Dying to Have Her

by Heather Graham

  “I don’t know. What’s going on?” He sounded breezy, casual. No—he was trying to sound breezy and casual. There was tenseness in his voice. He had taken a beat to think out his reply.

  “Jeff, something is going on. You and Melinda are whispering all the time.”

  “We’re thinking about a trip to New York,” he said.

  “Jeff, I’ve had people comment on …”

  “On what?” he demanded.

  “On your whispering. Look, I’m just concerned, and I don’t mean to intrude, but—”

  “Then don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t intrude, Serena. Worry about your own life. Mine is in better shape.”

  To her astonishment, the line clicked. He had hung up on her.

  She stared at it. “Well,” she murmured aloud, “that surely didn’t make me feel any better.”

  She went to get her coffee. Was she being a busybody? No, she was just worried.

  The phone rang. She jumped. She walked across the room and answered it. “Hey, kid, I was way out of line. I’m really sorry.” It was Jeff.

  “It’s all right. Your life is none of my business. And it probably is in much better shape than my own.”

  “I’m going to make it up to you. I promise. I’m going to send you a great gift.”

  “Look, I don’t need a gift, Jeff. You don’t have to—”

  “No, I’ve been meaning to do this anyway. Forgive me?”

  She was silent for a moment. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah. We’re like all married couples. Hills and valleys. But we’re on the right track. We’re okay. I love your sister. And I love you too, okay, kid?”

  “Sure, Jeff. I love you both.”

  “Well, get to work. Go knock ‘em dead. Oh, sorry, I guess that’s a bad expression these days.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Want me to tell Melinda you called?”

  “Sure.”

  They rang off again. As she thoughtfully set the receiver down, the doorbell rang. Still thinking about Jeff, she wandered to it. She gazed out the peephole.

  Liam was standing there impatiently. His hair was sleek, ebony, combed back from his forehead. Somehow, he managed to be both casual and all pulled together in his sports jacket.

  Here she was, with a worn robe, towel around wet hair, no makeup. The hell with it. She opened the door.

  He looked her up and down. “Running late, are we?”

  “One of us is. You’ll have to excuse me. I had a rough night. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No. I’ll be waiting. I just wanted to make sure you were awake.”

  “Great.”

  He turned.

  She should have let him go.

  “You are allowed to wait indoors, and the coffee in the pot is fresh. Of course, you know that. You made it.”

  Liam turned back, arching a dark brow. “You’re not going to throw it at me or anything, are you?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  She left the door open and strode off to her bedroom. She slipped into a knit sweater and jeans, and halfheartedly dried her hair. She could finish at the studio. She really was running late.

  She was still brushing her hair when she walked back into the living room. Liam was standing at the pine counter between the kitchen and living room, so deeply engrossed in the paper he was reading that he didn’t even look up. But he knew she was there.

  “Well, you were right,” he said softly.

  “What?” Her stupidity of the previous evening, and then being worried about her sister and brother-in-law, had consumed her thoughts that morning.

  He turned the paper toward her. The photograph was in a gossip column, rife with speculation about danger to be found on the set of Valentine Valley. The photographer had gotten her leaning toward Liam. It didn’t look like she was arguing with him. It looked as if she was getting as close as she possibly could.

  She swore.

  “Hey, you said it would happen.”

  “Yes, but …”

  “I can see where this sort of thing gets very annoying.”

  She opened her mouth, about to tell him that she wasn’t seeing anyone at the moment, it wasn’t really going to hurt her, but what about his blond bombshell? She didn’t say that. She didn’t want to admit that she wasn’t dating.

  “Sorry,” she said simply.

  “Yeah.”

  “What is what’s-her-name going to think?”

  “Sharon?” he inquired.

  “What’s she going to think?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “She knew I was taking this job.”

  “Hard job, isn’t it?” she inquired bitterly. “And that’s what it is—a job.”

  “You know, I tried to talk to you last night—”

  “I don’t want to talk. If Sharon isn’t going to be upset, hey, great. Are you ready?”

  “Whenever you are.”

  She preceded him out the door, but turned back to lock it when they were out. When they reached his car, he had the passenger door open for her. She slid in. They started driving.

  “Sharon is all right with all this?” she asked after several minutes of silence. She didn’t want to talk, she reminded herself. She didn’t seem able to help herself.

  “Sharon isn’t your concern.”

  Great, involved answers, she thought.

  “Is she the free-spirit type?” she asked, then answered herself, “No, I guess not. You wouldn’t like that.”

  He glanced her way at last. “Why? Do you consider yourself a free spirit?”

  “Actually, no. And come to think of it, you didn’t consider me a free spirit, either. I think it was something much worse.”

  “Not worse. Just something I couldn’t handle,” he said flatly.

  “Something …” she murmured.

  “Very, very busy. Always,” he said.

  “There’s an implication there,” she said lightly. “But let’s see … here we are all this time later, and you’re the one involved already.”

  He arched a brow in the mirror, his lip curling slightly. There she went again. Provoking him, saying things she didn’t mean to say, giving away too much of her own life.

  “Ah. I’m involved. And you’re just flirting with handsome ‘Hispanic types’ and ‘rock star’ types, or the newest, ‘Latin lover’ types?”

  “Hey, I just carry on friendly conversations.”

  “Yeah. And you don’t notice the tongues lying on the floor that you trip over on your way out.”

  “I’m always very polite,” she told him. “So … I hear that Sharon likes to dig holes in the ground.”

  “She does.”

  “That must make you very happy. You’re so fond of … nature.”

  “She can survive a weekend without room service bringing coffee, yes.”

  Serena fell silent. She should have just kept her mouth shut. It hurt to hear that they went off on weekends. She wasn’t taunting him anyway; she was merely torturing herself.

  “Great. I’m glad you found what you were looking for. Even if she is a little young for you.”

  He looked at her, then back at the road. “She’s not that young. Twenty-eight.”

  “Still young.”

  “How old do you think I am?” he asked her.

  She was startled, realizing that she’d never asked him just how old he was.

  They hadn’t made it to a birthday for either one of them. Somehow, the subject of age had never come up.

  “Forty?” she suggested. He could have been anywhere from thirty to forty.

  “Thirty-six. Eight years. So she’s eight years younger . than me. That’s not exactly an eon.”

  “Well, I guess it isn’t exactly child seduction, then. Well, listen, please, don’t take last night to mean anything—”

  “What does mean anything to you, Serena?” he queried. She didn’t like the harshness of his tone, or the ice in h
is dark eyes as they met hers.

  “Last night you—”

  “Wait a minute! Last night?”

  “Yes, you—”

  “Hey, I was in the guest room, minding my own business.”

  “You didn’t have to hop out of the shower.”

  “You didn’t have to bring the towel and stand there staring at me.”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “You were! I merely thought I’d give you a better view.”

  “A view? That was a view?”

  “Serena, I’m not sure what it was. And you won’t talk seriously—”

  “I can’t. Here we are, tha—” She broke off before she could complete “Thank God!” She had put herself into this misery; she would be glad to be out of it. “I’m sure you could drop me in the front,” she amended coolly.

  “No, I have a place in the garage, right by the elevator.”

  “That’s Joe’s place.”

  “He insisted I take it.”

  He parked. She didn’t wait for him to come around. The second the car stopped, she hopped out. She slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried past him. “I think I’m late,” she murmured.

  She knew he was close behind her, though. Into the elevator, out of the elevator. Well, hell. She was his job. He was good at his job. They had almost reached her dressing room when she turned to him. “Don’t you think that this is overkill?” She winced at her choice of words.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not following you into the dressing room.”

  She shook her head and went on in, allowing the door to close behind her. A second later she heard a tap, and Thorne came in quickly. “You’re late.”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “Sit still.”

  He started quickly in with base and a sponge.

  “See the paper?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “You two back together?”

  “No. Emphatically, no!”

  “Looked like it.”

  “Thank you, Thorne.”

  “You’re tense. Stop wrinkling up your forehead.”

  Serena sat still while he worked on her face. “I didn’t even look at the schedule; nothing changed, did it?”

  “No. You’re due on your Egyptian set in … three minutes,” he told her, running a brush over her lips. “Blot, blot!” He held a tissue to her mouth. She blotted obediently. He stepped back. “You look great. Oh, honey, you are a truly beautiful evil woman. Even when you don’t sleep. You’ve got a few bags under those eyes. In fact, like a whole day’s shopping worth of bags.”

  “Thank you so much for noticing.”

  “Oh, they’re gone completely now. I do good work.”

  “Thanks. You’re right, you do do good work,” she told him, rising.

  “Your costume is there … can you imagine anyone working with Egyptian treasures in those pants? They’d be dusty in two seconds. Of course, your fakes aren’t actually dusty, thank God! Could you imagine old mummy wrappings on that gorgeous silk? Ugh!”

  With that, Thorne departed.

  Serena dressed quickly. When she stepped out of her dressing room she was startled to see that Liam wasn’t alone in the hallway.

  There was a woman with him. He was leaning against the wall, head slightly bowed to her height. The woman was very close. She appeared to be upset, but she quickly masked her expression when Serena appeared.

  She was tall, naturally very blond, slim and tan in a simple white sheath that enhanced every one of her good qualities. She really was gorgeous. And young. Serena felt her stomach pitching and twisting into terrible knots.

  They both turned to Serena as she exited her dressing room. “Good morning,” she said, for lack of anything better to say.

  “Sharon, Serena McCormack. Serena, Sharon Miller,” Liam murmured politely.

  “Serena McCormack,” the blonde said, smiling.

  Serena had known, without Liam’s introduction, that this was, of course, the hole digger. “Sharon? Hi, nice to meet you.” She stepped forward, offering a hand and the blond girl shook weakly. It was good that she had decided on the sciences; she wasn’t much of an actress.

  “What a pleasure to meet you, Serena. My brush with fame,” Sharon said. Her words were too pronounced.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Sharon.”

  The girl had very blue eyes. She studied Serena meticulously. “This is a closed set, I heard,” Sharon said. “They didn’t want to let me on it. I feel very privileged.”

  “The producers like to keep their plots a secret,” Serena explained. It was torture, standing here, trying to be casual. “And of course, given our recent tragedy we’re all a little edgy. I hope it wasn’t that difficult getting in.”

  “No, not really,” Sharon told her. “Not when I explained that I wasn’t out to steal plot secrets, that I only needed a few moments.”

  For the first time Serena noticed that Sharon had the daily paper folded under her arm. “The paper,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. In fact, we were having an argument.”

  “Don’t worry. I wasn’t bothered,” Sharon told her.

  “Good,” Serena said. Her stomach continued knotting in a vicious manner. She wouldn’t be able to keep the smile going much longer. “Well, if you both will excuse me, I’m due on the set.”

  She started down the hallway. When someone slid up beside her, she thought at first that it was Liam, doggedly doing his job no matter what. But it was Doug.

  “The plot thickens,” he whispered.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked with annoyance, far more shaken than she wanted to admit.

  “Ruggedly handsome bodyguard, a new love, an old flame—”

  “Don’t you dare call me old this morning,” she hissed to him, causing Doug to laugh.

  “Think about it, Serena. There you have her—the young, beautiful new girlfriend. Innocent in appearance, far removed from the day-to-day action! But underneath it all, she’s desperately in love with her new guy and knows that somewhere inside him, his heart is still beating—thump-thump, thump-thump—for the exotically glamorous star of daytime. The gorgeous, athletic blonde isn’t as sweet and naive as she appears. Beneath the casual exterior, she is seething. She wants her man, so she plots, she plans, she bribes someone on the set—”

  “And kills Jane Dunne?” Serena murmured, looking back. Liam was following behind her, still talking with the blonde.

  “She didn’t intend to kill Jane Dunne. She meant to kill you.”

  “Great planning. She commits a murder, and the killing sends the macho bodyguard here, hired to guard her intended victim.”

  “I love it!” Doug said.

  “Doug, even for a soap that’s reaching.”

  “I think it’s a wonderful plot twist.”

  “I think you’re cruel.”

  “I think you’re jealous.”

  “I probably am.”

  They had reached the elevator.

  “Push the button, quick,” Serena told him.

  He smiled, folded his arms over his chest, and waited for Liam and Sharon. Liam introduced Doug and Sharon. As the two made small talk, Serena realized she was acquiring a tremendous headache.

  She stepped off the elevator and almost walked right into Joe Penny. He pointed a finger at her. “You. Andy wants to talk to you.”

  “I can’t talk now. I’m due on set,” she said. She realized that Joe was looking past her to see the newcomer.

  Usually, Joe was irritated to have anyone else around. Today he smiled. “Good morning, Liam. And hello, Miss …”

  “Sharon Miller, one of our producers, Joe Penny,” Serena said.

  “Hello,” Sharon said. “How very nice to meet you.”

  Joe hated people on his set, but he liked attractive women. He smiled at her. “A pleasure to meet you. You’re a friend of Liam’s?”

  “Yes, and don’t worry, your security is safe. I had to talk for twenty minutes to get
escorted up by an armed guard.”

  “We’re terribly sorry to have put you through so much,” Joe said.

  “It wasn’t that bad. To be honest, I think I have an old friend who works on this set. I would have pulled some favors if I had needed to.”

  “Who’s the old friend?” Joe asked.

  “I’m not divulging any secrets. I may need help in the future,” Sharon said.

  Joe didn’t press the point. He seemed impressed by Sharon, and he looked at Liam. “Bill Hutchens was here earlier. He said to tell you that the rose was a rose was a rose. Whatever that means.”

  “Thanks,” was all Liam said. Serena stared at him. He looked her way, but added no more. Sharon was watching them both. Serena found herself very anxious to get away.

  She escaped them all, striding across the floor to Jim Novac, who was setting up on the Egyptian set. “Morning, Jim.”

  “Hey, Serena, barely on time.”

  She smiled. “Sorry.”

  “We rehearsed this several times, but that was before … before we lost so much time. Think we should go over it again?”

  “I’m fine with the scene. Is Kelly here?”

  “Right here!”

  Kelly came around the side of a huge, standing sarcophagus. “Ready to tear your hair out. Come on up.”

  “You know what to do with this one,” Jim said.

  Jim called for quiet on the set, and started his countdown: “And we’re on in five, four, three …”

  “How dare you—how dare you—presume to get involved in my life, Verona!” Kelly charged. She walked around the set, furious. “You’re just trying to ruin my life because your own is a miserable mess. You stay away from David DeVille, do you hear me?”

  “Maria!” Serena said, taking her stage sister by the shoulders and shaking her. “He’s bad news, don’t you understand that? He uses everyone, everyone!”

  “So that’s it, is it?” Kelly demanded, shaking off her touch. “He uses everyone. Well, according to the gardener, he used you!”

  Serena gasped, and gave Kelly a stage slap.

  Kelly backed away, near tears.

  “You don’t understand! I love him. You don’t love anyone. You’re all rolled up in yourself. Go back to Egypt, stay in Egypt, maybe the sands will bury you forever—”

  “Maria, I’ve tried to protect you—”

  “Your way of protecting me is to take your clothes off for David. No, thanks!”