Crazy but Sweet, Sweet but Crazy

20: fooling, being fooled, a fool

"Do you always get tailed by someone sent by your father?" I asked, as soon as I stepped back into the car.

"I'm telling you to not trust Elliot completely."

Ian's words lingered in the back of my head like a thick, humid fog. I wondered how my voice, how my face, how my atmosphere was like at the moment.

Elliot Lockwood was no fool. From my choice to step out of the car and the call from Ian just seconds before, Elliot would've figured something was up.

Even he did, I needed to start a conversation. Something that would clear the fog in my head.

Slowly, Elliot opened his eyes, and buckling himself back, just for a split second looked at the rearview mirror- instead of at me. He seemed hardly perturbed by the black Audi parked behind us, quite apparently visible.

"Not always. Occasionally. Actually, 'tail' wouldn't be an appropriate word choice. Gerald- the man sent by my father- doesn't seem to try very hard to hide that he's following me. 'Accompany' might be a better word." The corner of his mouth quirked into an amused grin. "I almost feel protected."

He gestured to the Panadol and water in my hands, still without looking at me. I relaxed, just a little. "Do you always get headaches? To the point of having pills in your bag."

"Is this part of your process of compiling as much data on me as possible?" I took the pill with gulps of water, and pointed forward. "Drive, please. To my house."

I heard a smile in his voice, as he drove off. The black Audi followed suit. Really, it was like we were being accompanied. "Yes, ma'am."

"In the worst case scenario," I began tightly as he drove, "we might not be able to get anything out of Nicole Grady. We'd have to go on the other, even more uncomfortable route."

"Which is?"

"Possibly talking to the families of the late actresses who killed themselves. They might know something."

"Yes, at least testimonials, for a chance at re-investigation. Hard evidence's going to be difficult to get- it was probably destroyed.

"Michael Horan was spotted frequenting the VIP bar and club where the sexual exploitation of the actresses happened.

"There's CCTV footage of him entering and leaving. There was audio recording of his conversation with my father- Michael Horan saying he'll close one eye on the 'other case' if my father gives him 'the women'. Probably a malicious submission of only a part of their conversation."

My fingers instinctively edged towards the windscreen. Resisting the urge to roll it down, I nodded.

"Yeah." My voice didn't crack.

"If we're using that method, you're staying out of it."

"How nice of you," I said, making little attempt to hide the sardonic edge in my words. "But if they do know my father's innocent, I'll be more effective in getting them to talk. They wouldn't want to talk to a Lockwood."

"If they don't know your father's innocent- which seems to be the case for the late Brittany King's family- there goes another bash of a handbag against your head. Or maybe a brick."

"Concern for my skull," I deadpanned. "How cute."

"Yes. I need that skull to be in one piece," Elliot said dryly, "at least until I have access to your father. Chairman of Horan Holdings, Michael Horan, who spends time either in the casino or locks himself up in his hotel room, and talks to absolutely no one except his lawyer in charge and his beloved daughter Clare."