security. They’ll be gone
soon,” John said, his back to her.
The normality of seeing him there shook her back to reality,
and she closed the robe. When he turned to her, she faced him head on. “John.”
Her voice caught in her throat, and his name came out low and throaty, but it
was grief, not lust that did it. “What happened to my father?”