I thought we had something special.Not romantic love.Not passion.The special bond between a mentor and the young woman she'd taken under her wing—a bond that Diana had convinced herself was mutual, irreplaceable, eternal.
You can't just shut me out.I won't let you.Possessive, controlling, desperate—but not romantic possession.The smothering, suffocating "love" of someone who saw herself as essential to another person's survival and couldn't accept being told otherwise.
There had been nothing explicitly romantic in those messages.Nothing that required a romantic interpretation.Kari had assumed an affair because of the intensity, the jealousy, the desperate need that pulsed through every word.But she'd been reading them through the wrong lens, seeing what she expected to see instead of what was actually there.
Jennifer wasn't trying to escape a romantic relationship gone toxic.She was trying to escape an obsessive friendship with someone who had appointed herself as mother, protector, and sole source of support—someone who couldn't handle it when her "daughter" tried to grow up and live her own life.
The "work mom" who was "like a big sister."The caring mentor who understood what it was like to be lost in L.A.The woman from a small town who looked out for vulnerable young models who had no one else to turn to.
Diana.
Mama.
M.
"Ma'am?"The receptionist's voice cut through Kari's racing thoughts."Can I help you with something else?"
"I need to see Vanessa Caldwell.Right now."
"Ms.Caldwell is in a meeting with a client.I can schedule you an appointment—"
"Get her out of it."Kari pulled out her phone, letting the receptionist see her thumb hovering over the keypad."Or I call L.A.P.D.and have them send a squad car to pull her out.Your choice."
The receptionist's smile faltered, uncertainty flickering behind her carefully made-up eyes.She picked up her phone, spoke quietly into it, then looked back at Kari with an expression that was no longer friendly."Ms.Caldwell will see you in her office.Down the hall, last door on the right."
Vanessa Caldwell's office was as sleek and impressive as the lobby—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, minimalist but expensive-looking furniture, photographs of famous models covering one wall in a gallery of perfect faces.Vanessa herself stood behind her desk, arms crossed, her expression cold enough to freeze water.
"Detective Blackhorse.I thought I made it clear that we've cooperated fully with your investigation.If you have additional questions, you can submit them through our legal counsel—"
"I need to know about Diana Shepherd."
Something shifted in Vanessa's face—a tightening around the eyes, a slight stiffening of her already rigid posture."What about her?"
"Tell me about who she was before she became your assistant.Before she became Diana Shepherd at all."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do."Kari stepped closer to the desk, trying to keep up her momentum."There's no trace of Diana Shepherd before she started working here.No social media history, no news articles, no digital footprint of any kind.Because Diana Shepherd isn't her real name.You know who she really is.You know what happened to her before she reinvented herself."
Vanessa was silent for a long moment, her face unreadable.Then she walked to her office door and closed it with a soft click.
"What I'm about to tell you is confidential," she said quietly, not turning around."Diana's past is not something she shares with anyone.I've respected her privacy for years, protected her from questions, helped her build a new life.If you use this to hurt her—"
"I think Diana has been killing young models for years and staging their deaths as suicides and overdoses.I think she killed Amanda Escalante last week, and I think she may have killed Tayen Chee, too."
Vanessa turned around.Her face had gone pale, losing control of herself for the first time since Kari had met her.She groped for her chair and sank into it, her hands trembling as they gripped the armrests.
"That's...that's insane," she said, but her voice lacked conviction."Diana would never hurt anyone.She loves those girls.She dedicates her entire life to taking care of them."
"Tell me who she is.Her real name.What happened to her."
Vanessa stared at her desk, her perfectly manicured nails pressing white crescents into the leather of her chair.When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I scouted her about eight years ago.She was from a small town in Nebraska—Millbrook, I think, or maybe Millbury.One of those dying farming communities where everyone leaves as soon as they graduate high school.She had the look.God, did she have the look.The height, those incredible eyes that photographed like nothing I'd ever seen.I brought her to L.A., introduced her to the right people, got her started in the business."Vanessa's voice caught."I thought I was doing her a favor.Giving her a chance at a better life."
"But?"
"But she couldn't handle it.The pressure, the constant criticism, the rejection—she took everything personally.Every photographer who said her nose was wrong, every designer who passed on her, every casting she didn't book.Other girls develop a thick skin, learn to separate themselves from the business.She couldn't.She internalized all of it, and she started...unraveling."
