Secrets Of The A-List Complete Collection, Episodes 1-12. Cat Schield

by a moral compass to one who lived to feed his own passions. And his passion was beautiful women.

      From the moment they checked into the Fontainebleau in South Beach, Harrison wasted no time in hitting the nightclub Liv. He’d changed his clothes from the Tom Ford business suit and tie to an open-collar black shirt and slacks, a classy casual look that seemed to cut his age in half and at the same time telegraphed success. No one could miss the platinum Vacheron Constantin watch, the expensive haircut or the imported Italian leather loafers. And he drew women to him like moths to a flame.

      Joe enjoyed a good time as much as the next guy, but the issue that he had with Harrison was that he was married to an incredible woman and somewhere along the line he’d seemed to have forgotten that, or at the very least he took Mariella for granted. The next morning when Joe opened the door to his suite to get the newspaper, he saw one of the women from the bar leaving Harrison’s room. Harrison stepped partially out of the door to kiss her goodbye and turned to see Joe standing there. Rather than being embarrassed, he’d winked. It had taken all Joe had not to go over there and slam Harrison against the wall. But, of course, he didn’t. He closed his door and they never spoke of it.

      At least for now—he wasn’t sure for how much longer—he would continue to keep his thoughts to himself. But much of what he ultimately decided depended on whether Harrison pulled through.

      Mariella continued to lecture her daughter while Elana ignored her. Joe felt it a good time to make a brief exit and call the detective on the investigation of the accident. He slipped out of the private dining hall, walked through the main area and out front, away from prying ears.

      Joe rounded El Acantilado and went out back to the private parking lot. He got in his car and shut the door. He removed a business card from his jacket pocket, took out his cell and tapped in the numbers. The doctor’s toxicology report had already come back, showing no indication that drugs or alcohol had played any role in Harrison’s accident. The doctors speculated that he’d had some health crisis that they hadn’t pinned down yet. Barring some kind of medical emergency or driver error—highly unlikely—the only other conclusion that Joe could come to was the unthinkable. His stomach knotted. He needed to know how close the police were to turning over that stone.

      The phone rang several times, and Joe was sure it would go to voice mail, when it was finally answered on the other end.

      “Detective Burns,” he barked into the phone.

      “Detective Burns, this is Joe Reynolds.”

      “Oh, Mr. Reynolds. I’m on my way to a scene right now.”

      “I won’t take too much of your time. I wanted to know if there have been any updates on the Harrison Marshall investigation.” Joe heard some shuffling and voices in the background, then the noise grew distant, as if Burns had gone into another room. He heard a door shut.

      Burns cleared his throat. “Listen, this is totally off the record. Understood?”

      “Understood. What is it?”

      Joe listened with growing dread.