Gwen moved from her desk where she was searching the Internet for self-defense classes, and hugged Karen. “How exciting.”

“We’re going to fly to New York, grab a judge, and hide out in France for a week. I’ve never been to France.”

“It’s lovely this time of year. Do you parlez vous?”

“What about ‘I’ve never been to France’ did you not understand? I don’t poly vu anything other than English and the occasional teenage gutter talk.” Karen flopped on the couch and tossed her feet up on the coffee table. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Tell me everything.”

Karen blew out a breath. “He took me to this hidden gem in Brentwood. The waiter knew him. The patrons craned their necks to get a glimpse of us. I asked him how he managed to go to the bathroom without someone following him. He told me he did it like women, in pairs.” Karen laughed. “The fame doesn’t bother him. He ignored the stares and eventually I found myself ignoring them, too. I talked about the kids at the center. He talked about his latest movie. Our conversation was entirely superficial while we ate. When we got in the car we headed to his house.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s amazing. Not as stuffy as I thought it would be.”

“It felt very welcoming to me.”

“Once we were alone, we talked about the next year…if it all worked out. We watched a chick flick. I suggested one of his movies, but he said he never watches them. Can’t stand to see himself up there. He likes drinking wine but pretends to like beer in public. Did you see his wine cellar?” Karen rushed the events of the evening together in her excitement.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Huge, brick walls, iron table…racks and racks of wine I know nothing about. That’s one of the reasons we picked France. There are a couple of vineyards he wants to visit and what better excuse than a honeymoon?”

“I agree. So why did you stay the night?”

Karen smirked. “Some guy with a camera followed us out of the restaurant. When I left this morning, he clicked a few pictures. Michael knew he’d be there, waiting.”

“There will be more of that.”

“I know. It’s only a year. Well, sixteen months. Crazy to be planning the divorce before the wedding, but Michael has the timeline down to the hour.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Is all of this for publicity?”

Karen shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. He talked about his family, how they didn’t know about him. He thinks his mom suspects, but not his father. A couple of women he’d dated, for the camera, made it clear to the media that there wasn’t a sexual relationship, which I think started some inside rumors. The industry is rather tight-knit according to Michael. I’m not sure if he’s doing this to save his macho rep, or to buy himself some time. He has three huge films he’s involved in over this next year…and another two for the next. The millions he makes per film is enough incentive for him to get married.”

“That’s what I thought. Doesn’t matter anyway. So long as you don’t have any romantic ideas.”

“He’s sexy as hell but he rubs me like a good friend or a brother. No worries about me falling for him.”

“Good.” Gwen pushed off the couch. “You’re going to have to show me a few things in our files. Though I doubt there will be much activity while you’re prancing around France, you never know.”

“Let me change my clothes first.” Karen left the room and headed upstairs.

Gwen bookmarked the page she’d been looking at on the Internet and clicked into Alliance’s main client files.

“Ewwh! Gwen, get up here,” Karen yelled.

Gwen laughed as she walked toward Karen’s voice. “Our naked neighbors at it again? They were up late last night.”

Karen stood in the door of her room, not at the window.

Gwen followed Karen’s stare.

The window in Karen’s room was open a few inches and on a flower box was a mass of black feathers. “Is it a dead bird?”

“A crow, I think.”

Gwen moved closer. Sure enough, the crow looked like it had attempted to peck inside the screen. The beak was caught partially inside while its body lay in the gardenias.

“I hate birds, Gwen. Bad Alfred Hitchcock flashbacks.”

Gwen chuckled. She removed her shoe and tapped the end of the beak until it was free of the screen. She popped the screen free, and then using the tips of her fingers, Gwen managed to pick up a feather and quickly toss the bird to the ground below. “I’ll put it in the trash.”

“Thanks,” Karen said shivering. “Ewwh.”

Gwen chuckled as she left the room. “And everyone thinks I’m the weak one around here,” she said under her breath.

Chapter Eight

Gwen drove through the gates of her brother’s Malibu estate and parked her car in the circular drive. She waved at one of the groundskeepers and let herself into the house. “Hello?” she said as she walked inside.

The sound of soft heels meeting the tile floors preceded the housekeeper.

“Lady Gwen?”

“Hi, Mary.” Gwen removed her sunglasses and set them with her purse on the hall table. “How are you?”

Mary had worked with her brother for as long as he’d lived in this house. She was the main cook and would sometimes help with other domestic chores. There was a full-time live-in maid and groundskeepers who went home in the evenings. And of course, Neil.

It was killing her not to look for him. He was probably in the guesthouse…if he was there at all.

Gwen told herself she didn’t care. She was on a mission.

An independent mission.

“Did Samantha tell you I was coming?”

“She did. Will you be staying for lunch?” Mary asked with hope on her face.

“Bored, Mary?”

“To tears. I can hardly wait for them to come home.”

They walked together down the massive hall to the kitchen. The kitchen and breakfast room opened to a great room with huge floor to ceiling windows. Beyond the swimming pool and patios was a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean.

“I’d be happy to stay for lunch so long as you’ll join me.”

Mary raised her eyebrows. “Wonderful. Any requests?”

“Anything that isn’t prepared in a microwave would be super.” Learning how to cook hadn’t been part of Gwen’s upbringing. Since moving to the States, she’d had to learn to fend for herself, and that meant plenty of ready-made microwavable meals.