JoAnn Ross - No Regrets

And then, as the crimson haze spread and she prayed silently to a God that seemed to have abandoned her, Molly finally surrendered to the enveloping darkness.

Chapter Three

Reece was almost home free. His grueling shift was over, he’d showered, shampooed the smell of disinfectant, disease and death out of his hair, shaved and changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that didn’t have a single bloodstain on it. He took the poinsettia he’d remembered to buy for Lena, and was headed toward the door when he saw a ragged man arguing with the security guard.

He considered trying to sneak out another exit, but recognizing Thomas and knowing that Molly would never forgive him if he turned his back on whatever problem was plaguing the former priest this time, Reece cursed beneath his breath and waded into the breach.

“What’s wrong, Thomas?”

“It’s Molly.” The eyes beneath the filthy hair were wild with distress. “I tried carrying her here, but—”

“Where is she?” Reece interrupted, tossing the poinsettia toward the nearby counter. It missed and landed on the floor, spilling dirt and breaking stems, but no one noticed.

“Out there.” He pointed a filthy finger. “She’s in bad shape, Doc.”

That was, Reece discovered, an understatement. Her face was bruised and battered, her eyes were swollen shut, she was stripped nearly naked, allowing him to see the bite marks on her breasts and the vaginal bleeding. She was also unconscious.

“Jesus Christ.” He knelt down and felt her thready pulse.

“Christ has nothing to do with this, Doc. Whoever did this to Saint Molly was a devil.”

Reece couldn’t argue with that. As he scooped her from the pile of trash, he understood the impetus behind crimes of passion. He was not, by nature, a violent man. But he could easily kill with his bare hands whoever had done this to Molly.

Thomas followed him to the hospital door. “Is she going to die?”

Reece looked at the distress on the man’s haggard face, and for the first time since Molly had introduced them, felt a kinship with this man whose life had gone so tragically wrong.

“Not on my watch,” Reece promised. The doors hissed open and he carried her into the light. And to safety.

* * *

A few miles away, a young woman cursed beneath her breath as she viewed the flashing lights in her rearview mirror.

“Terrific,” Tessa Davis thought as she pulled her Mustang convertible over at the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine.

The days when movie stars, bathed in the dazzling glow of klieg lights, arrived in limousines to attend premieres at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre were long past. And the fabled glitter surrounding the walk of fame had given way to junky tourist traps. Even so, as she’d driven into the city last week, Tessa had gazed in awe at the Hollywood sign gleaming like a beacon in the rising sun and imagined she could breathe in the scent of glamour and success.

Unfortunately, she was finding out what generations of beautiful women before her had discovered the hard way: success was not instantaneous. As she watched the cop climb off his motorcycle and come walking toward her, Tessa could envision additional hard-earned savings flying away.

She rolled down her window and flashed her most dazzling smile. The one that never failed to bring boys to their knees.

“Is something wrong, Officer?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

“I don’t suppose you happened to notice that red light you just went through.”

“Was it red?” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I was certain it was still yellow.”

“It was red.” He pulled off his black leather gloves. “May I see your driver’s license?”

Damn. He appeared immune to feminine charms. Sighing, Tessa took her billfold out of her purse and held it toward him.

“If you wouldn’t mind taking it out of the folder, ma’am,” he said politely.

Of all the cops in the city, she had to get Mr. Play-by-the-Book. Hadn’t anyone told him this was supposed to be the season of goodwill?

“I really am sorry.” She tried again as he perused the license.

“You’re from Oregon?” He looked up from the photo to her face.

“Portland.”

“And now you’ve come to Hollywood to be a movie star.”

He didn’t have to make it sound so impossible. When Tessa chose not to answer what she took to be a sarcastic question, he glanced across the street, where two women clad in fishnet stockings and short shorts leaned against a storefront.

“You know, this isn’t the safest neighborhood anymore,” he warned her. “Not even in the daytime.”

“Now you sound like my dad.”

“He didn’t want you to come to Lotusland,” the cop guessed.

“That’s putting it mildly.” Tessa sighed, thinking how General Marshall Patton Davis had her life all mapped out for her.

“Let me guess.” He folded his arms across the front of his leather jacket and rocked back on the heels of his boots. “You were supposed to get your teaching degree from the local college.”

“Actually, I was majoring in fine arts at the University of Portland.”

“Close enough.” His smile revealed appealing dimples. “Then, after graduation, you’d settle down with the boy next door—”

“The air force aviator next door.”

“Ah.” He grinned at that. A broad flash of white that held considerable charm. “So you were destined to be Mrs. Top Gun.”

“Mrs. Tom Kelly.” Despite the circumstances, Tessa was beginning to enjoy herself.

He gave her a quick, unthreatening perusal. “I can’t see you spending your life playing the role of a loyal, supportive military wife while your husband played war games with his macho pals.”

“Neither could I. Which is why I’m here.” It might not have been a bad life, being married to Tommy and having his babies. If she hadn’t had other plans.

Big plans. Like becoming a famous actress. And someday earning her own star on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame.

“And now you’re going to be the next Demi Moore.”

Tessa lifted her chin. “The first Tessa Starr.” Tessa Davis, she’d decided long ago, was too boring for the woman she intended to be.

He laughed at that. A rich, bold sound that slipped beneath her skin and warmed her in a way that Tommy never had. “You’ve definitely got the right attitude. And the looks. If you’ve got even a smidgen of talent—”

“I have a lot of talent.”

“Sounds like you’re on your way. So, have you found a place to stay yet?”

“I’ve rented a room in West Hollywood.” At first she’d been a bit taken aback by the red-haired transvestite dressed in a marabou-trimmed dressing gown who owned the house, but the room in the funky bungalow was the most affordable she’d been able to find that didn’t remind her of the Bates Motel.

“Sounds like you did okay,” he said when she told him about her landlord and gave him her address. “But I think I’ll run the guy through the computer, just to make sure he doesn’t have a record.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s perfectly safe.”

“Probably is. But I’d never forgive myself if he turns out to be a serial killer and I end up investigating the disappearance of the first Tessa Starr. Protect And Serve, that’s our motto.” He dimpled again in a way that made her feel warm all the way to her toes. “So, do you have any plans for Christmas dinner?”

“I saw a sign in the window at Denny’s advertising the turkey special.” She refrained from admitting she’d been there applying for a job after discovering that waitress positions at all the trendy eateries were filled by equally gorgeous women who’d gotten to Los Angeles before her.

“Denny’s?” He shook his head. “That’s no way to spend your first Christmas in Tinseltown. How would you like to have dinner with me?”