Page 1 of Hiding Hollywood

1

If the tiny Cook County jail in Nowhere, Florida offered Starbucks, Addison Johnson might not be in such a rush to leave the place. Despite her limited knowledge of prisons, this one appeared clean and very quiet. Peaceful even. No rats or rude cellmates named Big Linda like she’d imagined. Plus, it gave her enough isolation to think about turning around her hard life of crime.

Addie picked at her manicured fingernails, her leg bouncing in restless frustration, like how she used to wait for a dial-up internet connection. Someone would have to come to release her soon. Grand theft auto was a serious charge that needed at least two hours’ worth of contemplation. Maybe three.

She glanced at her watch and grimaced. Not ten, damn hours. No wonder her ass felt numb from sitting on the hard, metal bench. And for what? The charges were a mistake. If only she had her phone.

Sending a picture of the cold, steel bars might make Brian pause in his luxury ski vacation long enough to bail her out. Maybe a simple call to straighten the whole thing out. Three years ago, he’d been a great addition to her cover story. A male model and aspiring actor that never tried to dig deeper into their relationship. Deep wasn’t an adjective she’d use to describe him.

She enjoyed the shallowness of their relationship. It allowed her the chance to pursue her other activities, while he enjoyed having someone to put up with his crap and look pretty at events. Win-win.

He never questioned how she supported herself on the modest salary of a perfume clerk at a high-end department store. One of them calling it quits was bound to happen sooner or later. Reporting her to the police that she’d stolen his car was a pretty extreme way to break-up with her.

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the cool wall of her temporary cinder block home. Her brother had been right, another aspect of this inconvenient detour that nagged at her.

He’d warned her that she’d end up in jail with all her secret activities. To her surprise, when she’d called him immediately after Brian didn’t answer the phone, Trevor hadn’t thrown a big, fat, “I told you so,” in her face.

Yet.

Instead, he’d been the perfect big brother and declared that he’d handle it. Sounded a little too much like a mafia move in her opinion, but she’d wait and see what he had in mind. Not like she had any other options at the moment.

Most computer hackers stayed one step ahead of the law, and she was one of the best. She’d left her computer back in California. That made her itch more than the thought of spending the night on the cot in the corner with whatever might emerge when the lights went out.

Voices traveled down the long hallway. No use in pretending her knight in shining armor had come to rescue her. She leaned away from the wall. Her brother couldn’t have made it from California yet, and her self-absorbed, almost ex-boyfriend was obviously more concerned about his career than her freedom.

She wouldn’t rely on the men any longer.

Her very survival was at stake.

She’d do anything at this point.

At precisely eleven hours since her last drink, they could add murder to her list of offenses if she didn’t get a Venti, Quad, Nonfat, One-pump, No-whip, Mocha soon. Lord help her, she’d take some of that stir-in, insta-coffee shit at this point. She twisted the bottom of her long, blonde hair through her fingers, a nervous habit that Brian hated. Well, Brian wasn’t in jail to witness it, was he?

Bribing her guards for coffee or her freedom hadn’t worked so far. The last blue uniform she’d seen was a female who didn’t look too interested when Addie fluttered her lashes her way. No shame. Addie would flirt with a hamster if it’d buy her access to caffeine and the internet.

Her mouth watered with the thought. Coffee was her lifeline. She assumed most computer hackers who led double lives had something they relied upon when they interacted with thenormalpeople who didn’t stay awake for days on end.

Both voices sounded male. Good. She could handle men. They were the reason she’d developed her alter-ego. Addie sat up straight, adjusting her blouse for enough cleavage to show to distract most of the male race. There were two types of guys in the world. Those who saw her as their sister and those who never saw beyond the façade.

A small snap of regret shot through her gut. No one ever saw the real Addie. Not since college. She shook away the lonely feeling. It was safer that way. She couldn’t risk exposing someone she cared about to the criminals she interacted with.

The male in the blue uniform came into view, waddling toward her end of the cell as a toothpick stuck out between his lips. His gut somehow accentuated his receding hairline. His eyes were a little too close together, and his feet were too small in proportion to his round body.

Or his body had outgrown his feet.

Either way, he threw doubt on his ability as an effective cop to chase down a thief.

Up close, he smelled like old Chinese take-out and cigars. Her stomach rolled in revulsion and hunger at the same time.

On paper, he wasn’texactlyher type. More like her anti-type, if that was even a description for a man.

She’d already weighed the pros and cons of a seduction-for-Starbucks routine with this particular blue uniform who currently picked his teeth with that nasty toothpick. Probably the same toothpick she’d seen when he’d arrested her. She schooled her features to keep the disgust inside.

A tall guy with a neatly trimmed crew-cut followed the guard until they reached her end of the cells. She spotted a small sheriff’s badge pinned to the chest of his tan shirt. How many cops did the panhandle of Florida need to deal with her? As far as they knew, she spent her days pedaling luxury perfume, not stealing Mercedes for parts. But, as her eyes scanned over the new guy, with his deeply tanned skin, something familiar sparked her interest.

He watched her with confusion, his eyes narrowing a touch.

“Miss?” The blue uniform wiggled his grubby finger in her direction, grabbing her attention. It was a universal signal to ‘come here.' Her middle finger itched to respond with another universal signal that technically meant the opposite. That’d never win her any favors.

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