After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

“This isn’t a good time,” she said even before admitting Cassie into the suite. “I’m really tired.” As Cassie hung her dripping jacket over the arm of a modern hall tree, she added, “I just haven’t been feeling all that well.” A lie. One she didn’t bother keeping up herself as she offered Cassie a glass of red wine. Cassie had declined while Allie poured herself a hefty glassful. From the open bottle on the table, Cassie guessed it wasn’t her first drink of the evening.

It was after eight when they started the conversation. Cassie said, “I wanted to talk about the change to the script.”

“What’s done is done. Everyone including Arnette is on board.” Allie had sounded so damned flippant.

“Everyone but you.”

“Yeah, well, who cares what I think? I’m just the lead.” She buried her nose in her drink and took a long swallow.

As Allie glowered from a position near the windows, Cassie had tried to explain why she’d rewritten the scene, how the little change had improved the ending and added to her character’s motive and—

“It’s all bullshit!” Allie cut her off. She stalked to the bar separating the kitchen from the dining area and poured herself another glass. “This is not about adding to the movie, it’s about getting the last word. Literally.” She jammed the cork into the bottle and picked up her glass. “So you can feel good about yourself.”

“No, that’s not why—”

“Of course it is!” She took back her position near the floor-to-ceiling windows. One arm wrapped around her slim waist, the other tipping her glass to her lips, she eyed her sister. “It’s always what it’s about.” Rain drizzled down the windows behind her, blurring the lights of the city and distorting the faded reflection of the interior.

“Why do you always make this a competition?” Cassie demanded, growing irritated.

“Because it fucking is. Always.” Another long gulp.

“Only if you make it—”

“No, if you make it one. It’s you, Cassie. Always you who pushes me.” She was getting agitated, her eyes avoiding Cassie’s, her lips twisted down. “Face it. You’re selfish and self-centered and . . . mean.”

Cassie struggled to hold her tongue, glancing meaningfully at the pictures of Allie lining the walls, shelves, and slim wooden mantel mounted over the stones of the fireplace.

“Don’t even go there,” Allie sniped.

But it was too late. Cassie rose to the bait. “Yeah? Well, it sure sounds as if you’re describing yourself.”

Allie’s eyes flashed. “You’re just jealous. I made it big. And that bothers you. That I’m a . . .”

“Star?” Cassie interjected as Allie, in an uncharacteristic bout of humility, couldn’t finish what was obviously on the tip of her tongue.

Allie hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess I’m a celebrity.”

“You guess?”

“What about you? You’re a . . .” She shrugged dramatically, letting the incomplete sentence hang in the air as she took a long swallow from her glass.

“Say it,” Cassie encouraged as her own temper had flared hotter. “I’m a what?”

Allie remained quiet.

Cassie advanced, stepping around a chair. “A what?” she said again.

“Fill in the blank.” Allie drained her glass and her hand trembled.

“Say it.”

Allie swallowed hard. She looked as if she were fighting a losing battle with emotions she didn’t want revealed. Surprisingly her eyes sheened and for a second Cassie remembered Allie as she had once been, a scared little girl caught up in a monstrous scheme that nearly killed her mother. Cassie’s heart twisted, but she didn’t fall victim to her own raw feelings as she saw some other emotion lurking beneath Allie’s teary facade, something that ran far deeper and darker. Something dangerous.

“Just get out,” Allie ordered.

Cassie closed in on her sister. “Not before you say it. I’m . . . what?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“Say it, damn it.” The air crackled, but when Allie wouldn’t respond, Cassie said, “Loser?” Allie’s glass slipped from her fingers to crack and bounce against the hardwood. “Or maybe just plain old failure?” Cassie pushed.