The camera was Sebastian's idea, his aphrodisiac, and I was just trying to please him. And he didn't bother mentioning his fashion designer fiancée until after the fact.

His car is gone, his house dark. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm not going to stomp over there with the news vans recording my every move.

But, then, they speed off. Apparently, my scantily clad body is a thing of the past.

If Sebastian isn't home, he's probably at his studio. I look up the address–alarmingly close to Metrazzle–and start warming up my car.

I pull the keys out of the ignition when I see a light go on in one of Sebastian's second floor windows. I cross the road and pound on his front door.

Bzzz...bzzz...bzzz.

My cellphone is on vibrate in my purse. I ignore it and keep knocking.

The door is unlocked, so I let myself inside. "Sebastian? Hello?"

Bzzz...bzzz...bzzz.

This time I check to see who's calling. Detective Mariano. I put the phone back in my purse. I'll call him back later.

"Is anyone here?" 

I pursue the sign of light at the top of the stairs, round the banister, and head toward the lamplight.

Bzzz.

This time there's a text. Answer your damn phone!!!

I hold my cell in my hand and wander into a bedroom. The bedside lamp is on, the bed neatly made. The room is empty and so free of clutter that it could be a guest room.

Bzzz...

As I leave the doorway, I answer the call. "Hello?"

"Gwyn," Fred gasps. "I'm glad you're okay."

I glance over my shoulder and walk back toward the stairs. "Why? I don't see why Goldilocks would have any interest in me."

"She's dead, Gwyn."

"What?"

"Covered in hundred dollar bills!" he continues. "And you were right. Sam's mother is alive and–"

The phone is ripped out of my hand. I watch it crack against the wall and then I feel cold steel pressing into my neck.

"Walk!" It's the voice that once made me tremble with desire. "Hands behind your head!" And my trembling becomes something I've never experienced before.

"What your cop lover was about to say," Sam continues, "was that my mother was a whore and did enough cocaine when I was a kid to kill a small horse. And just when the blue-eyed beauty was starting to earn her keep, she was brutally disfigured by a masked man. Me, as a teenager I might add, but no arrests were ever made. Now she's rotting in some state facility where no one gives a shit." He marches me down the stairs and into Sebastian's sitting room. "And Goldilocks? Well, her fate was worse because the stupid bitch was the reason I lost a lot of money. You see, she had two storage units and only one was supposed to go up for auction, not both, but she screwed that up and screwed me over too." He spins me around and backs me against the wall by the stairs. "All of the jewelry she's acquired over the years–quite a few pieces rare and worth a mint–was supposed to be liquidated, a third for me, a third for the middleman, and a third for her. But then, of course, the police circus arrived and lit the whole place up like a–"    

"Where's Sebastian?" 

Sam puts the gun to my forehead. "Sebastian's dead. He was a pansy and I didn't like him. Nothing fancy. I just wanted him gone. Goldilocks, however, was my best work yet!" Sam suddenly backs away and takes a seat in the foldout chair by the front window, but he keeps the handgun aimed between my eyes. "While you were screwing lover-boy-number-two's brains out, I broke into his apartment and had a little fun. Police handcuffs, slutty lingerie, the whole bit. She really got off on the fact that we were in the detective's apartment. Until, that is, I lopped off her ring finger and used it to write "whore" on the wall. Then I put Mariano's pistol in her mouth. And the best part about it, he's on record hating her guts. He could even take the fall for it!" When Sam glances out the window, his eyes light up and he pulls a sheet off a sniping rifle in front of him. "Oh good! That won't ever happen because there's your hot hunk of love now! Looking for you with his wittle Glock. But he's without backup. Oh no! Not too bright, is he?"

He peers through the telescopic lens and adjusts the position of the rifle. 

"If you leave him alone, I'll pay you!"

He gives me one eye as he considers my offer. "How much?"

"All of it."

"Deal."

I raise my hands and glance at my purse. With the handgun, he gestures the "go ahead." I fish out my checkbook and a pen, showing them to him before I start writing. 1.4 million dollars, all that remains of my parent's life insurance money.

I ease my way closer to him. With his eyes on mine, he suddenly grabs my outstretched wrist hard enough to make my knees buckle. Then he pistol-whips me across the mouth. The check falls to the floor, and so do I.  

While I slink away from him, he scoots the check closer with his foot and chuckles. "That's all that's left?" He whistles to mock me. "You're a bigger spender than I thought!"

With the side of my thumb, I wipe the blood from my lip. "Someone has to pay the bills!"

"Why don't you shut that floozy mouth of yours for once? Oh, and by the way, I like that color on you. I'm no Sebastian, but in this lighting it looks whore red. And right now, I find that oddly appealing. So don't bother getting up. I'll have one last hurrah before I go. But first..."

He sets down the gun he hit me with and resumes his play with the rifle.

"You said you wouldn't shoot him!"

He pauses to sneer at me. "I lied."

"You're a bastard! And a cold-blooded killer!"

"Yeah, well. What's true is true. Not much you can do about it, though, is there?"

He snickers and then his eye is back on the scope, his finger caressing the trigger.

I reach into my purse and rise to my feet. One stride. Click click. Two strides later, I place his other handgun–now my handgun–to his temple. And I fire.