Fame and Secrets - Cora Kenborn

Prologue

Damn California heat.

I didn’t think anything could compare to the sticky humidity of New York. Being there for two weeks had been an exercise in hell. Everywhere I went, sweat melted off me.

Thank God that’s over.

Even if I never see the East Coast again, it’ll still be too soon. Closing my eyes, I inhale the humid-less air of Los Angeles.

“Are you getting in the cab or what?”

I fight an urge to smack the shit out of him as I throw my bag on top of the trunk. “Hill Heights Apartment—and hurry.”

After storing my luggage, the cab driver slides into the front seat and glances into the rearview mirror. “Is this your first time in LA?”

I cut my eyes at him. “No.”

“Sorry for bothering you,” he mutters.

I stare craters into the back of his head. “I’m meeting someone here.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s a surprise. A reunion of sorts.” I chuckle at my own joke.

An hour of mindless chit-chat has me ready to slit my own throat. When he makes a hard right toward our destination and abruptly throws the car into park, I almost slide off the damn seat.

Twisting around, he holds out his hand. “That’ll be forty-six dollars and fifty cents.” He taps the digital fare meter in front of him.

Pulling a few bills out of my wallet, I throw them at his face. “Pop the trunk.”

With my bag in my hand, I walk to the rental office. It doesn’t take long to make eye contact with the hot, young blonde sitting behind a mahogany desk. I clear my throat, forcing her to look up from her paperwork.

“May I help you?”

“I called about renting a third-floor apartment.”

The pen dangles from her painted red nails. “Your name?”

Wiping the sweat from my brow, the name I’ve practiced so many times rolls off my tongue. “Frank Falco.”

She scans her computer screen. “Ah, yes, Mr. Falco. I have your paperwork ready.”

Quickly scribbling my new name, I snatch the keys out of her hands, ready to get this show on the road.

“Is that all right, Mr. Falco?”

I turn back to the delicious blonde. “Is what all right, darlin’?”

“I asked you if it was still all right to give you an apartment on the third floor. You know, because of your condition.”

Leaning my palms on the desk, I lick my lips. “My condition?”

The girl’s face flames. “Yes, sir, I meant that you’re… That you seem to be…” Recognition hit me as she points a finger at my calf.

“Oh, that? No problem. I’ll be fine, little lady. Don’t you worry.”

Bitch never seen a bullet hole before?

Fucking Baltimore police couldn’t shoot their way out of a paper bag. They were aiming for my chest.

The blonde smiles. “Then welcome to Hill Heights. If you need anything, we’re here eight a.m. until five p.m., and we have a twenty-four-hour emergency paging service.”

I indulge in one last look. I’ll be back for her. She’s just too tasty to pass up. I can smell her fear. I have a sixth sense for those things.

Call it a gift.

Making my way to the third floor, I slide the key into the doorknob, and my breath hitches as the lock releases. Closing my eyes, I inhale the scent of freshly painted walls and new carpeting. I round the corner into the master bathroom where huge lights frame the mirror over the counter.

There, I finally see the reflection staring back at me.

The corners of my mouth slowly curl into a wicked grin that breaks at the top right corner of my mouth. It splits into the carnival-freak clown face that draws gawks and stares in public. The four-inch long scar twists and curves from my lip, up to my cheek, giving me a permanent Joker face.

She did that.

After that damn documentary ran, a street gang in South Florida decided to dole out their own justice on a drug debt I owed. I barely remember the rival gang showing up. If they hadn’t, I’d be facedown in the Everglades.

Eyeing the black bag at my feet, I pull out a yellow scarf. It’s a color and symbol she’ll never forget. Revenge may be a dish best served cold, but there’ll be nothing but fire in my soul as I watch her die.

But first she has to suffer. What I have planned will cause her so much pain, she’ll beg for death.

Three years of my hell will soon be hers.

Grabbing my wallet, I shove the key into my pocket and close the door behind me. I hum to myself as I

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