On the morning of the appearance, the thugs are all in place. Vincent needs to know if she will be going with or if she will be home alone, where she will be easy-pickings. He desperately hopes it's the later. One of the thugs manages to sneak into the neighborhood on foot and watch the house.
"They just left," he says, calling in.
"Are you sure she went with them?"
"Yes, boss. I watched her get in the car."
"Who went with her?"
"Abby Johnston, Tommy Stevens, his assistant, and a five-man security crew." The thugs believe, based on the story they were told, that Vincent is Keatyn's biological father and that Abby lied to her former husband about the girl's parentage after she and Vincent had a torrid affair.
"Where are they going?"
"Well, that's where things get a little tricky."
"What do you mean?"
"There were two different flights that left the airport at the same time. One bound for Utah, the other going to New York City."
"Don't lose her," he orders.
But lose her they do.
Tommy and the whore showed up for the interview without Keatyn. Matt has left the country without her-good riddance. Her friends don't seem to know where she is either.
Until he sees a post suggesting that she's in a famous rehab in Malibu.
Vanessa texts him about it, showing her loyalty.
He thinks about it. Rehab would be an easy place to stash her. They are typically quite secure, mostly to keep the paparazzi at bay. More than likely, they believe his obsession with her will blow over. They will hide her away for a short time, keep her safe, then bring her back after a few weeks, looking tan and relaxed.
He doesn't have time to wait, so he makes a call.
When the thug tells him that's she's not at the Malibu clinic, he becomes furious. He throws his phone across the room, causing his assistant to burst into his office, wondering what's wrong.
He lies, says something about an investment gone bad, and sends her away.
A few days later, someone mentions a friend saw Keatyn at a rehab in Utah. Knowing a plane left for Utah the same day as the New York bound plane, he knows this is it.
He calls one of the thugs and sends him there, waiting for confirmation of what he already knows.
But once again, they come up empty.
But while he was waiting, he remembers the soccer player's move to Oregon.
Curious, he decides to make the trip.
He goes to the boy's high school, telling the secretary that he's moving to town with his daughter. He inquires to as if there are any other new female students, hoping they could become fast friends. When the secretary tells him no, he briefly considers strangling her with his bare hands.
Nevertheless, he leaves the office. He waits in the parking lot for hours, then easily spots the soccer player and follows him home. He's tired of this game, so he boldly goes to the boy's front door and knocks on it.
The soccer player answers right away. Vincent quickly surveys the home, seeing no sign of anything girl-related in the messy abode. He feigns having the wrong address, but asks if there are any new families that live nearby. The boy says no.
Vincent stays and watches the house, follows the boy back to school a few hours later for a soccer match. He sits in the crowd during the game, hoping to spot her.
He goes back to Los Angeles feeling a sense of hopelessness.
A few days later, he finds mention of another rehab. He believes it to be a red herring, but sends a thug anyway. Same result.
He considers kidnapping Abby's little girls, holding them ransom until they give him Lacy, but by the time he considers this the family has moved to Vancouver. He sends one of the thugs to the airport the family flew to, where the thug shows a man there Keatyn's photo and is paid handsomely to notify him of her arrival.
She got on the plane to New York and hasn't been seen since.
So where is she now?
Is she still there?
Living a new life?
It would make sense. It's where he would go if he wanted to get lost.
He sends a team of men there to scour all the private schools in the city, searching for his Lacy.
They don't find her.
He studies the surfer's tour schedule and realizes that he will be in New York during the long Labor Day weekend. If she is in New York, surely she would go see him. Lacy loves Matt even though he's not nearly good enough for her. Vincent decides to take matters into his own hands and go to the tournament himself. He's tired of relying on private investigators and thugs.
And he has a feeling about this.
It's like he and Lacy are connected somehow even when they are apart. And he's certain she will be there.
When an invitation from an actor friend who hosts an annual all-white Labor Day party in the Hamptons arrives, he eagerly accepts. He'll go to the tournament in Long Beach then skip up to the party.
And, if all goes well, he'll have Lacy on his arm.
I stand around and watch while he finishes his autograph session. Watch girls fawn all over him, watch him loving it, and wonder what it all means.
But I know, just like Mom, if you're going to be in the public eye, you have to do stuff like this. So I can't fault him for it, and I shouldn't take it personally. It has nothing to do with our relationship.
I mean, if we have a relationship.
Regardless, he's my friend. I should be supportive.
But then he says, "Hey, I have to, uh, run somewhere real quick." He puts his arm up and scratches the back of his head. "I'll be back in a few. Uh, hold down the fort."
I've known Brooklyn for a really long time and can read him well. The scratching of the head. The weird look in his eye.
There's something he's not telling me.
Plus, as he's walking away, he glances back over his shoulder a few times. Like he's making sure I stay put.
I know something's going on, so I follow him.
I lose him in the crowd for a minute, but then I spot him. He's talking to the big-boobed girl. I'm shocked when she lays a big kiss on his lips and pulls him into a changing tent.
About ten minutes later, they sneak back out. Him looking satisfied, and her just looking like a sleazy train wreck.
And I can barely believe it.
If you would have told me this, I never in a million years would've believed it.
I just saw it with my own eyes, and I still can't believe it.
It's one thing for him to kiss girls for publicity. It's another thing entirely for him to be doing them in cabanas.
So much for his best friend love.
I'm so done with him. Like, forever.
I walk straight up to him and the girl. "It's a good thing all we are to each other is friends, or I might've been really hurt by that. And I'd say, Have fun, enjoy your tournament, but you obviously already are. I'm outta here."
I turn and walk away.
He leaves the girl standing there and comes after me. "But, Keats."
He grabs my arm. "Don't touch me."
"Don't leave," he says.
I flip him off and continue walking toward the car.
He doesn't follow me any further.
I hop back inside the dark-windowed town car, turn, and look for the driver. I had told him to wait here because I thought that after I talked to Brooklyn I would run my stuff to his hotel.
A crowd is still streaming in.
I'm getting ready to text my driver when a face causes me to look twice.
It looks like Vincent.
But it couldn't be.
I look closer.
Shit. He's got on the same yellow driving shoes he wore the night we had dinner.
It is him!
And he's walking straight toward the car.
Straight toward me!
My first instinct is to hide.
I drop down below the window and start to shake.
What am I going to do? Should I call Garrett?
My phone. I go to the special app and hit it three times. 9-1-1.
The driver's side door opens. I fall to the floor and try to make myself small.
Someone pats me on my back and I stifle a shriek.
The driver says, "Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?"
"Shut the door. And lock it, please," I whisper. "These windows are tinted, aren't they? Can anyone see me in here?"
"They are pretty darkly tinted. Someone would have to be very close to see inside."
I peek up, see Vincent standing literally right next to the car. He stops to check himself in the window. He takes off his dark sunglasses and fixes an out of place hair.
My heart has stopped beating. I can't breathe.
I'm still in shock. I can't believe he would actually come all the way here to look for me.
"Don't move," I whisper to the driver. "See that guy there. Checking himself out in the window?"
"Yes."
"I can't let him see me."
"He looks like a actor," the driver says. "Lover's quarrel?"
"No, he tried to hurt me."
"I'm sorry, Miss. What would you like me to do?"
"Don't move. Keep the doors locked. Pray he doesn't see me."
Then I think about where he's walking. Toward Brooklyn.
Shit.
My phone is buzzing. First a call from the spa and then one from Garrett.
I take Garrett's call. I whisper into the phone. "Shhh."