Page 13 of Remember Me

“Check her bag,” responds a gruff voice, unmistakably Greenberg’s.

“Get out of the car,” orders the guard closest to me. “And hand over your bag.”

The word please is definitely not part of his vocabulary. Taking a fortifying breath, I have just enough time to glimpse myself in the rearview mirror and adjust my blond wig a tad, making sure the silky locks cascade over my shoulders. Then, I collect my purse. My wallet with my driver’s license along with my cell phone is locked in the glove compartment. All that’s inside it is my lipstick, which is actually a spy-tech recording device, and a small vial of mouthwash, which is really unmarkedpepper spray. I found both on Amazon. I sling the bag over my shoulder and step out of the car, the motor still running.

To my horror, the guard outside my door frisks me while the other rounds the car and snaps open my purse.

“What are you doing?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

“Security precautions,” says the guard, rifling through my bag. My pulse accelerates as he examines the two items inside. I inwardly sigh with relief when he puts them back intact.

A few minutes pass by. My body stiffens as the first guard’s mammoth hands crawl down my body, not overlooking my inner thighs, while his almost identical twin, done with my purse, gives me the once-over. I put a sweet smile on my face, but their expressions are anything but friendly. Small talk with these guys is out of the question. Finally, I’m cleared.

Sheldon’s voice comes through the walkie talkies. It’s not as gruff as before. “Good. Let her in and tell her I’ll meet her at the front door.”

Relieved, I hop back into my Prius as gracefully as I can in my stilettos, and as the gate parts open, I drive up the manicured road that leads to a sweeping semi-circular driveaway in front of Sheldon’s breathtaking house. It’s big enough to hold a dozen cars. I park my Prius and turn off the ignition. Tossing the key inside it, I sling my purse over my shoulder and step out of the car, ready to provide all the evidence the Conquest Broadcasting brass needs to take the monster down. As the car automatically locks behind me, I clutch my lucky locket and suck in another breath.

Without ringing the bell, I wait for Sheldon to come to the front door. A few long, anxious minutes pass. Finally, the oak door swings open. Sheldon, with a smug grin on his face, hovers over me in his other uniform. His monogrammed navy bathrobe. Belted below his paunch, the velour garment stopsjust below his knees, bringing my attention to his thick hairy calves. Matching velvet slippers complete the ensemble.

“Hi,” I say in my best breathy voice. I can tell from the lustful expression on his face that he likes what he sees.

“Come on in, sweetheart.” He waves me in before I can say another word. In one hand is a communications device. The one he uses to talk to his armed guards.

“I don’t want any interruptions,” he tells them before slamming the door shut behind me.

“So sweetheart, can I get you something to drink?” he asks as he ushers me inside, one hand splayed on my ass. His inappropriate gesture repulses me, but I don’t let on.

“Your house is magnificent,” I say, taking in my surroundings and not knowing where he’s leading me. Antique furniture and artwork fill every nook and cranny of the vast mansion.

He snorts. “It’s just leftover shit from my last wife. I wanna dump the crap. Start over fresh. Well, except for the paintings.”

In contrast to the dark, baronial furnishings, the colorful, large paintings on the wall are contemporary. I recognize some of the artists—there’s a Basquiat, Pollock, and Schnabel. In my research, I read that he’s a major collector and owns one of the largest collections of contemporary art in the world.

“Maybe you can help me... you know, redecorate.”

“Sure, that sounds like fun.”

I cringe at my trite words as he leads me to a grand, well-stocked bar. Bottles of the finest liquors line the shelves along with expensive, glistening crystal. I watch as he pours himself a Scotch and sets the tumbler down on the gleaming surface.

“How ’bout some champagne?”

I eye a silver ice bucket holding a bottle of Cristal. “Just some water, please.”

“C’mon, gorgeous. Water is for paupers. Let me pour you a glass of champagne. It’ll help you relax.”

Not responding, I let him pour me one. While his back is turned, I slip out my lipstick from my purse, and as I apply it, I activate the recording device. One click of the base. I quickly put the tube back inside. Just in time.

“Let me take your purse,” he says, handing me the bubbly.

“I’d prefer to hold on to it.” I clutch my small bag. Thankfully, he doesn’t oppose me.

“So let me propose another toast.” I raise my glass as he does, his eyes cast down on my cleavage. “To those killer tits.”

You pig.I smile, clinking my glass against his, and take a sip of my champagne while he guzzles his cocktail.

His eyes stay glued to my breasts and then suddenly he gropes one mound with his free hand. “Mmm... nice.”

I squirm. “Sheldon, I’d rather you not touch me that way.”

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